Page 53 of That Thing You Brew
Ten minutes later, the staffer returned, and I hurried to prep the basket. “Are you ready for a front-row seat to my show, Abby?” I arranged the food and a lowball glass of water from the bar securely into the hay-filled basket.
She blinked her big dark eyes at me and got right to eating. I closed the lid, making sure the latch was secure, and hoisted the basket into my arms.
“Here we go, girl,” I whispered as we reached the wings. The main curtain was still closed while the emcee chatted up the crowd. I placed the basket on the side of the stage where I thought the front curtain might cover it from view. Behind my harp, the middle curtain was closed to allow for the band to quietly set up while I played.
The front curtains parted, but this time I kept my eyes open and held my breath.
“Once again, Ms. Penny Palmer to delight you with her soft ballads while you enjoy a feast fit for a king.”
The retracting curtain stopped just short of the basket.Good enough.I turned to the audience and smiled in Xavier’s direction before closing my eyes and letting the music take me away.
I played a variety of Celtic melodies, instrumentals of modern ballads, and mixed in a few lullabies. The hour passed quickly, and when I finished, I was greeted with an even more boisterous response from the table in the back. Many of the attendees rose to their feet, and I curtsied to a standing ovation.
The curtains closed, and the stagehands arrived to move my harp and stool back into the wings. I raced to the bunny basket and carefully crossed back to the other side of the stage, in front of the band and into the wings.
“Are you ready to let loose?” I asked Abby as I entered the green room. “I bet you’re stiff and stuffy from being cooped up for so long.”
“Oh, I definitely am,” said a low, husky, masculine voice. I startled, gripping the handles of the basket tightly.
I knew that voice!
“Xavier!” Just inside the room, he leaned against the wall like he was born for leaning. The man took my breath away. “How did you find me?”
“I bribed Monty with an additional donation.” He grinned and bowed deeply, holding on to his hat with its ridiculously large feather. “At your service, milady.”
I set the basket down on the floor and opened the hatch. “I want to hug you, but I’m bunny-sitting. Meet Abby Cabunny.”
Xavier squatted by the basket. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Cabunny.” I giggled as he reached in and gently pulled her out. “Bunnies wear diapers?”
I smiled as he set her on the floor. She hesitated briefly, then began to explore. “This one does. Not when she’s performing, of course. Just for travel.”
“Smart.” He scanned the green room. “Besides Abby, are we alone?”
“We are.” I stepped toward him. “Thank you for coming and bringing your friends. That was really nice.”
He smiled and took my hands, guiding them up, up, up until they were around his neck. I leaned into his tunic and lifted on my toes. Our lips met in a dreamy kiss.
He pulled away too soon. “I was hoping my bride-to-be might want to dance with me to music by my favorite harpist.”
I regarded him curiously. “How?”
“With a device from the future called the cell phone, milady.” I laughed as he pulled his phone from the folds of the tunic with a flourish. My performance of “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You” filled the room. Our eyes locked as he tightened his arms around my waist. “I thought we needed a song, but then I heard this, and—this is my song, for you.”
My eyes stung with unshed tears and my throat was burning, but I needed to speak. I wanted to tell him I loved him.
“Xavier, I—” But I still couldn’t voice those three words. Instead, I asked, “How did I get so lucky?”
“That’s my line, Lucky Penny.” He buried his head into the curve of my neck, and we swayed to the music.
Chicken,I scolded myself.
Tell him at the wedding or whenever. You want a lifetime, right? This man is so smitten, he’ll wait forever.
It won’t be forever,I argued.
These angel-devil-on-my-shoulder conversations were getting old.
Definitely by the wedding,I promised myself.
