Page 49 of Somewhere Along The Line
The space transitions for music and dancing and Piper mingles, giving hugs and handshakes and pointing folks to the auction before it closes at 8:30. After a while—too long, in my opinion—she makes her way over to me at the bar.
“Need a drink?” I ask, cocking my head and lifting my eyebrow to accompany a smirk.
“Can’t drink on the job, sorry.” She shrugs but there’s nothing sorry about it. She’s glowing, a mix of pride and sweat from working the room clinging to her skin.
I hand her a glass of water and watch as she finds my cup behind the bar and gives it an intentional tink, holding eye contact as she takes a long sip before setting it down with a smile.
“The bartender officially bailed, I guess,” she laments while scanning the room as though she’d find him here now if she looked hard enough. “Thank you for stepping in. No one has complained about the drinks, so you must be doing a decent job.” Her eyelashes flutter along with her grin.
“Decent is what I’m known for,” I say while pouring a glass of cab for a waiting patron. “At least, I hopeyouthink I’m decent.”
“You are satisfactoryandrespectable. Truly decent in all ways,” she replies with a small curtsy and a chuckle. “Seriously, though. Thank you. I’m not sure what we would’ve done without you here.”
Piper reaches up to gently grasp my cheek as she says it, making sure to hold my gaze. It sparks a fire in my chest that’ll stay the rest of the night.
“Time to check on the auction. Keep up the good work, Mr. Newhouse.” The wink she gives me before sauntering over to the rectangular tables damn near makes my knees buckle.
I redirect my focus to pouring drinks, some wine and some liquor with a few cocktails thrown in, and on singing Piper’s praises with every guest I serve. No one should leave here without knowing she’s behind this incredible event.
For someone who likes order, routine, and near-guaranteed results, I am having too much fun tonight. I’m making things up as I go and it’s working. It’s freeing to be here in this environment, to have to wing it, and to be successful doing it.
Maybe it’s okay to let go of the plan sometimes after all. Maybe things work out when they are meant to.
The night wraps up with a last call for bids and drinks and folks are happy, carrying newly won items in their arms and leaving tips on their way out. The staff starts to clean up as Piper finds me again, giddy from the compliments she received from donors as they leave.
I’m almost as proud as she is as I wrap my arms around her and lift her off the ground, kissing her gently under her ear before setting her back down.
A man clears his throat behind us, and I’m reminded that we’re not alone.
“So sorry to interrupt,” he says apologetically, “but I just wanted to tell you, Piper, what a wonderful night this was and how thrilled we are to partner with Hope First.” Turning to me, he raises his empty glass. “And I didn’t know you were with this fine young man. Best Old Fashioned I’ve had in years thanks to you.”
He smiles and Piper grabs my hand, pressing her fingers between mine.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Goldstone,” she replies. “I’m so glad you and Ginny could make it. It’s always a joy to see you both.” Her shoulder tucks under my arm as she continues, “And yes, James does make a good drink.”
Mr. Goldstone watches us for a moment before adding a final thought, as though it’s a postscript and not a bomb. “You know, I’m so thrilled these single women have you to look up to, Piper. It’s important for them to have an example of a healthy relationship.”
While it’s too dim to confirm, I am positive every ounce of color drains from my face at this exact moment. Piper keeps her hand in mine, gripping tightly, as she gives Mr. Goldstone a loose one-armed hug, thanking him again before he turns to find his wife.
Our gazes catch as we stand there, hands linked, feeling the weight of his words.
But after a moment, Piper turns and drags me to the floor to join the clean-up effort, effectively making the call that we shouldn’t talk about the exchange with Mr. Goldstone… or at least not right now. I follow her lead, tidying and organizing and ignoring the elephant in the room.
If she wants to bask in the afterglow of a successful fundraiser, I won't stop her.
“So, Piper,” a woman pauses with a trash bag in hand as she cocks her hip, “are you gonna tell us who this man is? Or do you want us to nag you incessantly until you relent? Totally your call!”
A shit-eating grin commands the lower half of her face as she bends down to retrieve a bent program from the floor.
“Wow, Jenny, how gracious of you!” Piper replies with an eye roll. “This is James.” She places a hand on my arm with a pat. “You all should be grateful for his help.”
Jenny makes a show of an exaggerated bow as though I’m the king of England and she’s a loyal subject. I tip my head back to her.
I’m acutely aware Piper didn’t define our relationship or explain how we know each other. The only reason I wanted her to was to give me a clue about the way she views me. It would be easier to keep my distance if she called me a friend.
Instead of keeping my distance, I pull closer to her and watch her as she works. It’s striking how content she looks even as she’s sweeping pieces of sticky confetti into a dustpan. Like she’s had her fill of something delicious, or her pumpkin pie won first prize at the fair.
I recognize it as the same satisfied look she had when I pulled her onto my lap on Monday.
