Page 98 of Midnight Valentine
Suzanne and I both say, “Yep!” and glare at him.
As Colleen’s face registers confusion at all the odd tension in the air, the music changes. What was an upbeat pop number fades into the slow, sultry voice of Etta James, singing her signature blues love song, “At Last.”
Closing my eyes, I soak in the song’s passionate vocals and sweeping violins. I pull the stupid purple wig off and drop my head into my hands, wishing I were any place else on earth so I could burst into tears.
“Sweetie,” says Suzanne, touching my hand. “What’s wrong?”
“This song,” I say, my voice breaking.
“What about it?”
I start to chuckle in small, agonized gasps that are closer to sobs than laughter. “It was our song. Mine and Cass’s, from the time it was playing on the radio when he gave me a promise ring when we were fifteen, to our first dance at our wedding reception. Every time it came on, he’d tell me he loved me.”
I love you, sweet pea. I’ll love you till the end of time.
I hear his voice exactly as if he’s standing right beside me. Tears, hot and burning, quickly form behind my eyes. Shit—I’m going to cry. I’ve got to get out of this room before I have a meltdown.
But instead of running away when I open my eyes, I freeze, the impulse to flee retracting in one hard, reflexive movement, like a hand clenching to a fist.
Across the dance floor, half-hidden in the shadows of a doorway, stands Theo.
He’s staring right at me.
He’s smiling.
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The room fades to black. Everything and everyone else disappears, and all that remains is him, standing there motionless, gazing at me with his smile so warm and his heart shining so brightly in his eyes.
He’s freshly shaven. It makes the hard angle of his jaw gleam like the edge of a blade. He’s wearing his usual outfit of boots, black leather jacket, and jeans, but his hair has been combed and trimmed. He looks scrubbed. Refreshed.
Knock-out, breath-stealing, uterus-scorching beautiful.
Someone says, “Is that Theo?” Then his name is all over the place, whispered in every corner of the room, an astonished repetition of TheoTheoTheo in dozens of hushed voices, none meant to carry but collectively as loud as a bell.
He moves out from the shadows of the doorway and gracefully crosses the dance floor, his gaze locked on mine. People scurry out of his way as he approaches the table, jostling each other in their hurry to give him room. He stops beside my chair. Without breaking eye contact, he holds out his hand.
When our fingers meet, that familiar zing of static electricity sparks between our skin. He clasps my hand, and I float breathlessly to my feet.
Theo leads me to the middle of the dance floor and takes me in his arms, then we stand there unmoving, staring into each other’s eyes as the music swells to a crescendo and Etta’s voice becomes the soaring soundtrack to the beating of my heart.
I say, “Hi.”
In response, he bends his head to my neck and deeply inhales.
I tighten my arms around his shoulders and hide my face against his chest, not caring that we’ve got hundreds of gaping witnesses. My heart pounds so hard, I can feel it in my fingertips. “You sure know how to make an entrance, Sunshine.”
A low rumble passes through his chest. A chuckle?
He shifts his weight, then we’re gently swaying. Our bodies pressed together, we move slowly in time to the music, as effortless as a sigh.
“I’ve missed you.”
He puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m looking at him, then taps himself on the chest and holds up two fingers. Me too.
“You seem…better.”
He slowly nods. His pupils
