Page 8 of After All

“I’m heading to the drink to grab a bar.” His face contorts with confusion, and he chuckles, embarrassed to have mixed up the words. “You’d never know I use words for a living. What I mean is I’m going to the bar to grab a drink. Can I grab you something, Amelie?”

I smile and dissociatively feel my head nodding and realize yet again that I’m doing it before I can even think. “Sure. I’d love a glass of pinot noir.”

“Wine coming right up,” he says as he stands and makes his way to the small bar for the VIPs.

Chapter 5

Amelie

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” Suzette stares at me like she’s never seen me before.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Suze. I’m flabbergasted. Flummoxed, really.”

“You touched him. Voluntarily.”

“That’s not even the half of it,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

“What do you mean?”

“When he first walked up to me, he brushed his fingers against my back and rested his hand on my shoulder, and I?—”

“You what?!”

My eyes may never close again from sheer shock, and I’m not sure how to articulate what I’m thinking and feeling. “I…didn’t hate it.”

I whisper the last three words, and Suzette’s eyes blink like they’re connected to a metronome, in perfect rhythm, seven or eight times.

“Wow…” she responds quietly.

If anyone heard our conversation, they’d probably think we were making a mountain out of a molehill, but the truth remains that my reaction is entirely surprising. Carter sinks into the chair he just vacated moments before and transfers a stemless wine glass into my hand.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” I sip nervously from the glass, making sure I don’t spill any on my sweater. “You said you use words for a living. Are you a writer?”

“Yeah. I write for my guys and sometimes with Charlie,” he says as he points to the stage with the same hand that holds his cocktail.

“You know Charlie?” I ask. “He’s my cousin.”

“I know. He told me you were here and asked me to come introduce myself.”

Oh my god, how mortifying! Charlie sent him over here? He didn’t come on his own? He probably doesn’t even want to be over here.

Oblivious to my embarrassment, he continues. “We met a few years back, and he’s taken a lot of time with me over the past year, helping me get into bigger writing workshops.”

I smile at that. Charlie is nothing if not a teacher and helper at heart. I always thought he’d teach music if the professional gig hadn’t turned out to be anything.

It turned out to be something, alright.

A big something.

“Oh. You’re a songwriter.”

“Among other things.”

“Well, that one thing seems really interesting.”

“It can be.”

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