Page 53 of Meet Me at the Metro

Theo graciously carries my crutches for me as I hold onto the railing beside me for support and take light, cautious footsteps up the staircase. When we reach the top of the steps, he hands them back to me and watches me carefully until he’s sure I’m steady.

As we open the music hall’s door leading to the second-story seating, I am taken aback by its beauty. We stride toward the oval-shaped balcony that circles the perimeter of the small auditorium. My hands skim against the metal railing along its edges, and I quietly admire the twinkling string lights hanging from the arched ceiling above. I give myself a few minutes to soak in the image of the antique concert hall, appreciating every single detail my eyes come across, from the solid oak benches that line the walls to the old beige paint beginning to chip away and tarnish inside the hall.

Even with its flaws, I can’t seem to get over its timeless charm.

Leaning over the railing, I peep down to the floor below us, taking in the brightly lit stage. Its deep red curtains hang wide open as the young woman performing on its central platform finishes singing the last few bars of‘Don’t Rain on My Parade.’ People in the audience gathered around the stage clap and cheer as the song ends, and so easily, I find myself doing the same.

“I knew you’d enjoy this,” Theo whispers.

I look at him and smile, mouthing the only words I can think to speak, “Thank you.”

He nods and forces his eyes back on the stage.

“Thank you. Thank you, everyone.” The singer’s voice echoes through the microphone, politely acknowledging the crowd’s applause. “We’ll take it slow with this next one...”

With that, the performer gives one look back to the piano player, who takes his cue and begins playing the soft intro of the next song. I immediately recognize the tune, and as I watch the musician’s fingers work against the ivory keys below, I can’t help but wonder how good it’d sound to hear Theo play it.

The vocal performer’s melodic and warm voice fills the auditorium as she begins singing the first verse of the song. “Funny. Did you hear that? Funny. Yeah, the guy said, ‘Honey, you’re a funny girl’...”

I can’t even attempt to keep my grin hidden. I’m certain that Theo knewjusthow much he would be helping me by bringing me here tonight. I can feel his eyes lingering on me, and when I finally dare to glance over at him, my heart melts to see the content smile on his face.

And this…

This is what I can’t seem to understand. How can a simple smile take me away from every bit of worry that invaded my mind just an hour ago? Why do I yearn to discover all the ways I can keep evoking it?

Theo tries to come off so refrained and callous, but I see between the cracks—how tender and solicitous he truly is. He didn’t even have to try to pull me away from my anxious thoughts, and he didn’t need to ask where to take me tonight because he already knew just what I needed. It’s proof that he doesn’t overlook me the way he’d have me believe—the way he’s tried convincinghimselfto believe.

“That’s me. I just keep them in stitches, doubled in half. And though I may be all wrong for a guy, I’m good for a laugh…”

Themelody and chords echoing around us stir up so many emotions inside of me, and as I immerse myself in this moment, I have complete clarity.

Theo sees me clearly—so clearly that it’s terrifying.

Terrifying because I’d let him see every single ugly, vulnerable thing about me if he chose to.

Despite my initial apprehension, I move closer beside him and let my head lean against his firm body. The contact between us has my heartbeating wickedly in my chest. The chemistry between us is palpable, evident every time our skins brush against one other and set my thoughts on fire.

Theo fights it for a moment, his body tensing up beside mine. It’s almost enough to have me pulling away, but he finally relaxes his muscles and lets this thing between us exist.

I can’t quite pin the relief I suddenly feel giving way in my chest.

My breath hitches when his strong arms envelop me, and as his hands settle against my waist, my stomach swirls with an unrecognizable elation. I do my best to hold a calm composure despite the way my brain hyper-focuses on the sensation of his touch. When his fingertips find my stomach—tracing lazy, soft strokes against my skin—my head becomes dizzy, and my collectedness collapses.

There’s a tremble in my breath as I convince myself to look up into his eyes, and the second I do, I’m pretty sure I’m ruined because...

Those eyes—his striking gray-blue eyes.

They’ve had such an influence on me since the first day I saw them.

I know he feels the weight of this influence fixed between us, too, because he quickly averts his gaze despite the glaze of eagerness I swore was in it just a blink ago.

He’s fighting this so damn hard.

Desperation pervades me, and longing claws at the back of my mind, begging my hands to reach out and touch him.

I can’t fight this anymore.

My hands draw his eyes back to me and urge him to let us have this moment instead of pushing it away the way we always seem to do.

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