Page 29 of Menotte avec toi

“It would wreck mine too.”

As we rounded the corner by the gallery, the first notes of a saxophone reached my ears, and my heart felt giddy as we approached my favorite place in the city. Lit up with fairy lights, with a gazebo placed several feet away from a small amphitheater, it was the site of more impromptu concerts than I could count, seeing as how I came here often.

How weird was it that I’d been so close to the club on so many nights and never even known that it was there? To be fair, I was usually so focused on my muse or looking for the perfect bit of inspiration to enhance something already tumbling around in my head that there were times when I walked blocks past my destination before realizing that I’d forgotten to turn. By happy accident, I discovered the teahouse several blocks from wherewe stood. I’d have to take her some time. The soft atmosphere was warm and inviting, with greenery everywhere and gleaming wood that created little alcoves of privacy, even when all the tables were full. The inside smelled amazing too, and with all the tea blends they carried, I never ran out of the variety I loved. The best part was when they announced new flavors. I was always all over those, eager to try something new, even if the taste turned out to be one I had no interest in drinking again.

“How long has this been here?” My Mistress asked as we drew closer and the low concrete benches on both sides of the gazebo were revealed.

“Years,” I replied. “It was one of my favorite places to sneak out to when I was a teenager. I’d sit on the railing of the gazebo, sketch and listen to music, or sprawl out on one of the benches and draw while different musicians played. That’s Gus on the saxophone, he’s here often. He’s one of my favorites. I can listen to him for hours and sketch the night away. There’s a girl who comes here sometimes with her cello. She’s fabulous too, and oh goddess, the sounds she wrings from that instrument are just divine.”

“Don’t cello pieces tend to be a bit darker than saxophone ones?”

“Not necessarily,” I explained. “It just depends on the player and the mood. Sometimes whole bands show up to play acoustic sets, and that’s awesome too. There’s just something about music at night that has a different feel from the way it hits in daylight. I think maybe it’s because there aren’t many competing sounds. It’s far enough back from the busy storefronts and bars that even traffic sounds are muted, unless someone really lays on their horn.”

I led her to the gazebo, our fingers laced together, swinging between our bodies. A part of me longed to skip a little as themusic washed over us, but I curtailed the impulse to give her time to drink it all in, especially since the gazebo was empty.

A few people sat on scattered benches. Some were watching Gus, while others fiddled with their phones or whatever they held in their hands. One was a fellow artist I’d spoken to from time to time. Tonight, he lay sprawled on a bench, hair spilling over the side as he sketched. I couldn’t place the song Gus started playing as we climbed the gazebo steps, but in my soul I felt like he was playing it just for us.

Soft and romantic.

With the perfect beat for what I longed to do.

“Talk about a hidden gem,” she whispered as I led her to the center, then turned so we were face-to-face. “You and this place are magical.”

“Would you care to add a bit more magic to the moment and dance with me?” I asked, opening my arms as I stepped closer to her.

“It would be my pleasure.”

No other words were needed. Her arms closed around my waist as I stretched my hands up to slide them over her shoulders. Giggling, I recalled the way the chaperones at the few school dances I’d attended had wandered the room tapping couples on the shoulder while suggesting they put space between themselves as they danced.

No one was here to do that tonight.

We melted against each other and swayed, easily getting lost in the song. All the times I’d come here alone to feed my muse has been amazing and was why I kept coming back. But this was the first time I’d brought anyone here, and I was thrilled that it was her.

My Mistress.

The void she’d already begun to fill was one I hadn’t realized was vast, deep, and a little cold. I’d always known it was there.But for most of my life I’d counted on my muse to keep it from drowning me. Slowly, she was beginning to teach me that I didn’t have to fill every moment of my life with my heart.

Melting against her chest, it was easy to drift in the moment, inhale the scent of my lavender body wash clinging to her skin from the shower we’d shared that morning, her hair occasionally tickling my nose as the night’s gentle winds made it flutter. As Gus moved from one song to the next, I got lost in her and another perfect moment of absolute bliss.

Funny how in the short time I’d known her, she’d already been able to give me several of those and a wealth of beautiful new memories to draw from whenever I felt sad. Even after Gus tucked his saxophone back in the case, we continued to sway, simply enjoying the opportunity to be in each other’s arms.

“Thank you for this,” she said as we finally drew apart. “I can’t remember the last time I danced with anyone, and never like this.”

“If you don’t mind walking another few blocks, there’s a little bakery and sweet shop that’s open late. Their strawberry shortcakes and fruit tarts are amazing. I’d love to share a little late-night dessert with you.”

“How do you find these places?” she asked. “I have a hard time finding good takeout, let alone a bakery at this hour.”

“Wandering,” I explained. “Back when I was in art school, I’d drop in a few times a week and get a box of pastries to nibble while I was working on my projects. Two doors down from it is a little bookstore that’s open until ten on Saturdays. They hold wine tastings there and open mic nights. Listening to them was always as much of an inspiration as drinking in the sights, so I drop in there a few times a month and usually wind up filling several pages in my sketchbook.”

“Fruit tarts and strawberry shortcake sound like a wonderful way to wrap up the evening,” she replied, my hand firmly heldin hers. “Lead the way. Dare I say you are starting to become my muse?”

“How so?”

“By inspiring me to step outside of the club and the duties I’ve been focused on for years to finally start living life again,” she explained. “And by reminding me that there are so many little things I’ve overlooked these past few years. I’m starting to see that I might have been growing a bit jaded after narrowing my focus on business for so long.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“You, jaded? Kitten I just don’t see it.”

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