Page 95 of Ten Years and Then…
Nora, three minutes later
It was a good thing she didn’t gamble. Nora would have bet everything she owned that Daniel Keller would never, ever voluntarily go up on stage at a karaoke bar.
But here he was, the songbook in one hand, his other hand clutching hers tightly.
“That’s it,” he was telling the emcee. “Number 204.”
The emcee clapped his hands. “I love it! You’ll bring the house down.”
“Are you going to tell me what we’re singing?”
Daniel shook his head. “You’ll see.”
“How do I know what my part is?”
“You’ll know.” This was a whole new side to him. She didn’t have a clue what song he’d picked.
And then the microphone was in her hand, and the music started. “I don’t believe you!” It was brilliant—and, again, something she would never in a million years have guessed he would pick.
Daniel launched straight into the first verse of Don’t You Want Me, looking her in the eye as he sang. His voice was—well, it was pretty bad, honestly, but it was loud and clear. She didn’t know how he wasn’t laughing his head off as he sang about pulling her out of a cocktail bar and how easy success was for her.
Then her verse came, and she didn’t need to follow the words on the screen; how many times had she heard this on the radio back in high school?
She didn’t expect to hear her voice break when she sang about still loving him, or for him to hug her when it happened.
When they got to the end, she did expect his kiss, and she returned it, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t hearing the crowd or the emcee or anything else as they stood up there on the stage wrapped up in each other, any more than she did.
Chapter 29
After Midnight—Kansas City, MO
Daniel, July 17, ten minutes after midnight
They were in his room at the Marriott. Nora’s room was three floors above him; they’d flipped a coin to decide where to go.
“You’ve got a bigger TV than I do,” she said. “And a better view. I’m looking down at the parking lot.”
They’d been talking like this since they got here, dancing around anything meaningful. She probably didn’t know what to think, or what she wanted now, any more than he did.
That wasn’t true. He wanted to make love with her, and he was sure she did, too.
But if they did, what would it mean? They’d said their goodbyes at his graduation, two years ago. He didn’t want to mess things up, or make them more complicated, or—he didn’t even know what.
“Daniel,” she said, sitting on the bed and motioning for him to join her. “We don’t have that much time. I don’t want to waste it.” He sat next to her, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “I don’t know what I want. I never imagined I’d see you here.”
“Me neither.” He’d never actually pictured running into Nora. “I didn’t dare think about it.” He thought about Nora every day, every day for twenty-six months, but he’d never actually given any thought to what a meeting with her would be like, where and when it could happen.
Now she was looking at him, and holding his hands in hers. “I know what you mean. I couldn’t let myself imagine how we might find each other. It would’ve hurt too much. I didn’t even try to find out what company you were working at.”
Just like he hadn’t looked into where she’d gone after graduation. It wouldn’t have been hard to do, but then it would have been torture every day having to not call her, not write her, not buy a plane ticket to fly to her.
“We’re still not—whatever it is we’re supposed to be, are we?” She didn’t answer; she just nodded her head ever so slightly, and squeezed his hands harder, waiting for him to go on. “I wish I was. But even if I was, how would it work? I don’t think either one of us is ready to quit our jobs and move a thousand miles.”
Especially not after this conference, when he was earning the respect of his team, and she was scoring interviews with leading scientists and tech executives.
And yet, if she asked him to, he’d do it. He’d give Mr. Kincaid two weeks notice, apologize to Jeff, pack up his boxes and take his chances in Boston. But she would never ask it, any more than he would of her.
“So where does that leave us?” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. He could feel how much it hurt her to say it. Just as much as it hurt him to answer her.
