Page 24 of Love By the Book
“And this happens enough in romance novels to be a trope?”
She gives a dramatic gasp and places a hand over her chest. “Don’t tell me you’ve never read romance?”
I shuffle my spoon through the grits. “I can’t say it’s my primary genre.”
“Those are basically relationship manuals. Read a man-written-by-a-woman and you’ll understand so much.”
“Well, I’m open to the idea if you have a suggestion. I’m usually reading folklore.”
“Ha.” She grins so her eyes squeeze together. “I can find the perfect romance for you. Trust me, I’m able to match people with just the right book. Give me a few weeks to really think about it and I’ll bring you one.”
“I can’t wait.”
We’ve both leaned in across the table. Her skin is luminous in the lamplight. The sun has disappeared and everything outside is blue, making her face the brightest thing. It might have been true before the lights dimmed.
“Maybe I shouldn’t give up on dating so quickly,” I say. If I quit the matchmaking service, I give up having an excuse to spend time with Rhianna.
She licks her lips which is excruciatingly distracting. “What you need is a more laid-back approach. I have an idea.” Even before she explains, I already know I’ll say yes. “I’m going with some friends toTheTipsy Mermaidtonight. Why don’t you come with us?”
My heart leaps at the invitation even as my mind spirals through a dozen potential excuses. I’m not typically a ‘last-minute plans’ kind of man. In fact, the idea usually sends me into a mild panic. No time to mentally prepare, no idea what to expect, no exit strategy if it all goes awkwardly sideways.
AndThe Tipsy Mermaid? That name alone sounds like a sensory overload waiting to happen.
But the thought of spending more time with Rhianna overrides the noise in my head. It’s irrational. Entirely out of character. And yet… I don’t want to say no.
“The Tipsy Mermaid?” I ask. “Let me guess, it’s a nautical-themed bar where the bartenders wear seashell bras?”
“So close, Lancaster.” Rhianna’s earrings dance as she shakes her head. “No seashell bras, but it is a bar.” She pauses, her grin slowly spreading wider. “A karaoke bar. It would be a great opportunity for you to meet some people without the pressures of one-on-one dating?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I actually grew up taking vocal lessons. Not for my sake, but because Piper wanted them and was too scared to go by herself. Singing I can do. Karaoke, though?
The thought of getting up on a stage, with all eyes on me and a microphone in my hand, makes my chest tighten. My palms are already damp. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I can practically feel the heat of the lights, the silence of the crowd just before the music starts, the pressure to begood, or at leastnotembarrassing.
What if I miss a note? What if my voice cracks? What if I forget the lyrics entirely and just stand there while everyonestares and wonders how someone so clearly uncomfortable ended up in front of a karaoke machine in the first place?
The logical part of my brain tells me I can do this—I’ve sung before, in lessons, in recitals, even in front of strangers. But that was different. That was structured. Controlled. This is public vulnerability disguised as entertainment.
But then I look at Rhianna’s expectant face, her warm brown eyes twinkling with excitement, I nod.
“You know what? Why not?”
Rhianna fist pumps the air in a way that’s entirely inappropriate for the setting which makes it only that much more charming. “Perfect! Trust me, Eli, you’re going to love it. We are going to have the best time tonight!”
My heart stutters over thatwe. It’s just a word, two letters, and yet it sends a rush of warmth through me. Like it might be just enough to keep me from having a panic attack.
As we finish our meal and prepare to head out, I’m filled with a lightness that doesn’t match the situation. Eli Lancaster does not go to karaoke bars. He doesn’t sing in front of people. He doesn’t make last-minute plans.
Well, Eli Lancaster didn’t. Eli Lancaster with Rhianna Wilder, though?
That man, it seems, is capable of anything.
“So,” I ask as we step out into the cooling evening air, “what’s your go-to karaoke song? Let me guess, something by Fleetwood Mac?”
Rhianna links her arm through mine. The casual contact sends another jolt through me. I hope she doesn’t notice how my breath catches. “You know me so well already,” she says. “But I like to keep people guessing. You’ll just have to wait and see. Now, go home and change. I’ll meet you at the bar at nine?”
“Nine o’clock.”
She gives my arm a squeeze before parting ways. I struggleto tear my gaze from her retreating form, to force myself to keep walking.
