Page 15 of At First Smile

“Alex is a pediatric oncologist at the hospital where I work. He’s ten years older, good looking, accomplished, and charming.

We’d run into each other at the coffee cart and chat.

There was some flirting. I work with the Gifts and Volunteer Department.

We coordinate fund raising, annual gifts from donors, and the hospital’s volunteer program.

I’m the volunteer coordinator but dabble in just about everything. ”

“Of course, you dabble in everything. I’m not surprised. You’re utterly impressive with your many talents.” His praise is like a breathy kiss from the sun, warming my body.

“Thanks.” I continue, ignoring the heat flushing my cheeks.

“He approached me during a fundraiser in July and asked me out. It was a bit of a whirlwind. JoJo called it love bombing. He had all these over-the-top romantic gestures. Flowers sent to my office a few times a week. Lavish romantic dates at fancy restaurants. Surprise weekend getaways. Lots of gifts and sweet words.”

His head tilts. “Love bombing?”

“It’s when someone attempts to influence or manipulate you by showering you with attention.”

He leans against the chair’s hard back. “And he did that?” It’s almost a snarl.

“He tried.” I sigh. “I let it blind me. No pun intended. Aunt Bea was getting worse. For so long, she was my entire world. I think the fear of losing her made me cling to the idea of something with Alex, ignoring the red flags.”

“What red flags?”

I lean against the chair’s hard back, letting it bolster me.

“He always seemed to know where I was, showing up and acting like it was a coincidence. He’d chalk it up to this cosmic connection he insisted we had.

He constantly texted, wanting to know what I was doing.

I always put Cane Austen in the same place, but she’d somehow get moved when we were on trips together or I was at his place, so I’d be forced to do human guide with him until I found her.

He’d shrug saying the maid must have moved her or that I must have been so tired from the previous night that I misplaced her. ”

“Fucking bastard,” he hisses.

“That he is.” My mouth forms a firm line. “I broke up with him after he proposed to me in front of half the hospital during our annual New Year’s Eve gala.”

The memory slams into me. Alex’s seethed protest, “You’re lucky that someone like me wants you,” echoes in my still angry heart. Teeth gritted, the velvet box clutched in his hand, as he snarled insults at me counting all the ways I should be grateful that he wants to take care of me.

“I wasn’t ready to get married. As blinded as I was to who Alex was until then, I knew my head wasn’t in the right space for marriage.

It had barely been a month since Aunt Bea died.

In the aftermath, it came out that he was more concerned about his reputation than me.

He wanted me for all the wrong reasons. He thought the blind woman with my nice girl reputation and minimal notoriety as a disability advocate would boost his profile.

He also thought he could control me…still does. ”

“Still?” Electricity akin to a raging thunderstorm radiates off Rowan.

“He sent flowers almost daily and magically appeared at places when I was out. I blocked him on all social media and don’t post my photos when I’m in SoCal until after I’ve left that location.

He still showed up. JoJo used her sleuthing skills to discover he’d linked my phones to an app that locates friends who’ve given you permission to track them.

” I sip my drink, letting the alcohol wet my drying throat.

“I never gave him access. He’d found out my passcode, broke into my phone, and linked our phones without me knowing. ”

“I’ll fucking destroy him.” Rowan shuffles, like he wants to stand and go after Alex, as if the man was in the room.

I grab his arm to settle him down. “I understand the sentiment, but you’ll have to get in line behind JoJo and Trina. They have first dibs and very elaborate plans for his demise.”

“I like your bicoastal besties.”

“I think they’d like you.” I squeeze his corded forearm.

“It’s all good, though. He’s tapered off.

Outside the random run-ins at the hospital, I don’t see him.

I got a new phone and changed my number to be on the safe side.

Our department’s secretary has designated himself as guard dog to keep him away. ”

“I know men like Alex, all snake charmers. They flash their golden boy good looks and open smiles and take advantage of the vulnerable.”

Vulnerable? I shift in my seat, crossing my legs.

I know it’s why Alex chose me. The statistics don’t lie.

Women with disabilities experience physical and emotional abuse in relationships at higher rates than able-bodied women.

While he never laid a finger on me, there was manipulation, grooming, and control.

“He saw someone in pain and pounced. You were grieving. Even if your Aunt Bea hadn’t died yet, your heart was preparing to lose her.” He swipes his hand over his face. “I know JoJo and Trina have first dibs, but I call the scraps.”

A grin takes over my face. “I’ll let them know.” I wince. “God, why do I keep emotionally oversharing with you?”

“Isn’t that what you do on dates? I’ll admit that it’s been a while since I went on a proper date, so I’m out of practice.”

“When was your last date?”

“A year ago.”

“You haven’t been with anyone in a year?” I gape.

“I didn’t say that” he scoffs and then let’s out an annoyed breath telegraphing that he hadn’t planned to share that.

I pick up my glass and feign nonchalance, ignoring the twist in my belly at the idea of Rowan with anyone else. “So, just one-night stands and friends with benefits type of arrangements I take it.”

“Something like that.” He raps his knuckles against the table. “Nobody since January. I’ve been focused on work.”

“The pub?”

“And–”

“Evening, folks.” Harley’s velvety baritone steals Rowan’s words. “We have a special treat tonight. There’s a celebrity in our mix.”

Spine rigid, Rowan’s gaze jumps to Harley. His lean frame, washed in the yellow radiance of a single pendant light, leans against a stool atop the small stage in the corner. An acoustic guitar dangles in front of him and his hands wrap around a standing mic.

Rowan grabs my hand, pulling my vision to him. It’s dark in here, outside of the soft incandescence of mini chandeliers in random spots throughout the bar area. I purposely picked a table directly under one, knowing the extra light would boost my limited sight.

Rowan’s mouth, visible from beneath his hat’s brim, forms a firm line. “Pen, I–”

But Harley continues, “For those who don’t know tonight we have Ms. Pen Meadows in the audience. Pen is not only a well-known social media influencer?—”

My body bristles. I’m hardly an influencer. Cane Austen and Me is more advocacy, less influence, at least in the traditional sense.

“—but is also a championship singer. Pen, I know I said I’d let you think about it but in my experience overthinking things leads to regrets. Care to join me for a song?”

My head twists, following the whistles, claps, and cheers that sound around the room.

“Just one song.” A self-assured smugness coats his playful crone.

Rowan takes my hand. “You don’t have to. I can kill him. We can go.”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “No, I’ll do it.” I stand up.

Rowan’s hand remains linked with mine, stopping my steps. “You don’t have to do this for him.”

My eyes fix on Rowan. “I know.”

Harley is an ass. There’s no doubt in my mind. I knew it mere minutes into the conversation with him. The red flags that I ignored with Alex rippled violently in the hot air swooshing out of Harley’s mouth. But he’s right about one thing.

No regrets. Bending, I press the softest kiss to the corner of Rowan’s lips. “This isn’t for him,” I whisper.

Unfolding Cane Austen, I stride – head high – towards the stage. Harley reaches out his hand and helps me up the small step to the stage.

“You’re an asshole,” I say through a tight smile.

Hand covering the mic, he murmurs, “I’m very self-aware. Plus, I never had a shot with you anyways, but maybe this will make tall, broody, and handsome over there jealous enough to make his move.”

My eyes widen.

“My aunt loves playing matchmaker with the guests, and I help her from time-to-time. Let’s make Whitney Houston proud and that man salivate.”

“She should call you sneaky Ed Sheeran instead of sexy.” Laughing, I position myself in front of the mic.

He lets out a hissed groan, “Ugh, she didn’t call me that, did she?”

Flashing a sassy smirk, my fingers wrap around the mic’s smooth handle. I glance around the bar. Snatches of murmured conversation interrupt the quiet expectation of waiting patrons, their faces blurred in the distance and obscured in the room’s dim light.

My gaze drags toward Rowan, his hands flat on the table and eyes on me. I can’t see them, but I feel their heat scoring into me. “This is for Rowan,” I murmur with Harley’s slow strum of the first notes of “I Wanna Dance with Somebody”.

My stare remains tethered to Rowan. Fire blazes along my skin with the charged space between us. Each word is sung only for him. In a slow dance, my body moves in cadence with Harley’s languid guitar melody.

I yearn for Rowan’s rough hands on my hips guiding me in a gentle sway, his front pressed against my back and hot breath promising kisses below the shell of my ear as I sing.

Those hands roaming over my dress’s soft material and letting the entire room know that while I sing about wanting someone to dance with, he’s that someone.

With the last note, the room erupts in claps and whistles, piercing the heady sensation that glazed over me as I sang. A small smile, a little bashful, covers my features. Taking a quick bow, I turn and offer Harley a brief hug.