Page 32 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

“Magic, huh?” My mom shot me a look that I studiously ignored. No doubt she wanted to know why I’d never mentioned this magician.

“He treats this place like it’s his living room,” Sean said. “Just shows up at all hours of the day and night ‘to clear his head and chill with good people.’” Sean used air quotes. “When he’s not gigging at every random café on the Lower East, he's here making cappuccinos and washing dishes.”

My panicked gaze darted to the front door. He could show up at any moment. “We should get go?—”

“What kind of music?” my mom asked Sean.

Sean leaned back in his seat like he was settling in for the night. “Hell, if I know. It’s different on any given night. Sometimes it feels like a cabaret in here. He does everything from original music to Nina Simone, Led Zep, Dylan… I think he’d be right up your alley.”

“Sean!” the barista yelled over the hiss of the cappuccino machine. “Clive’s on the phone.”

He stood and put his hand on my mom’s shoulder. “I need to take this. But stick around for a while. I’d love to catch up.”

After Sean left, I wagged my brows at my mom. “Helikesyou.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve known each other for years.”

“Yeah, but he’s divorced and you’re single so…”

She laughed again and swatted my arm. “Stop playing matchmaker.” But I was pretty sure she was blushing. “Tell me about this musician. Is he really that good?”

I sighed. All roads led to Gabriel Francis. “Yes. He’s that good.”

“Why haven’t you ever mentioned him?”

I took a sip of my cappuccino to buy some time. “Because I…he’s…I mean…” I flapped my hand in the air, suddenly incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

She raised her brows. “So it’s like that?”

“No. It’s not likethat. He’s Annika’s ex. I barely know the guy.” I shrugged. “Besides, he’s not my type.”

Not sure why I’d felt the need to add that, but no sooner were the words out than the front door flew open, and in waltzed Gabriel.

I quickly averted my head and took refuge behind a curtain of hair, silently praying he wouldn’t notice me if I continued staring at the wall.

It had been three months since he and Annika broke up. He’d probably forgotten all about me by now.

“Gabriel,” the barista singsonged. I think her name was Karen. “Coffee? Or is it wine time?”

They laughed like it was an inside joke.

Maybe he was sleeping with Karen, and she was plying him with free wine and shots of whiskey. I’ll bet Karen loved every song he wrote and never criticized his music. She probably worshipped the ground he walked on.

Why couldn’t I be Karen? A happy-go-lucky barista who was free to pursue the Monday night magician.

“Are you hiding from me, Cleo?”

I released a breath and squeezed my eyes shut as if I could make him disappear. But no, there he was, crouched next to my chair with an amused smile on his face. His hair was longer, sticking out of a black beanie and touching his collar, and his cheeks were ruddy from the cold, but other than that, he looked the same.

Ridiculously long lashes. Pouty lips. The face of a romantic poet.

He’s not your type.

Oh yeah? Then why am I so attracted to him?

He smiled, and his whole face lit up as if he was so happy to see me, he couldn’t contain all the joy. “Hi. I’ve missed your face.”

“Hi.”I’ve missed yours too.