The rooftop of the city’s largest mall had been transformed into a luminous wonderland. Light spilled from everywhere—soft spotlights, paper lanterns, and fairy lights cascading from tree branches. Slim-backed, wrought iron chairs clustered around candle-lit tables covered in white linen. It looked like something straight out of a page of Bridal Fair that for a moment, Caleb wondered if they’d come to the right place.
“You’re not wearing a bowtie.” Tara slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, and looked up at him with twinkling eyes. “I wanted to see what color you’d wear tonight.”
He replied with a shrug. Before Tara picked him up, his mom had fussed over him as if it were his prom night. She would’ve been shocked to find out that her son owned a collection of bowties.
“You still look great though.” He felt Tara’s gaze rake over his white polo tucked into dark jeans. It was the result of an argument he won over his mom, who had insisted that the “smart casual” attire stamped on the concert invitation merited slacks.
“Uh, thanks,” he mumbled. “You, too.”
To his surprise, a blush crept across her already glowing cheeks. The truth was Tara looked phenomenal. She had made the effort to brush her eyelids with a color that reminded him of midnight. Her hair was loosely bundled in a chignon, and her skin glowed in a crocheted cream dress that grazed her knees. Beside her, Caleb felt like a dishrag.
“I asked Dad’s secretary to reserve us a table with a good view of the stage, but not too near the speakers so we won’t go deaf.” She looked up at the starless sky. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”
The seats were perfect, providing a sweeping view of the stage. A server glided over to them to recite the menu from appetizers to dessert. When they’d given their orders, Tara asked for a glass of wine. She turned to Caleb with an impish smile. “You?”
“Just water, please,” he said stiffly to the waiter.
With the arrival of more guests, the hum of lively chatter increased. An elderly couple came to their table, asking if they could join them. Tara smile, nodding.
“Good evening,” the silverhaired woman beamed at Caleb and sat down on the chair her husband had pulled out for her. As he watched the couple exchange a private smile, Caleb felt a small ache in his chest.
They had finished their soup and salad when the orchestra members entered the stage. Dressed in white tops and black bottoms, the musicians settled in their seats, and began testing their instruments. The cacophony of practice notes was enough to send chills down Caleb’s spine. Ginny had recently told him about his “quiet confidence.” But as he watched the musicians silently going about their business, oblivious to the crowd watching them, Caleb knew that their brand of confidence was the real thing.
The conductor tapped his baton on the stand, and instantly, the musicians snapped to attention. There was a moment of silence as the conductor suspended the baton in the air. When he set down his hand, the music commenced. Caleb forgot everything else, including the reason that brought him here.
He had always been in love with classical music, but pop music had its undeniable charm. When interpreted with woodwinds, brass, percussion and strings, the songs took on a timeless appeal—as if they’d been composed centuries ago, instead of only a few years or months back.
He was so taken with the performance that his eyes strayed from the stage only once. They landed on Tara’s profile watching the musicians, eyes transfixed, lips slightly parted. Caleb felt his heart soften.
When intermission came, the musicians put down their instruments and exited the stage. On an impulse, Caleb leaned toward Tara and touched her arm. “This is awesome. Thank you for inviting me.”
She turned to him, face flushed. “I can’t imagine watching this with anyone else but you.”
From the corner of his eye, Caleb could see the elderly couple smiling at them. He pulled back his hand in embarrassment, and grabbed the glass in front of him. He drained the water, willing it to cool his cheeks.
“Is this seat taken?’
Amidst his roiling emotions, the voice was the last thing Caleb expected. He lifted his chin and saw the last person he expected to see.
Wearing a cheeky grin, a dark coat and jeans that hugged his slim but muscled frame was Franco. On his head was a black-and-white checked ska hat, its brim wound with a bright red sash.
Deep breaths, Caleb commanded himself. It’s just Franco. He means nothing to you.
“What are you doing here?” Tara asked sharply, her face lined with irritation.
Franco grinned. “We just got here, and they gave our seats to someone else,” He gestured to the two empty chairs beside Tara. “These are the only ones left.”
“But I wanted . . .” Tara’s eyes flew to Caleb’s before sliding back to Franco. “Fine,” she relented. “Where’s Drew?”
In reply, Franco walked over to a couple of tables away where Drew stood as rigid as a soldier, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the empty stage. When Franco touched his arm and spoke into his ear, his face remained unchanged.
Caleb watched their slow progress until they finally reached the table. As Franco sat down beside Tara, Drew bent to press his cheek against Tara’s. After curtly nodding at Caleb, he took the seat beside Franco.
“Why are you guys late?” Tara hissed.
“My fault,” Franco said cheerfully. His arm was hidden beneath the table, but judging from its movement, Caleb guessed that he was trying to claim Drew’s hand. And judging from the quick jerk of Drew’s elbow, Franco had been denied. “I took a nap and didn’t wake up on time. My phone was on silent mode so I didn’t hear the alarm or Drew’s calls.”
“Franco.”
“I know, I know. Sorry.” He straightened up and called for a waiter. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the show.”
When the musicians resumed playing, Franco dug into his food while Drew listlessly poked at his salad. Caleb tried not to stare as Franco draped an arm around Drew, who shifted in his seat to deflect the move. The elderly man beside Caleb frowned.
When the last song had been played, Franco gathered Tara into a tight hug and patted Caleb on the back. “We’ll go ahead,” he said. Drew didn’t even say goodbye as he followed Franco.
Without talking, Tara and Caleb walked through the garden of lights, entered the glass elevator, and emerged into the open parking lot. After calling for the driver, Tara turned to him. “Sorry about Franco and Drew. I’m used to the drama, but it can get too much for a first-time witness.”
Franco was no longer his business, but Caleb couldn’t help asking, “Are they always like that?”
“Not always. They’re sickeningly sweet when it’s smooth sailing. But they also have these small fights”—she rolled her eyes—“a lot.”
Not quite the perfect couple then, Caleb thought, gazing up at the moon. It, too, was imperfect tonight. A sliver of light was missing from its cheek.
“Are you busy next weekend?”
The question threw him off course. “Why?” His own question sounded like a bullet, swift and defensive.
“That new Chris Hemsworth flick is showing,” she said tentatively. “Are you up for it?”
Again, Caleb looked skyward. Still no stars. The clouds had formed a thick blanket of haze.
“I can’t,” he said finally.
He saw her shoulders sag before she squared them again. “Friday night? Or maybe the weekend after this?”
Maybe the air contained courage, Caleb thought, drinking mouthfuls of it. His voice came out as a whisper. “Sorry.”
She clutched his elbow and he had no choice but to meet her eyes. They were filled with confusion.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
He shook his head.
“Then are you saying you don’t want . . .” Her voice choked halfway, but she managed to continue, “You don’t want to go out with me?”
Her question was so direct that this time, it felt like he was the one who had taken a bullet. He looked away and said nothing.
Between them, the silence churned, eventually broken by Tara’s SUV humming into a stop in front of them.
“I’ll take a cab,” said Caleb.
“Don’t be silly.” Tara hopped off the pavement, avoiding his eyes. “I promised your mom.”
During the ride home, the rain finally fell.