37

The trio on the small, intimate stage consisted of piano, guitar and bass. They were playing “Sweet Lorraine,” a signature Nat King Cole piece, and they were doing it the way it was supposed to be done. The sound was upbeat and lovely. But it wasn’t having its usual effect on him, Harry thought. It wasn’t taking him to that special place.

He swallowed some of his beer and settled deeper into the cushions. Last Exit was only lightly crowded tonight. He and Arcadia were seated in what had become their usual booth.

“You got a lot of regrets about the way things turned out?” he said.

What he really wanted to ask was,Are you sorry that you’re sleeping with a guy like me instead of one of those classy executive types you went with when you were in the big time?But he wasafraid to say the words out loud. He didn’t want to corner her. In his experience, you had to take the moment and not look too far ahead.

She met his eyes across the top of her martini glass and he knew immediately that she had understood the question behind the question. Sometimes it seemed like they could almost read each other’s minds.

“No,” she said. “Not a single one.”

She put her glass down, leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Harry.”

A sensation for which he had no words unfurled inside him.

“I love you.” The words sounded rusty in his mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he had used them. Maybe never.

She touched his cheek. “I love you, too. You’re my soul mate, Harry.”

The music finally started to go to work, taking him to that special place.

He knew then that this new feeling did have a name, after all. This was what folks meant when they talked about being happy.

He reached across the table and took Arcadia’s hand. Her fingers intertwined tightly with his. They sat close together and let the music sweep them away.