Ten Days of Perfect (4 page)

“Thank you, though I should be the one paying
you
the compliment. That was a killer set; I’d lost all hope of Finnegan’s bringing in someone like you,” my voice was sincere, if not a tad ove
reager, as I searched his eyes.

“Thanks,” he replied, “Josh saw me play a show in New Hampshire a few months ago. He said he liked my sound and would love to have me play here if I was ever in town. Her
e I am.” He faced me as he spoke.
“Where’d you learn to sing like that?”

“My hippie parents that I mentioned before? They instilled a lot of things in me, but my favorite is their love of music. My mom calls my voice ‘my instrument’.
I
t thrilled them that I could hum and sing along to the melodies they played
on
their guitars, banjos, and fiddles…” I trailed off with a smile
,
thinking that despite moving around a lot when I was a child, music had always been my home.

“That’s awesome,” Bo replied.

“How long have you been playing? And, where did
you
learn to sing like that?” I let the smile paint my face.

Bo shrugged with humility, “I started with the piano, when I was little. My parents wanted me to try it, so I did. I got pretty good, but then I found the guitar
attracted
loads more women
.
” He smiled cautiously behind his glass and I let out a full-bodied laugh.

“Fair enough, Mr. Cavanaugh, I’ll toast to that.” We clinked glasses again and
returned our gaze to the ocean.

“Seriously, though. Your voice comes from deep in here,” I patted my stomach to try to illustrate the soul,
“
It’s
captivating.” I didn’t tear my eyes from the water.

“Well, life happens, you know?” I saw him give his head a faint shake out of the corner of my eye, “You take what you get and you use it for what you want.”

I shot him an imploring look and noted that he was staring absently at the sand.
Tortured artist?

“So, Bo, is that short for something?”  I quickly shifted gears. I wanted to reach out and touch him because he was so damned
attractive but I feared that if I did,
he’d scatter into the ocean breeze like the seeds of a long-gone dandelion.

“Bowan, actually.”

“Oh, is Bo just for CD covers, or do you prefer
it
all the time?” I had loosened up in the last three quarters of my pint and decided to turn up the flirt.

“Ha, well, no one’s ever really asked me that. Is Ember just for friends or do
you
prefer it
all the time?”
h
e chided
,
nudging my shoulder with his.

“Ah, I
see.
Bo it is.” I winked as I finished my pint and stood up.

“You heading out?” Bo asked, and stood up a second after me.

“No,” I giggled, “
but
my friends are inside. I only came out for a little air and to bask in the afterglow of your set.”

I wrapped my hand around his forearm for a second, half
- congratulatory and half “let me feel you.” His arms were tight from years spent with his guitar. I dropped my hand as soon as I realized what I was doing, but
he caught it
mid-fall and held it
there,
in the charged space between our bodies. My face heated as electricity transferred from his fingers to mine.
That split-second of silence felt like an eternity
,
and I forgot to breathe.

“Can I join you guys for a drink?” He lifted his empty glass as proof that he needed more.

He let go and stuffed his hand into his pocket.
Why’d he do that?

“Absolutely, they’ll love it
.”
I exhaled as I turned toward the door.

He held the door for me, guiding me by the small of my back with his free hand. I wanted to grab his face and explore it with my lips, but pushed down the thought in favor of a more responsible one.

“There you guys are
. H
ow’s the air outside?” Josh raised an eyebrow in my direction, causing me to subtly shake my head to erase whatever inappropriate
thoughts he
may have had.

“Great breeze right now,” Bo replied.

“Another perfect May day,” I interjected
, “Where are Callie and Sarah?”

“They headed home. It’s just us
four. Let’s
grab that open table.” Monica headed to the back of the pub where a lone booth sat waiting for us. She
slid in and patted her hand on the cushion next to her, looki
ng at me. I slid in,
which
gav
e me full-view of Bo Cavanaugh.

Over the next two hours we sat and talked about music and beer. Josh told Monica and I about the first set he saw Bo pla
y;
he had nearly fist-pumped the air when Bo played an Indigo Girls song, because he knew Monica and I would
love
him. Josh bragged
about
Monica and I to Bo
, telling him
about Princeton
,
while we rolled our eyes in unison. Bo told us he grew up in central New Hampshire and played in a local bar at home nearly every weekend
.
Al
l the while, our feet were intertwined under the table and I caught him stealing lingering glances at me as
he
spoke.

At closing time, Monica
decided
she was going to stick around and wait for Josh to lock up. I hugged them both and thanked Josh again for the awesomeness that was Bo Cavanaugh.

“Can I walk you to your car, Ember?” Bo climbed out of the booth and raised his arms overhead as he stretched his neck side to side.

“That’d be great,” Monica cut in, “Em saw some brawl near her house the other
day. . .
”

“
Monica!
It was nothing, and it was nearly a week ago
. Would
you let it go?” I drew my eyebrows together. Monica had been overly curious about the ‘handsome stranger’, as she named him, and spent the
entire
week pushing me for details that I didn’t have.

Bo stiffened and his eyes curtained with darkness, “What do you mean brawl? Did you get hurt?” The way his voice hung on “hurt” ignited something in me. His husky incantation beckoned my primal senses, and the hair on the back
of my neck stood at attention.

“God, please, don’t worry about it. It was too dark to see anything - I was just in the neighborhood. And it wasn’t really
near
my house.” I forced a smile and put my hand on his lower back as I glared at Monica. “Night J
osh, night Mon.”

Josh waved goodbye while Monica held her pinky and thumb to h
er face, indicating that she wan
ted details about Bo Cavanaugh. As we exited Finnegan’s, Bo once again held the door for me. When I walked by him, I instinctually hooked my arm around his waist and liked the fit. He paused for a second and looked at me with an unreadable expression. He turned and continued walking beside me, wrapping his arm co
mfortably around my shoulders.

“I didn’t think this was a violent
town. Where did this brawl happen exactly
?” Bo
said, scanning the parking lot.

“It’s not. It just happened a couple blocks from where I
live and it’s
r
eally
not a big deal. I think Monica’s jealous she missed out on some action.” I’d tried to lighten the mood but he didn’t
bite.

The moment was sliding through my fingers and I decided to take action. When we got to my car, I leaned my shoulder against it, and he copied my stance. Our hips were almost touching as I ran my thumb across the collar of his leather jacket.

“I had a great time tonight,” I said, “listening to you play, singing with you, talking with you…” I trailed off as I breathed in closer to him
;
now
our hips were touching. His height forced me to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. Our lips were closer now, and I
felt my heart beating in mine.

“The pleasure was all mine, November.” Wow,
November
slid off of his tongue like nectar. He studied my eyes carefully as his hand cradled the back of my neck
.

I tugged with little subtlety, telling him it was OK
.
I wanted his beautifully talented lips to touch mine
,
but he seemed to hesitate. Bo glided his hand away from my neck, down my arm, and paused at the hand I had on his collar. He interlaced his fingers with mine, and a ghost of a grin laced his lips before he slid my arm down his body, resting it on the top of his hips. He released my hand and held my face, staring at me in what can only
be described as baffled wonder.

“You’re incredibly beautiful, November Blue. And so talented. . .” his voice trailed off
as
he brushed an errant str
and of hair away from my eyes.

No guy - or really anyone besides my parents - ever called me November Blue and it sounded so pa
ssionate coming from his mouth.

I swallowed so hard I was sure he could hear it. The moment swayed between us, asking who would go first. The current he sent through me was visible in his eyes. I couldn’t take any more. I stole his hands from my face and forced them to my hips as I hungrily pulled his mouth to mine. Every thought and feeling I had about him over the last several hours exploded through my mouth and tongue as I searched his. This was no ordinary first kiss - it was deeper than any first kiss had ever been in the history of kisses.

His music, his guitar,
his
singing, his eyes - it was all burning through me as I moaned between his parted lips and tightened my fingers through his hair. He released hot, lust-filled air into my mouth as his fingertips slipped inside my back pockets. My anxious hands raked down his sides; when my thumbs found his belt loops, they held on for dear life. The world was vacant outside of us in that moment. His heart drummed through his thin shirt, its cadence match
ing
mine.

I forced myself to take a deep breath before pulling my mouth from his. I placed one final soft kiss
on his lips.

“Wh-why’d you stop?” he stuttered,
searching my face for answers.

Because you completely disarmed me.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” I coyly smiled. I knew he wo
uld be; I’d already asked Josh.

“Uh
. . .
yea, I’ll be playing a set tomorrow.” He se
emed shaken, and I liked that.

His hands remained on m
y hips, mine
thumbs
in his belt loops.

“K, I’ll see you here tomorrow,” I said as I removed my thumbs and grazed them across his tight stomach, “you better get
back inside to get your stuff.”

He let out a chuckle as he gave my hips a tight squeeze and placed a kiss just under my ear lobe.
Why, yes, dessert sounds great. . .

“See you tomorrow, Ember.” He turned and shuffled back to Finnegan’s with his hands in his pockets as I balanced myself against my car.

I listened to “Heaven When We’re Home” twice on the way home from Finnegan’s, and once in front of my apartment. Each time the intro filled my car, my body craved Bo Cavanaugh. I floated up the stairs and poured myself into bed, where I drifted off to the most relaxing sleep I’d had in nights. I woke with a smile on my face and the lingering memory of his kiss on my lips.

I’d forgotten to text Monica when I got home. That was a mistake. My post-first-kiss-smile faded as I saw roughly fifteen “are you ok?!” texts from her on my phone. I called her immediately, lest she send the police knocking.

“Mon, I’m fine. More than fine, his kiss
. . .
”

“November! You may
not
kiss strange men in a parking lot and not let me know you got home safe!” Her tone was the only reminder I needed that I bro
ke the best friend safety pact.

Oops.

“Not strange men
,
Monica, God. Not even strang
e,
it was Bo
. . .
”
his name fluttered in the air for a second before Monica continued her verbal chastising
.

“Well, anyway, spill it!” Monica’s desire for details outweighed her anger.

“On the deck, we just talked. When we walked to my car…”
I trailed off as the memory temporarily satisfied my still-hungry lips
.