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There’s a man watching you from across the bar.
You’d come to have a drink and chat with your best friend Posey as you do every Saturday night as she served drinks at the shabby little joint that’s one of the only places your tiny town can go for entertainment. It’s good enough fun, a little boozin’ and a little dancing with your friends or the men who you know well enough to trust not to try and get fresh with you. But it’s also routine, sometimes almost painfully so, and so it takes you no time at all to notice the new pair of eyes on you.
You sneak peeks now and then in between sips of your drink, trying not to be as obvious as he is. He’s handsome, a little-old fashioned maybe, as far as his clothes go, but it gives him a certain charm. At first glance you’d never peg him for the type to wander into a place like this, but he’s comfortable and relaxed, or at least looks that way, as if he’s no stranger at all. But he is, you’re certain of it, because Posey’s never seen him, and if Posey hasn’t seen someone, they’ve never stepped foot in this town before.
She’d hurried over to you as soon as he’d ordered his whiskey, whispering in your ear. “He likes you.”
“Wha—don’t start, he’s been here two minutes,” you whisper back.
She pulls back, but doesn’t let up. “And he ain’t looked away from you since he sat down.”
You resist the urge to look back over at him. You might be interested, but you’d rather die than look desperate. “Well, why doesn’t he come on over?”
“Maybe he’s shy,” she says, clicking her tongue. “Poor thing. He’s awful cute, though, ain’t he? I like that. The sweet and quiet type.”
You’re not so sure. Quiet seems to be right so far, but a man’s sweetness can’t be judged until you know him. And sometimes, by the time you know him well enough to realize the sugar is fake, it’s much too late.
“You should talk to him,” she encourages, and you roll your eyes as you finish off your glass.
“I think I’m alright where I am.”
Posey flicks her dish towel with enough force to make you startle in your seat. “If you don’t get on over there and talk to him, girl, I’m making you pay your tab in full right now.”
You gawp at her. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” She reaches over the bar to pinch your arm affectionately. “Go on!”
“Fine,” you hiss, “but if it goes badly I get free drinks for three weeks.”
“Deal,” she says, waving you off with a Cheshire grin.
You try to remain casual as you make your way over to the stranger, which is hard to do when his eyes follow your every movement. It’s damn near a miracle you don’t trip over yourself settling onto the stool beside his. You cross your ankles primly and fold your hands on your lap, the picture of a decent lady. Not that any decent lady would be caught dead in this establishment, but it’s fun to play pretend with a man every now and then.
The man in question grins widely at your presence, canines white and sharp. “I was hoping you’d come over sooner or later,” he says. “Otherwise I’d be making a fool of myself.”
“Well,” you say, trying to keep your tone light and free of the nerves threatening to claw up your throat, “you were staring hard enough even Posey took notice.”
“Posey?” he asks. He doesn’t try to deny the staring bit, which pleases you.
“So you ain’t been here before,” you say, even though you’re pretty sure he knows that you already know that. “Everybody knows Posey.”
“They’re lucky for it,” he says, nodding in her direction politely. “Seems like a lovely woman.” You watch from the corner of your eye as she giggles and turns away. You’re not jealous, not over a man you don’t know the name of, but it’d be nice if she refrained from fluttering her eyes at the man she encouraged you to talk to tonight.
“She is,” you say, “and you’re right. I’m damn lucky she’s my friend.”
“That so?” He doesn’t seem phased by your swearing, which is a good sign. Some men have mouths filthy enough to make their mamas cry, yet balk at the idea of a woman saying the same things. You have no time for that hypocrisy, and you’re glad you’ve seen no signs of it in him yet. “Is there a story behind that? You being lucky, I mean.”
“Sure, but that’s a tale for folks I at least know the name of,” you shoot back.
He laughs. “Fair enough.” He takes off his hat, setting it to the side, and dips his head to you. “Remmick.”
Now that’s a name you’ve certainly never heard before. “Where you from?”
He pauses with his whiskey glass halfway to his lips before setting it down. “How do you know I’m not from around here?”
You level him with a stare, and he chuckles. “Smart lass.”
“That! Right there.” You smack the counter lightly, triumphant. “Who talks like that?”
He shrugs. “Well, according to you, we do wherever I’m from.”
Oh, this one thinks he’s clever. You prod again, “and where’s that?”
“Far away.”
“How far?”
“Far enough I can’t go back.” For the first time since you saw him, Remmick’s easy smile falters. “And I never stay in one place long, anyway. But like you said. That’s the kind of story for girls I know the names of.”
Your face heats up, and you give him your name in return.
“Beautiful like the rest of you,” he says, and it’s so cliche it should be silly, but he’s so earnest that you imagine yourself as a lady in the silent pictures with a fan to flutter in front of her face at a compliment like that.
“You say that to all the ladies, don’t you?” You can spout overused lines just as well as him.
“I would if there were any ladies worth talking to,” he says, “but you’re the first one I’ve come across in a good while.”
Oh, damnit, he’s good at this. “Should I be flattered?”
He stands up, offering you his hand. “How about you decide after you’ve danced with me a while?”
You smile and take his hand, and as he pulls you into the center of the floor, you notice that he still hasn’t had a drop of his whiskey. But the peculiarity of that is wiped from your mind in no time as Remmick takes you in his arms and you begin to dance.
Almighty, does he know how to dance. You’re no stranger to cutting a rug, but this man might just put you to shame. “Who taught you how to move like that?” you ask breathlessly as you step in time to the merry tune of the piano.
“Folks I knew a long time ago,” he answers, and you purse your lips.
“A girl back home?” It’s both a joke and a challenge. You’ll flirt till kingdom come, but you’re no harlot, and damned if you’ll let him think you are.
He shakes his head, and you hope your relief isn’t too obvious. “No lady waiting for me at home,” he says. “Don’t you worry about that.”
“Who said I was worried?” Your heart is beating fast not just from the dancing, but the thrill of a back-and-forth with a man like this. Your mother would say he’s got a devil’s tongue, so quick and smooth is he, but better that than a man who can’t keep up with you.
He grins. “Oh, my apologies, ma’am.”
“Don’t get smart with me now,” you say, returning his smile. “You’ve been doing so well, so far.”
“Guess I better stop talking, then,” he laughs.
“Don’t you dare,” you say, and the way he looks at you makes your insides feel like honey.
You lose yourself in the music and in him as you move as one, the night stretching into eternity while his hands are on you, and yours on him. You don’t know how long you dance and talk and laugh together; minutes, hours, centuries? Any of those, and it still wouldn’t be enough. You feel good enough in this moment that you want to stay in it forever. Talking with Remmick, being with him, comes as natural as if you’ve done it all your life. You could spill all your secrets to him here and now and wouldn’t feel the slightest bit ashamed. Where has this strange, wonderful man been, all these years? You could almost scold him, for making you wait so long to meet him.
Your feet are growing tired despite your joy, but you don’t dare ask him to stop so you can take a break. A part of you fears that if you do, you’ll never get another chance. He spins you around and you laugh, girlish and giddy. You stumble a bit on the come-around and he steadies you, his big hands firm but gentle on your back and waist.
In a rush of happiness and boldness that only comes from the magic of nights like these, you lean forward and kiss him. He meets you eagerly, holding you tight as your hands come up to cup his face. Despite the heat of the building and the fact your own neck is damp with sweat, his lips are cool and dry as they move against your own.
You pull back, panting a bit, embarrassingly out of breath. He seems no less affected, gazing at you like you hung the stars.
He takes your hand again and leads you out from the center of the floor, off to the side where it’s a bit less cramped, a bit cooler. He must’ve noticed how you’ve begun to be affected by the heat, and his consideration only endears him to you more. You lean into his chest and let him hold you, grateful for the reprieve but missing the way you moved together at the same time.
“I hope tonight isn’t the only night I see you,” he says.
You are not blind and you are not stupid; you can see clearly how his eyes rake over you with hunger. But anything beyond that; well, men say plenty of things they only mean in the moment. “Thought you said you never stay in one place long,” you reply.
“So come with me,” he says.
You giggle again, more startled than amused. “What?”
He draws you closer to him, the two of you still absently swaying to the music. “You heard me. Come along where I’m going.”
You can’t quite believe what you’re hearing, even if he tells you otherwise, but you ask anyway, “and where’s that?”
He grins, then leans in to speak into your ear. “How about I let you choose?” His breath ghosting across your skin makes you shiver.
“Maybe I like it here,” you protest lightly. “You don’t even know me.”
“Now that’s not true,” he says. “I know you like to dance.”
You scoff. “So?”
“This town’s not built for a woman like you. If you came with me, sweetling, you’d dance forever,” he says.
“How special do you think you are?” you murmur. “That I’d drop everything and run away with you?” But a part of you thrills at the idea; fleeing into the night with this handsome stranger who’s all but swept you off your feet.
He laughs. “Do you want to find out?”
Heaven help you, you do.
“Depends,” you say. Your eyes flicker in the direction of the bar. If Posey heard what you were saying, what you were considering, she would smack you upside the head and tell you to go home and sleep it off until you’ve got some damn sense back in your skull. Luckily for you, Posey isn’t overhearing this. “You better have more to offer than just one kiss.”
He hums, as if he really has to think on it. “How’s the whole world sound?”
He’s crazy. He must be. And you must be crazy too, because you kiss him again before whispering against his lips, “That just might work.”
❥❥❥
And you cannot know that, in only a few decades of his promised forever, he will seek the song of a person of this land, and you will both dearly pay the price. You cannot know that you will atone for your sins with a stake through the heart, while he escapes with his skin aflame with regret and grief.
You will never know that, when you are naught but ash and blood in the southern sun, he will be drawn to yet another singer who can call forth souls. You can’t know what he will do, the horrors he will unleash, for the sake of bringing back his people; bringing back you.
Would you have mourned, when he failed?
Would you have celebrated?
You will never know. He will never know. Perhaps that’s for the better.
But before all that comes to pass, for those few brief and blissful years, you laughed and sang and danced with him into the beautiful night.