The End of Valentine's. The Beginning of Something Else
[Immediately post dance.]
It is, Parker acknowledges, kind of like something out of a romantic comedy.
Independent, single (but not lonely) young woman goes to a Valentine’s Day dance stag. She spots hot musician. Hot musician spots her. Hot musician makes inquiries about her with her two friends who have hopped dimensions to come to the dance. (Okay, the romantic comedies usually miss that particular plot point.) Looks are exchanged across the room. Sparks go up like small, pheromone-driven signal flares.
More than likely, the movie would include a show-stopping dance scene, a kiss, and then some sort of contrived misunderstanding before the party broke up for the night. But this was real life. Parker is at the party to work, and when she isn’t helping to keep a lid on things, she’s hanging with Meg and Laura. Because you don’t invite friends to an event and then abandon them, cute guy or no.
But breaking down the party still leaves plenty of time to make a move.
He’s working on packing up the band’s gear when Parker sneaks up on him. Flat footed - she’s still wearing her party dress, but she ditched her heels behind the front desk. He jumps slightly when she taps him on the shoulder.
He turns around, bundled extension cord in one hand, mic in the other. Parker smiles.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” he replies, a smile of his own already starting to form. “If it isn’t Parker Lee.”
“Luke Taylor.”
God bless Meg and Laura. No semi-awkward introductions required.
“You guys sounded really good,” Parker says.
Because it’s true. And she’s also keenly aware that his band mates have slowed their packing to a crawl and are not even pretending not to eavesdrop on this byplay.
“Thanks.”
He’s only a couple of inches taller than she is, Parker notes. And up close there are flecks of green in his brown eyes.
“Listen,” Parker takes a half-step closer, “I know it’s late and you guys are trying to get out of here. But,” she holds up a folded piece of paper, then slips it into his shirt pocket, giving it a pat for good measure, “give me a call tomorrow?”
He just stares for a moment or two, and if Parker were a slightly less confident individual, it might make her a little uncomfortable. Someone (Parker is pretty sure it’s the drummer) smacks him in the back in passing when he doesn’t answer right away.
“Yes. Definitely, yes. I’ll do that.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you then.”
“Talk to you then.”
Parker turns and walks serenely out of the dining hall, her smile expanding to a full-fledged grin when she hears the rest of the band break out into good-natured hoots.
Who says it’s bad to be single on Valentine’s?
It is, Parker acknowledges, kind of like something out of a romantic comedy.
Independent, single (but not lonely) young woman goes to a Valentine’s Day dance stag. She spots hot musician. Hot musician spots her. Hot musician makes inquiries about her with her two friends who have hopped dimensions to come to the dance. (Okay, the romantic comedies usually miss that particular plot point.) Looks are exchanged across the room. Sparks go up like small, pheromone-driven signal flares.
More than likely, the movie would include a show-stopping dance scene, a kiss, and then some sort of contrived misunderstanding before the party broke up for the night. But this was real life. Parker is at the party to work, and when she isn’t helping to keep a lid on things, she’s hanging with Meg and Laura. Because you don’t invite friends to an event and then abandon them, cute guy or no.
But breaking down the party still leaves plenty of time to make a move.
He’s working on packing up the band’s gear when Parker sneaks up on him. Flat footed - she’s still wearing her party dress, but she ditched her heels behind the front desk. He jumps slightly when she taps him on the shoulder.
He turns around, bundled extension cord in one hand, mic in the other. Parker smiles.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” he replies, a smile of his own already starting to form. “If it isn’t Parker Lee.”
“Luke Taylor.”
God bless Meg and Laura. No semi-awkward introductions required.
“You guys sounded really good,” Parker says.
Because it’s true. And she’s also keenly aware that his band mates have slowed their packing to a crawl and are not even pretending not to eavesdrop on this byplay.
“Thanks.”
He’s only a couple of inches taller than she is, Parker notes. And up close there are flecks of green in his brown eyes.
“Listen,” Parker takes a half-step closer, “I know it’s late and you guys are trying to get out of here. But,” she holds up a folded piece of paper, then slips it into his shirt pocket, giving it a pat for good measure, “give me a call tomorrow?”
He just stares for a moment or two, and if Parker were a slightly less confident individual, it might make her a little uncomfortable. Someone (Parker is pretty sure it’s the drummer) smacks him in the back in passing when he doesn’t answer right away.
“Yes. Definitely, yes. I’ll do that.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you then.”
“Talk to you then.”
Parker turns and walks serenely out of the dining hall, her smile expanding to a full-fledged grin when she hears the rest of the band break out into good-natured hoots.
Who says it’s bad to be single on Valentine’s?