And Then There Was Her (And Then There Was, 1)

by Jenika Snow

  Sure, she may not have felt an inkling of what I had those three months ago. She may not have felt that connection, two souls becoming one. She may not have experienced any of that, so when—if—I did find her, it might be a dead end anyway.

  Or maybe she felt all of it with so much bone-deep passion, just like I had, that it had stolen her breath.

  And that’s what I had to find out.

  So I continued my search, going from bar to bar, club to club. I only had her first name to go off of, but so far nobody knew of an Adele. They looked at me like I was crazy, obsessed, a stalker. I didn’t care. Maybe I was all those things; maybe I was more.

  My night ended with me sitting at the bar of this little jazz club. The interior was small and intimate, smoky with low lighting and a relaxed atmosphere. I stuck to water, even a cup of coffee by this point. Because drinking a beer at every bar I came to was starting to make things a little less focused. I finished off the water and turned to look at the stage. No one was up there at the moment, the lights low on the podium, jukebox music still filtering around the room.

  “Anything else I can help you with?”

  I looked over at the bartender, then glanced up at the clock that hung on the wall. It was nearing two in the morning, closing time, last call. I shook my head and reached for my wallet. I’d only gotten a water and a cup of coffee, only a couple bucks’ worth, but I gave him a five and told him to keep the change, like I’d done at every bar so far.

  “Thanks. Have a great night,” the bartender said and went to turn away.

  “Hey, man, you don’t happen to know anyone, a singer, whose first name is Adele, do ya?” He turned to face me. “I don’t know her last name. I met her three months back at a bar. She was singing onstage. I’ve been trying to find her ever since.”

  I saw the realization on his face before he quickly masked it. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and I could almost feel what he was thinking.

  Who is the fucking guy asking about Adele?

  For the first time since I’d been searching for her, I felt like there was hope, light at the end of the tunnel. But I kept it hidden, didn’t want to seem anxious, eager.

  I straightened and leaned forward. “You do know who she is?” I was sure there were a hundred different Adeles in the city, but how many were there that sang, that went to these bars? Because his expression told me he knew… he knew who she was.

  “Who are you?” he asked, and I heard the skepticism in his voice. “Why are you looking for someone who you don’t even know their last name?”

  I sure as fuck wasn’t going to talk about how intimately I knew Adele. That was no one’s business but my own. But before I could answer, he shrugged and was talking again.

  “Sorry, man. Can’t help you.” And before I could press him, he turned and left me sitting there feeling like I’d just been fed the most important morsel I ever had in my life.

  I got up and started heading out of the bar, feeling like a million fucking bucks in that moment. I’d come back tomorrow, hit the bartender up again for information. Hell, maybe there’d be someone new and they’d be more forthcoming with the information. I couldn’t blame him for not sharing. He was protecting her. I appreciated that. But what he didn’t know was that I was in love with her. I wasn’t some predator, and I sure as fuck would never hurt her. I wanted to protect her too, with my life. I wanted to make her mine.

  I’d just have to show him that, prove it. Maybe then he’d tell me more about her. Damn, maybe he’d contact her and let her know I was looking for her. Maybe she’d come to me.

  I was about to walk out the front door when I looked to my right and saw a large bulletin board with a bunch of pictures tacked up on corkboard. Something made me stop, step closer to it. The pictures showed various people up onstage, singers and entertainers who had presumably played at this bar. I let my gaze move across each one, and when I stopped on one in particular, I felt my heart still in my chest, felt my belly tighten, my hands involuntarily curling into tight fists at my sides.

  There she was, looking back at the camera, smiling, her beauty so fucking awe-inspiring I couldn’t breathe for a second. Her long black hair was pulled half-up, her braids hanging over her shoulders. She was surrounded by four other people, all of them standing on the podium just across from where I stood. The light was shining on her, illuminating her perfect skin, making her seem to glow.

  God, she was so fucking gorgeous.

  She was smiling, her straight, white teeth flashing, her lips red and plump. Everyone in the photos all wore identical uniforms. T-shirts that stated a lone word across the chest.

  Lyrics. The bar I was currently in.

  Her obvious place of employment.

  I actually lifted my hand and placed it over my chest, felt my heart start to beat again, increase in speed. I’d found her. I looked over at the bartender, could see he was watching me with skepticism on his face. Oh, he’d tell her I was here. I had no doubt about that. I was hoping he would. Because every night, I was coming back.

  I’d see her, and she’d see me, and I had no doubt in my mind that connection would be too strong for us to ignore.

  4

  Adele

  Sunday morning

  Yesterday had been my day off, and I’d done absolutely nothing. I shut off my phone, slept in, stayed in my pajamas, and tried like hell not to think about the one person who consumed my thoughts on a continuous basis.

  Oliver.

  I stretched in bed, then rolled over and pulled the phone charger out of the end of my cell before bringing it up and turning it on. I really didn’t disconnect from the world like this often, but with constantly working, doing singing gigs in my free time, and the thoughts running through my mind of all the what-ifs and the “why didn’t I do this or that,” I was exhausted. So I totally just wanted to unwind, unplug, and recharge.

  And I felt incredible right now.

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up, resting my back against the headboard of the bed, and stared at the screen of my cell as it lit up and finally turned on. I set the cell on my lap and reached out to grab a hair tie from my bedside table drawer, pulled up my braids so they were out of my face, and wrapped the tie around the thick strands. As soon as my phone was on, I heard the continuous dings of missed calls and text messages.

  One was from my mother, but the rest were all from Bishop. Although I was friends with him, we didn’t normally talk outside of work. Maybe they were short-staffed and he wanted me to come in?

  All his calls and texts were from last night, late, so if that was what he wanted, it was too late now.

  I opened up his messages and started reading.

  Bishop: Adele, some guy is here asking about you. Only knows your first name. Seems sketchy as hell to me.

  Bishop: Yo, where are you?

  Bishop: Why aren’t you answering?

  Bishop: Told him I didn’t know anyone named Adele, but I could tell from his expression he knew I was full of shit.

  Bishop: Dammit, Adele, where the fuck are you?

  My heart was beating overtime as I continued reading.

  Bishop: He saw the staff picture on the corkboard before he left. I could tell he recognized you right off the bat. I’m gonna kick his fucking ass if he shows back up here again.

  This kind of protectiveness wasn’t unusual for Bishop. He was very protective of all the girls at the club. It was his establishment, and he treated all of us like family. It also wasn’t unheard of for him to kick some drunken idiot out who was disrespecting one of the employees. And it certainly wasn’t foreign for him to beat up some asshole who put their hands on us.

  Oh my God.

  My heart was beating double-time at this point, and I hoped—prayed—that Bishop was talking about Oliver. It had to be, right? Bishop hadn’t said what the guy looked like or what his name was, but who else could it be?

  No one else would be looking for me. No one else would be as
king for me by my first name, right? It’s not like I used my name when I sang. I used the pseudonym Addie, more for my privacy, and even more because I wanted to be someone else when I was up on those stages. But I’d given Oliver my real name.

  Bishop most likely thought it was some kind of creepy stalker, maybe someone who’d seen me singing at one of the bars. Hell, maybe it was. I didn’t know. I just hoped it wasn’t. I hoped it was Oliver.

  But the latter seemed far less likely. I wanted to think that Oliver was so enamored with me, the same way I was with him, that he was actually searching for me in this big-ass city.

  I brought up Bishop’s contact information and hit dial, putting the phone to my ear and listening to it ring. It was early, and he’d no doubt be asleep because he’d closed the bar.

  My heart was still racing, my hands shaking a little bit, because adrenaline was rushing through my veins. A second later, I heard his groggy voice answer on the other end.

  “Hello?”

  I could tell by his lack of interest that he probably didn’t know who was on the other end. I assumed if he knew it was me, he’d be a little bit more animated, given all his texting and calling yesterday.

  “Bishop, it’s me, Adele.”

  I heard him clear his throat and then some shuffling, as if he were moving around.

  “Adele, what the hell? I was trying to get ahold of you all damn night.”

  It was my turn to clear my throat. “Yeah, sorry about that. I disconnected, shut my phone off, and was holed up in my apartment.”

  “What time is it?”

  His voice was still groggy, and I pulled the phone away to look down at the time on the cell screen. “Early,” I said after I had the phone pressed back to my ear. “Just after eight. Sorry to call, but after your texts and calls, well…” I shifted on the bed, my heart still racing.

  “Damn, Adele, that dude from last night—”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what that was about.” I can only hope I know what it’s about. “Wh—what did he look like, Bishop?”

  “Shit, Adele, I don’t know. I wasn’t measuring him for a suit.”

  I chuckled, and in return he did the same.

  “He had short dark hair. Couldn’t see his eye color good enough, but blue maybe? It was dark in the club. Looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. But I guess other than that, he was pretty well clean-cut. Had nice clothes on.”

  God, I felt like I was going to faint despite sitting down. “Did he say his name?” I held my breath as I waited for Bishop’s answer.

  “Didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer that information up. I didn’t tell him I knew you, but I could see by his expression he knew I was lying.” There was a moment of silence. “You know him? Because if not, shit, Adele, I’ll kick his ass if he thinks about showing up again.”

  I didn’t know what to say, but I wouldn’t lie. “I hope it’s who I think it is. His name is Oliver.” Saying his name out loud to another person was weird. But it also felt strongly right.

  I didn’t elaborate on who Oliver was to me, and Bishop didn’t ask.

  “So he’s no danger to you then? If it’s this guy you’re hoping it is?”

  My body got hot and tingly as I thought about Oliver, as I remembered how the only thing dangerous about him was all the filthy things he’d done to me in that hotel room.

  God, I had to get off the phone with Bishop if I was thinking about this stuff about Oliver.

  “No, he’s not a danger. If it’s him.” And after I hung up with Bishop, all I could think about, hope for, was that when I went to Lyrics tonight, when I got on that stage for the very first time and looked out into the audience, Oliver would be there watching me.

  5

  Oliver

  Sunday night

  If that bartender didn’t think I was coming back the next night to see if Adele was here, he’d soon find out the lengths I’d go to find her. But I also had to be careful. The way he looked at me last night told me he could easily kick my ass, because he deemed me a threat to her. I could respect that, even appreciate it. He was looking out for my girl because I wasn’t there to do it myself.

  And yes, Adele was my girl.

  But I was here now, and I didn’t need anyone taking care of her but me.

  Hell, I was losing my fucking mind. I had seen a picture of her on a corkboard, didn’t even know if she still worked here. Yet I was acting like she was already mine.

  I kept to the walls, away from the bar, not wanting him to notice me. He probably thought I was a fucking stalker, a predator being stealthy to get my prey. But I needed to know if she was here tonight. And I’d keep coming back every single night until I saw her. Surely she’d be working one of the days I was here. And if not, then I’d just take an extended vacation and continue to search for her.

  I’d plead my case with the bartender if it came to that. I wasn’t too proud to beg for more information, to tell him as much as I needed to about who and what Adele was to me. I was very protective of the information about her, about the experience we’d shared, but if giving him a morsel of detail would lead me to Adele, then so be it.

  I found a table in the corner, slightly shrouded by shadows. I took a seat, and no more than a couple minutes later, a waitress came by to take my order. After getting a beer, I watched as she walked over to the bar. I could see the guy from yesterday serving drinks. I wondered what he was to Adele.

  He was young, probably around my thirtysomething. He was also good-looking, with short dark hair, scruff covering his jaw and cheeks, and a physique that told me he worked out probably just as much as I did. The white shirt he wore molded to his muscles, and he wore a couple necklaces, silver chains that hung between his pecs. He had a tattoo on the underside of one of his biceps, and all of that coupled with the smile he gave the girls no doubt had their panties dropping. That possessive, jealous side of me rose up.

  Did he have feelings for Adele? Three months was a decent amount of time that she could’ve found someone new. The very thought of being with anyone else turned my stomach, and the very fucking thought of her with another man had me so enraged I could’ve knocked some asshole’s teeth in.

  I turned my focus away from him because I didn’t need to start a fight. And if I kept watching him, letting those toxic, jealous thoughts invade my head, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from kicking his ass on principle alone.

  I wasn’t here because of him or for him. I was here because of Adele, in hopes I’d see her.

  I scanned the interior of the bar, hoping like hell I’d spot her among the sea of people. But so far she wasn’t here. I found myself tapping my foot nervously, anxiously, had my forearm braced on top of the table, my hand clenched tightly, my other hand on my lap in the same position. Fuck, was I nervous. My heart was thundering, and I felt dots of sweat bead along my temples.

  For the next half hour I sat there nursing beer after beer, watching as performer after performer went on that stage. And all the while, I focused on the room, seeing if I could recognize her. God, I wanted to see her.

  There was a short intermission, and I got up and headed to the bathroom. It should’ve been an in-and-out affair, five minutes tops, but there were three guys ahead of me, a line out the door. I contemplated just heading back to the table, waiting it out. I didn’t want to miss my chance of possibly seeing Adele. But the line started moving and I stuck it out. The men’s and women’s bathrooms were located down a short, dark hallway. There were pictures on either side of the hall, blues singers, jazz performers. There were newspaper cutouts from the twenties, women wearing flapper outfits, men smoking thick cigars and wearing bowler hats.

  Ten minutes later I was finished, my hands washed, and headed back out of the bathroom and to my waiting table.

  I weaved my way around people congregating in clusters and looked down to focus on the ground. I could hear people talking loudly, conversations coming from all angles, blending together. The lights d
immed even more, and then I heard a chorus of clapping, knew the next performer was due to get on that stage any minute.

  I was about to look up when I ran right into someone. A female, given her small frame and womanly curves. Her gasp of shock filled my head, and I instinctively reached out and grabbed her arms, steadying her. A few people pushed me from behind, causing me to stumble forward, shifting so she was now up against the wall, my body close to hers. This all happened in a matter of seconds, and although I hadn’t even looked up from the ground yet, didn’t even know who she was, it was her scent that immediately captivated me, that had fantasies of what I’d been looking for my entire life filling my head.

  It was her aroma that had memories moving at a rapid pace through my brain, had my synapses firing as if they were on speed. I swore time stood still as I slowly lifted my head and looked into the big, dark-brown eyes of the woman I’d been searching for, for the last three months. The woman I was madly in love with and she didn’t even know it.

  I couldn’t hear anything but the rush of blood through my veins, the hard beat of my heart.

  The world stopped on its axis, everyone stilling, freezing. There was only her and me. There was only Adele.

  I had my hands wrapped loosely around her bare arms, her skin warm like silk. The dress she wore was reminiscent of what she’d worn on that night I met her all those months ago. All I could smell, see, feel was her.

  Her eyes were so big, so wide as surprise covered her expression, as she stared up at me. Her lips were red, glossy from the lipstick she wore. I wanted to kiss her until we were breathless, until all there was were the sensations we gave each other.

  Her skin was just as smooth as I remembered, just as flawless. The dark tone so damn gorgeous, so fucking perfect. All I wanted to do was pull her close, bury my face in the crook of her neck, and just inhale deeply, revel in the fact that she was here with me, that I’d finally found her.