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Christmas always comes around so fast, almost without transition. Los Angeles doesn’t wait around for an excuse to party and get drunk on a Thursday. Lights were strung up in November, and people were playing Christmas records on repeat while drinking shitty chardonnay. I really hate the carolers, though, because they actually wait for December, but they won’t shut up until New Year’s night after shoving twelve grapes into their faces.
The only part of LA that I can actually stand is the jazz bars. I can’t say I love jazz, but it is pretty nice when I’ve had a shitty week. Most people with taste spend their time at this newish bar called Seb’s. Sometimes I fall asleep at the table there, the one in the furthest corner from the pianist, because working weekends and overtime during the holidays is hectic. I get paid decently enough, though, so I can't complain too much.
Tonight I fell asleep again, at that same table I usually do, and the same face woke me up at closing again. It’s the owner, who is simultaneously the incredibly talented pianist. It’s not even embarrassing at this point, only because it's happened so many times before. He’s really nice about it, too. I think he knows that I need it.
“Hey you… It’s closing time. Everybody’s gotten outta here, so…”
See? He’s nice about it. He always has this small smile too, and it makes me feel like maybe he doesn’t mind either. My eyes open slowly, kinda stuck together in that way sleep tries to keep you too long. But, nonetheless, my head lifts off my crossed arms atop the table and I’m met with his strikingly blue eyes.
“Mm. ‘Kay. I’m up, I’m up… sorry.”
I don’t know why I apologize, it’s hardly the first time this has happened. He probably doesn’t need to hear it now, nor want it. I stand like a sloth, lazy and partially drunk still. Though, I’m sobering up more since looking at him. I can’t be a whole different kind of embarrassing right now, because then I would actually have to apologize to him.
He reaches his hand out like he has the idea of helping me onto my feet until it looks like he abandons the thought and returns his hand to the pocket of his slacks. My palms press flat to the surface of the little circular table, sliding across the festive cloth draped over it until I’m steady. My mind is getting clearer and I can actually manage to seem normal aside from my grogginess.
“Uh, do you need a ride home? I don’t want you to walk, y’know?”
His voice is uncertain and gentle, almost like he is unsure of what he is offering to do.
“Oh- sure, yeah… thank you.”
“No problem. It’s the least I can do when you’ve kept coming back since I opened this place.”
He has my purse handle in his grasp. I have no idea how long he has had that, but I’m not complaining. I look up to him with a subtle smile, lingering as we walk in synchrony through the slim hallway to the outside world. He locks up the place and falls back into step with me almost immediately. The neon sign on the wall is a sight I realize that I will probably never forget.
“Do you like jazz? Or do you just come here to get wasted?”
“Both.”
He chuckles and my cheeks flush slightly. His car is only a few feet from his bar’s entrance. He rushes to open the door for me. That didn’t really surprise me much– he struck me as a gentleman from the first time I was awoken by him after hours. I slide into the car, and he hands over my purse, gently letting it fall onto my lap.
“So, I’m kinda gonna need directions…”
I sputter for a second in embarrassment before letting out an awkward laugh and giving him vague directions. He starts the car and easily navigates the dimly lit streets like he has them mapped.
“When did you decide to open Seb’s? Or- why did you?”
He looks over briefly like I’ve burned him, but he quickly scolds himself and clears his throat.
“Uh, well… I knew a woman, and she believed in me enough to convince me that it was what I had to do. So, I did it.”
“Oh. Can I ask who…?”
“She was just- someone I used to know, really. She’s, uh, married now and with a kid.”
“Really? How did you two meet?’
“In the usual LA traffic.”
I nod and understand that he is giving limited information for his own reasons. It’s not my place to pry, so I settle for looking out at the buildings that never seemed to sleep. Eventually, after moments in silence, we make it to the curb outside my humble home. He parks and swiftly gets out to come around and open my door just as I reach for the handle.
“Thank you, Sebastian.”
“Call me Seb, please.”
“Okay. Thank you, Seb.”
“You’re very welcome.”
He knows my name by now, but oddly enough, I’ve never heard it from his lips. I wouldn’t mind hearing it just once, even though I’d never ask him to. That’d be weird. My heels hit the concrete, and the car door shuts behind me in a gentle thud.
Before I know it, his hand is hovering over my lower back only for a moment. I don’t notice it immediately– not until it makes subtle contact. It was unexpected, but welcome. I turn my head to peer over my shoulder at him in surprise before he comes around to stand in front of me, his touch gliding along my hip.
“Do you have a dream?”
“What…?”
“Is there something you want more than anything else? C’mon, there has to be something.”
“Uh, I mean… I’ve always wanted to be an astronomer.”
“An astronomer? LA is not the place to look for stars aside from the people kind.”
“I know.”
“What’s holding you back?”
He looks at me in the same way I used to look at the sky back home, and maybe there’s a glimmer of something resembling hope or wonder. This is different from any other time he’s looked at me, kinda like I’ve hung the stars myself.
“A lot of things.”
“Like what? Gimme an example.”
“Wha- I dunno! Just… things. Life.”
“Life? Really? You gotta give me more than that.”
“Why do you even ask?”
He hesitates for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and feigning ignorance. Obviously, there’s a motive. I notice the upward curl of his lips and it brings a similar curl to my own.
“Because I want to know what makes you… you. Is that so weird?”
“No, but I just didn’t expect someone to ask.”
He shifts a bit closer and shoves his hands into his pockets, leaning forward as if he had an intention. My eyes track his movement.
“You can be an astronomer.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You can. Look– I said the same thing a few years ago, and here I am. I get to drive a pretty woman home from my own jazz bar.”
“Uhm… don’t make it weird.”
“It’s not weird; it’s objectively true.”
My cheeks flush pink instantly and I avert my eyes briefly. We stand still in the moment, silent with a million things to say.
“Are you being seri-”
I’m cut off when he suddenly leans the rest of the way to me, pulling his hands from his pockets to wrap around my waist, his lips meeting mine and melting together.