Of course it doesn't work out like that. Instead, when I float into The Corner Stop, the local bar where the band is playing, still buzzed from my three glasses of excellent wine, I run smack into Ben.
Not literally this time, but figuratively.
He's at the door taking tickets.
I have a moment of wishing that I can turn around and leave before he notices me, but I don't pull it off.
"Chloe!" He says with more enthusiasm than I feel. He's wearing dark jeans and a casual cotton blazer with the band's t-shirt underneath. He looks too good to ignore.
I tuck my hair behind my ears. "Hi, Ben."
"What are you doing here?"
"I have tickets." I wave my phone at him and he scans it.
"Two tickets."
"Yes."
He keeps his features neutral but his voice doesn't quite make it. "Ah."
"He's not coming," I blurt, then regret it.
"Okay."
"He got stuck at work."
"I assume you mean Jack?"
"Yes."
A hint of a smile. "Again?"
"It happens."
"Clearly."
Someone bumps me from behind, wanting to get in. I step out of the way and Ben scans his ticket.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Scanning tickets."
"You know what I mean."
He points to the logo on his t-shirt. "It's my band."
"You're in the band?"
"No, they're on my label."
I feel like a moron, but I can't seem to help myself. "And you're taking tickets?"
"I sweep the floors, too."
"Right."
"You seem angry."
I catch his eyes. Are we really going to do this here? I guess so. "I spoke to your sister today."
His eyes brows raise as he scans the ticket of the next person in line. "Kaitlin?"
"Do you have another sister?"
"No, I ... Can you give me a minute?"
"I guess."
He points to a small, round table near the stage. "I have that reserved. Take a seat and I'll be with you in a minute."
I cross my arms, not sure I'm going to comply.
"Please?"
"Okay."
I go to the table he indicated. There's a small reserved sign on it. I wonder who he was planning on sitting here with. If it's Rachel, I'm out of here. I might be out of here anyway, but I guess I can stick around and see what he has to say for himself.
I take a seat and look around. There's a stage in front of me with some instruments on it—a drum kit behind a series of plastic screens, a keyboard, some guitars. The backdrop is matte black and the air smells like beer and cheap disinfectant.
A waiter comes over with a glass of white wine on a tray. He's in his mid-twenties, with his hair in a pompadour and an over-the-top moustache.
"I didn't order this."
He shrugs. "Ben ordered it for you. Is this okay, or did you want something else?"
"No, it's fine, thank you."
I take the glass and take a sip. It's dry and crisp and the kind of white wine I'd order for myself. I try not to see this as some kind of sign that Ben knows me even though he doesn't while I watch him gesticulate to one of the people who works in the bar to explain how to take over what he's doing. Or that's what I assume he's doing, anyway.
When I've finished half the glass, Ben slips into the chair across from me, looking slightly frazzled, but still hot. The bar is half-full, but I can see the line forming at the door. It's nine—the concert starts in an hour.
"You can take care of business," I say. "I don't mind."
"No, this is important too."
"Okay."
He places his hands on the table. "Why—how—did you talk to Kaitlin?"
I hold the stem of my glass. I should've thanked him for it, but oh well. Here we go. "She won the contest you pretended not to know anything about at my office."
"Oh." Ben winces. "Hold on." He turns and signals to the bartender who's standing in front of a shelf of bottles and two beer taps. He holds up two fingers, then turns back to me. "You were saying?"
"You need reinforcements?"
"I thought it might be a good idea for both of us."
"Can't face me sober?"
"It's not that ... I ... Can I start at the beginning?"
"Sure."
The waiter comes over with two glasses of whisky and puts them down in front of Ben. He thanks him and offers one to me.
"I don't usually," I say. "Plus I still have this." I point to my wine glass.
"It's good. And one of the perks of being the band's label."
"Free alcohol?"
"Free good alcohol."
"Isn't that how everyone in the music business ends up with a drinking problem?"
Ben picks up his drink and drains it. "Maybe. Which is why I limit myself to two drinks under any situation."
My throat feels dry. I take another sip of my wine, then tug the whisky glass closer to me. Red wine, plus white wine plus this whisky might equal blackout, but since I'm not in the music business, I'm willing to risk it. "Is this a situation?"
"Okay, I deserve that."
"As you were saying?"
"I had a great time on our date," he says. "I meant that."
"Our fake date."
"Yes. But everything I said about it was true. And my mom. And I did try to find you after. I even talked to Kaitlin about you, which if you knew me better you'd know I don't do often."
"Why not?"
"Because she's my older sister. It's like her personal mission for me to be happy. And she never really liked Rachel. So I got in the habit of not discussing that sort of stuff with her. But with you, it was different."
"Okay." I keep saying this word and it's starting to feel weird in my mouth. But what else is there to say? Nothing, that's what.
"And then she told me that maybe she'd found you. She showed me this Instagram post with a picture of me and your contest. I couldn't believe it. You were looking for me."
"I was."
"I was excited. I was going to reach out. But then my mom had a really bad night. We weren't sure if she was going to make it, and ... I'm sorry to say this because I know it sounds terrible, but reaching out to a girl seemed ..."
"Petty."
"Not the word I'd use, but yeah. Something that wasn't a priority, anyway. Because it was when I realized that you were a real person that it got real, if you know what I mean. Like if I did reach out and you were as great as I remembered, then what? I can't be a boyfriend right now."
I lean back in my seat. I feel a bit strange, not quite the spins, but like I might be getting there. "You keep saying that, but what does that mean?"
"It means I can't be there for anyone else right now. I can barely be there for myself, my business. And I don't want to do that. One of the things that broke me and Rachel up was that she thought I was too focused on other things. That I didn't prioritize our relationship."
"I'm not Rachel."
"I know."
"We kind of look alike, though, right? I'm the less good-looking version, but—"
"No, stop. That's not true at all."
"You don't have to say that."
"Well, I mean it." He runs his hands through his hair and eyes my untouched drink.
I push it toward him. "You want this?"
"Yes, but no. Let me finish. Anyway, I told Kaitlin I wasn't going to reach out right now, that I needed to let things calm down. I didn't know she wrote to you anyway. She didn't tell me that part. And then, suddenly, there you were outside my office."
"And we had version one of this conversation."
A brief smile. "We did. And I wanted to tell you the truth, I really did, but it seemed cruel. I could tell you already felt rejected. I didn't want to add to that. Because nothing had changed. I don't know how much longer my mom has, and I'm not ready to be in a relationship."
"That's a lot of pressure you're putting on yourself. On me."
"What do you mean?"
"All I wanted was a second date. I never asked you to be my boyfriend."
Now he reaches for my glass and drains it. "You went to awful lot of trouble to find me for a second date."
"I did."
He puts the glass down slowly. "Come on, Chloe, you know it wouldn't be like that between us."
"I don't know that, actually."
"Okay, I know. If we were together, for me it would be serious."
I look down at my empty glass. There's a bit of white wine in the bottom, not even a sip, but enough that it will annoy me if the waiter takes it away. And I know it doesn't make sense, but that's how I feel now. Like something unfinished is being taken away from me.
"Chloe?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you forgive me?"
"Does it matter?"
"It does. It does to me."
"Why?"
"Because I can't ... I don't like the thought of you out there in the world, hating me."
"I don't hate you."
That small smile again. It's kind of killing me.
"That's something, anyway."
The waiter comes over with another glass of white wine and a whisky for Ben. "That's above his limit," I say, taking my glass of white wine.
"She's right."
"What do you want me to do with it, then?"
"You can leave it," I say as Ben laughs. "What? I don't have a two-drink rule."
"Enjoy it, then."
"I will." I say this with confidence though I know taking that drink is a mistake. The hangover at a minimum won't be worth it.
The bar has filled up around us. Ben moves his chair closer to me. "This okay? It's about to get loud in here." He points to the stage where the stagehands are bringing out more instruments.
"How did you find these guys?"
"I go to a lot of shows, trying to find people before they're signed. And I listen to a lot of YouTube, TikTok, Spotify. What about you?"
"Jack picked."
"Ah."
"But I knew them already. I think I heard one of their songs in a TV show?"
"'Live it Up', yeah, that was their big break earlier this year."
Ben's leg is touching mine under the table, and maybe it's the drinks, but I'm acutely aware of it. And now that he's closer to me, I can smell his aftershave, something musky that I like. I want to move away, but I don't.
"They should be big," Ben says. "I'm hoping they blow up."
"It's a tough business, yes?"
"Very tough. Probably not unlike the book business. Everyone thinks music should be free."
"Yeah, that's the problem with our generation, right?"
He laughs. "Aren't we supposed to be blaming the boomers?"
"Nah, I think it's Gen X's fault. They always get so mad when we forget them."
"Totally." He taps my knee with his. "So, you and Jack ..."
Oh boy. I did not plan for this. "We've been on some dates."
"Some dates, but not dating."
"I guess that's accurate."
"Good."
"What's that mean?"
He shrugs, then puts his hand on my arm. "Wait here."
"Sure."
His eyes lock with mine for a minute, then his hand drops and he rises, then pops up onto stage in a graceful move. He walks to the mic stand in the middle of the stage and taps it. "Hello, hello!"
"Hello!" some of the room say back along with a few cheers.
"Thank you for coming out tonight to see my new favorite band and yours, I hope, My Mom's Garage!"
More cheering now.
"I hope you enjoy the show. There's CDs and merch to purchase at the back and yes, you can also stream them everywhere you usually stream music! This is, however, my usual plug for paying artists what they're worth."
"Bring on the band, Dad!"
Ben cringes and raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I had to try! One more thing, though. My good friend Chloe is here tonight, so if the usual bozzos could behave themselves I'd appreciate it."
A group of bros in the back start cat calling and whistling.
"Thanks, dudes. Exactly what I wanted. All right, enough of me! I give you—My Mom's Garage!"
Ben jumps down off the stage and sits back down next to me, dragging his chair even closer, by accident or by mistake I'm not sure but our whole sides are touching now like we're sitting on a bench, and I want to lean into it, to rest my head on his shoulder, to have his arm around my neck, to be together. But we aren't, we aren't going to be.
God, I want to kiss him so bad.
The band comes on stage to more cheering—four guys who look like they belong in a band, with shaggy hair and jeans and skinny bones. They take up their instruments, and the drummer counts them in and they go immediately into their one big hit, the one Ben mentioned earlier. Everyone around us stands up to dance, and Ben pulls me up, too, my hand hot in his, my body responding to his touch.
I laugh and shuffle awkwardly, but Ben is a surprisingly good dancer, moving his head and shoulders in time to the music. He's still got a hold of my hand, and I'm not sure what it means, that he hasn't let it go, only I've had enough wine that I don't really care. With my free hand, I reach to the table and pick up the whisky glass. I toss it back, then shudder.
"What was that for?" Ben asks in my ear, sending shivers down my neck.
"Courage."
"For what?"
"We'll see!"
Ben laughs and spins me and when I finish the spin I'm so close to him that I'm almost in his arms. I could back up, break the connection, leave. But instead, I lean into it and let momentum bring us together in a kiss.
Because we keep being brought together by fate, this city, this small town.
And I for one am sick of fighting it.