The words of the song blur into the background as I fixate on his fingers, long and capable, strumming the strings. He can sing pretty well, actually. Even though the songs are simple and silly, his voice is a deep tenor, sending chills up my spine and then back down, spreading heat through my stomach, quieting the nerves in my belly. Apparently, I have a thing for musicians. Or it’s just Alex.

They aren’t getting rolling laughs from the small crowd, just the occasional chuckle and claps from the part of the audience that is actually paying attention. But they’re clearly having a blast, exchanging grins, singing alone and together with perfect timing. Even though it’s a small-time gig and they’re singing about sombreros versus ball caps. They would be enjoying themselves if the room were empty. It’s random and funny and their enjoyment is infectious.

I have so much fun watching and clapping along that when it ends, I’m jolted back to reality. I’ve been sitting here alone, actually enjoying myself. I almost forgot to be apprehensive about being somewhere on my own and surrounded by strangers.

Scattered applause breaks out across the bar. They bow and thank the audience, then Alex sets his guitar off to the side and steps off the stage.

Three women sit at a table on the side—leggy blondes with short skirts—and Alex and Leon head in their direction. One of them jumps up and gives Alex a hug.

Probably a girlfriend. I spin around in the stool, facing the bar, nerves that had settled during the show quivering back to life.

I clench my empty glass. My drink is gone. I should leave now, while I’m ahead.

He invited me because he felt bad, but I’m sure one of those women is his date. I’m just a friend. Not even that, more of an acquaintance. What if he comes over here and introduces one of them as his girlfriend? He’ll be able to tell I’ve dressed up, put on makeup. Made an effort.

I’m hot and itchy. I should leave.

I slide off the stool, my toes barely touching the ground when a voice stops me.

“Hey.” Alex’s smile is bright and surprised, still flushed with adrenaline from the performance, no doubt. “You made it.”

“I did.” My voice is a little shaky. Maybe he won’t notice over the hum of conversation permeating the space around us.

He’s smiling at me, expectant, and I have no idea how to have a conversation with him outside of the office.

Oh, crap.

Tension grips my stomach in a tight fist. “The music—you did, I thought, um, it was really great. I know sea shanties are a thing, but I’m not sure I’ve heard one that’s also, uh, comedy.”