Cassandra's Song. Carole Page Gift
For all of her anxieties and trepidation, the evening went like clockwork. Like magic. As Antonio sang and she played, something extraordinary happened. They performed as one, in perfect synchronicity, as if they had spent their entire lives performing together. Each seemed to know instinctively what the other was about to do; even their musical interpretations matched.
Cassie found herself feeling pleased, exultant, even euphoric. She sensed a new excitement and passion in her playing, a fresh burst of confidence. It was as if Antonio had unwittingly freed some deep creative impulse within her.
After their rehearsal, as Antonio walked Cassie to her car, he said with a hint of levity, “My dear lady, was it my imagination, or did we sound sensational together?”
She hesitated, struggling for words. “You…you sounded superb, I know that much.”
“But there was something magical, electric going on here tonight,” he persisted. “Didn’t you feel it? It’s not always that way when I sing. Admit it, Cassandra. We were soaring.” He touched her arm gently. “Please, don’t tell me it was all one-sided. Am I wrong?”
“No, I felt it too. It was…extraordinary.”
He chuckled. “Now if we just sound as good to the rest of the world, we’ll be all set.”
He opened her door for her, then clasped her arm before she stepped inside. “Cassandra, wait. I have an idea. I’m too jazzed to just go home and call it a night. Would you like to go somewhere? Get something to eat?”
She was about to say she wasn’t hungry, but quickly canceled the remark and said instead, “Yes. I’d like that.”
“More Italian cuisine?”
“No, it’s too late for a big fancy meal. How about the little coffee shop around the corner? They’ve got great burgers.”
“Burgers it is. Why don’t you leave your car here and ride with me?”
She looked up and caught his infectious smile. “Okay, Antonio. Lead the way.”
He escorted her across the parking lot to a large luxury sedan, a deep burgundy color with a black leather interior. He opened her door and she slipped inside. “A beautiful car.”
“Not as beautiful as its passenger.” He lingered a moment, his eyes fastened on her, then went around to his side, got in, and they were off.
As he drove she cast several surreptitious glances at his finely chiseled profile. He was a gorgeous man, no doubt about it! Even in sport shirt and slacks he looked debonair. And yet he seemed completely unaware of his stunning good looks.
In the coffee shop, as they ordered burgers and fries, she realized he looked too cosmopolitan for a greasy spoon like this. She fidgeted with her water glass, the napkin, the silverware, silently chastising herself for not suggesting a more sophisticated restaurant.
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