Hale Heart is the most gorgeous man alive.

I mean, I’m not alone in this thought, but since all the other people who think so are female and in their teens, I think my opinion carries some weight.

Video calls make talking different. Not bad, but different. I can actually hear his voice now. Which is both wonderful and sort of torturous. There’s a reason the man makes his living off music.

“So you like the golden oldies huh?” he asks me one night. There’s no wine, but I’m perched on my chair, one leg folded under me and half paying attention to my marking and half to him. He doesn’t mind, since he’s usually jotting down lyrics or notes or something.

“Yeah. It’s the saxophone. They have that sort of…” I try and find the word.

“Smoothness. Starting out low and lingering at the end of their notes.” He finished for me.

I smile at him. “Yeah, that. But it’s not just that. Music from that age just felt more genuine you know? Like a love song was a real love song. They have the stupidest, corniest lines in them, but you don’t squirm because it fits. And also, I love saxophone.”

He glances at me and I try not to melt. It’s hard, because he makes a living off his music, but that face is angelic. And when he’s just sending me an honest to god innocent glance, it looks like come-to-bed eyes.

“Saxophone?” he smiles a cupids half-smile.

I swallow. “Yeah. It sounds like a voice.”

He stops what he’s doing and looks at me more fully. “It’s kind of awesome that you say that. About the music too. I never really thought of Sinatra that way, but I guess you’re right.”

I shrug and look away, pretending to be busy with something else momentarily.

“Do you have a favourite song?” he asks and I laugh.

“It’s impossible to have a favourite song.”

“Top three then.”

I sigh and look at him witheringly. “Another impossibility. Maybe a top ten.”

“Give me three of the top ten.” He grins and leans his cheek on one hand, waiting.

So I count off the first three that pop into my head. “Sunday is gloomy- Billie. La vie en rose- the Louis Armstrong version. And You don’t know me- Michael Buble.”

He raises his brows, impressed. “Nice list.”

I shrug. “I like the crooners. You have some favourites?”

He huffs a thoughtful breathe. “Well, I guess it’s just as difficult for me. It’s like a flavour of the week thing. Right now, U2 keeps running through my head.”

I screwed my forehead together. “I think I know them. Irish band?”

He laughs openly at me. “The fact that you know so little about music in this century is still so amazing to me I keep thinking you must be faking it.”

I roll my eyes. “Ada likes to chirp me about it. What can I say, I’m an old soul.”

“And a romantic one too, looks like.” He says, and I swear his eyes are twinkling.

Suddenly I’m all awkward elbows and knees. I shift and resettle myself in my seat.

It’s not like I’m dazzled by his fame. Considering I didn’t even know who he was before we started chatting, it’s hard to be really. I only know him, as he is, as who has been since we’ve met.

It’s that I honestly don’t really know why he’s still talking to me. And well, flirting with me. So I decide that I have to broach the subject.

“Look, Hale-“

“Yes, Michael?” he loves the fact that he knows my name now. And I swear, every time he says it, I get a little hot spot in the middle of my back.

“Hale, we haven’t spoken about it but I kind of need to.”

He sits back now, face relaxing into a serious expression, letting me know he’s listening.

“What’s going on here?” I say haltingly, hands coming up to wave around stupidly. “Look, we’ve moved past the fact that were both guys and friends, but well…if it’s not obvious by now, I’m gay. And you’re …well I don’t know what you are…” I’m stumbling and I know it. I’m a lot more eloquent when I’m writing stuff out.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I like being friends. A lot. But the flirting…I’m not really eager to go on with that. Not if you’re… Just messing around. It's fun, but I think that it should stop.”

I have shot brief looks at him the whole time, but can’t get my eyes to stay. So I’m looking at my wilting pot plant when he finally responds.

“Michael…yeah. I’m sorry. I should have been clearer.” He says, all regretful, but I’m already nodding.

“No, it’s ok. I get it. Flirting is fun.” I say quickly.

“But if you want me to stop, I will. If you’re not like…there…” now he’s sounding awkward. When I dart a glance at him, he’s rubbing his neck and frowning at the table in front of him.

But I’m feeling a little unfocussed. “Where’s ‘there’?”

He looks at me, quizzical. “I mean, if you don’t want whatever’s between us to go further, I understand. I don’t like it, but I’ll respect it. I don’t want to lose our friendship over it.”

Now I’m leaving closer to the camera. Then I lean away again when I start looking like the BFG. “Hang on. You’re straight. I met you when you needed counselling for your divorce from your female wife.” I tell him, pointing an accusing finger.

He leans back a bit, and looks kind of annoyed. “I married her but it doesn’t mean I’m straight. It means I loved her at one point.”

Some voice in my head tells me to back off ‘cos he’s getting pissed, but I ignore it. “So what then? Because you flirting with me is driving me nuts. Could you just be blunt here?”

He rolls his eyes at me, and suddenly all signs of his aggravation is gone. “Michael, I’m bi. I have been for as long as I remember.”

Oh.

Oh.

“So that’s why you-“ I trail off.

“Am flirting with you, yes. I like you.”

And he looks so adorable, all cute sexy puppy dog, I tell you if he was standing in front of me I would kiss those perfect lips without a second thought. As it is, I just try not to breathe too heavily.

“Oh.” I say, stunned.

“And?” he asked tentatively.

“And what?” I asked, because I am not the sharpest crayon in the box.

He laughs, a little shyly. “Do you like me?”

I rub my face. “I cannot actually believe this. How can you even ask that? I have literally just said to you to stop flirting with me because I can’t take it if you’re not serious.”

“So that’s a yes?” he says, all with a perfect glinty smile.

I just laugh.

This man.

-8-

It’s another month before I’m ready to meet him in person. Which suits us fine because he has a tour or something, and I sort of start thinking about him in terms of the word ‘boyfriend’.

Is it obvious that I haven’t dated much since Ada?

There have been very brief flings and one night things, but nothing more than that. I barely had the head space to think about myself and then Ada, never mind a relationship.

So if I’m going to have a boyfriend, I have to think of Ada first.

But I’m still trying to get ahead of myself. It’s just a date.

A date.

I’m trying not to be a bag of nerves but I’m not doing very well at it. Hale Heart, people. Hale fucking Heart.

I have to stop thinking about it or I’ll just turn around and leave.

Turns out, he lives in a neighbouring city, so it’s not a huge distance for us to meet. The only thing was, it couldn’t be a public place. This was a side effect of being famous; watching your every move because a bunch of people are paid to watch your every move, and get photographs. It made things a bit complicated. But not so complicated that I was going to say no to hale.

So on a Saturday that Ada was spending the day with her soccer team on a team building thing (for five year olds? Really?) I went to this tiny nowhere bistro that was all but on a farm. It was a bit of a drive, but I’d been there with Ada before because they had a pony you could ride if you paid five bucks.

I’m sitting at one of the low wooden tables, looking out of the window, over a small pasture which was home to one solitary pony, who was grazing boredly, and trying not to think about anything in particular.

A touch on my shoulder jolted me. And there he was, all shy smile and crazy blue eyes in caramel skin. I’m trying not to be star struck. I’m really trying.

He sits down across from me.

“Hey.” He says.

“Hey.” I replied, and then we are just grinning at each other like idiots for a moment before I cough and turn away.

“It’s so weird, actually meeting you in person.” I say to cover the awkwardness. He chuckles and I can hear he feels it too.

“Yeah. But I’m really glad though.” His voice is warm.

“How did you get here?” I ask, glancing out the front door to see if I see a car.

“My driver brought me.” He says, like that’s a thing normal people do.

My shyness melts a little and I shoot him my best teacher look. “A driver?”

He shrugs, like he can’t help it. “Not my fault. It was part of the deal. There’s also a sort of bodyguard type…” he leans closer to me but he’s pointing just outside the door, where I see another guy dressed in casual clothes, but he waves a little at us.

“Excuse me? A bodyguard?” I’m almost laughing.

He waves his hands at me. “Not a real bodyguard. He just looks out for press and stuff, helps me leave if I can’t do it on my own. His name is Eustace, and quite a nice guy actually.”

I lean back in my seat, shaking my head and laughing softly.

“I know it’s not ideal, as first dates go.” He says, and he’s rubbing his neck looking regretful.

“No, it’s ok. It’s just…surreal.” I say to him reassuringly. “I didn’t think this actually happened. In real life.”

“Well maybe not in real life, but in my life it does.”

He still looks rueful, and I can see his trademarked pretty boy-sort boy face looking at me from unusually long lashes. It makes me a little breathless. Suddenly he’s so real. He’s wearing a loose jacket, with a t-shirt underneath and jeans. Totally normal looking clothes, totally normal café and totally normal people. Except now there’s no screen between us and I’m struck by it, the unreality of the reality of meeting someone in person, when they’ve only been a collection of pixels before.

He sees my observing look and perks. “Everything ok?”

I shake off the daze a bit. “Yeah, it’s just…you know. You’re here. I’m here.”

He chuckles. “That’s what a date is, usually.”

“I meant that we’ve only met in digital before. It’s like some twisted online dating service.”

He laughs. “Yeah, except on those, we would have seen each other straight away. And probably would have skipped a lot of stuff.”

“Important stuff, though.” I grin.

“Yeah.” He smiles in return. “So? Is it living up to your standards? Cute enough for you?”

I gasp at him as he winks. “Don’t be an idiot. Like you don’t measure up to everyone’s standards.”

I don’t want to return the question, because right now, I’m feeling more and more like he’s the sparkling star fallen to earth, and I’m just a moon rock. But he leans forward trying to catch my eye.

“Hey, don’t I get to answer?” he asks me.

I humph and look away. “No.”

“Well, then I’m going to say it. I think you’re cute.”

I put a hand over my mouth to hide my grin, but he can still see my blush. Tentatively he slides a hand forward, a lets his pinkie touch mine. I sigh out.

“Feel like ordering something?” I say, ignoring the tension, but keeping my hand where it is, just touching, a nexus point of contact.

“Do they serve wine?” he says mischievously.

And I just laugh.