A lone songbird must’ve been perched on his bedroom window’s ledge, as its rhythmic, repetitive melody could be heard even through the closed glass.  Yo, bird, he amusingly thought, I already got an alarm clock, thankyouverymuch, and it’s not been set.  Well, there was no going back now.  Anton knew he’d be unable to fall back asleep, and besides, his clock radio announced it was<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4dffff">8:22</span>.  </i>Not too bad, he thought, not too bad at all, satisfied at sorta sleeping in.<br/><br/>He suspected that Evangeline had somehow sent the songbird to his window, with clear instructions to wake his lazy bones up.  Anton smiled at the thought, wishing to believe it.  His wife’s face filled his mind, which soon morphed into the visage of a particularly vibrant redhead.  Smiling at the gradual shift, he wondered if Stella was pleased with her concert performance.  She had to have been; she was so animated at dinner, not to mention their walks to and from the eatery.  Her liveliness wasn’t nearly as prominent during their journey to their respective apartments, however.<br/><br/>Chloe?  For some reason, it kept circling back to her.  His friend spending the night probably didn’t help the situation in any way.  Anton brushed it aside as just that: a distraught friend spending the night.  Another woman, on the other hand (namely Stella), might not be able or willing to casually accept it.  His sigh was pronounced with a mournfulness, as he finally, truly admitted to just how bad he’d blown it with Stella and her enchanted evening.  He recalled how hot she looked in that dress, too.  Naturally, that remembrance didn’t help matters at all.<br/><br/>All of this would be kept secret from Chloe.  The young woman had enough crap on her mind, what with that dickhead Joel seemingly back in the picture.  Anton had a hunch about that, though he wished he’d be proven wrong.  Head tilted off his pillow, he scanned his bed for his feline roommate.  No sign of her.  Either food, water, or potty occupied her time right now.  Or more than likely, she was already hogging the window seat.<br/><br/>Carcass removal from his bed now complete, he slipped on his favorite sweatpants and replaced his sleep tank top with a<i>Rage Against The Machine </i>t-shirt.  His plan was to first brew a pot of coffee for him and his house guest, see if she was interested in breakfast somewhere, and then take her home.  Nearing her room, the carpeted hallway assisted him in stealthily sneaking past without a sound.<br/><br/>“Anton!” Chloe called out to him.  Damn, he thought, I was totally quiet.  How in the hell did she hear me?!<br/><br/>“Uh, hey Chloe,” he answered.  “You sleep well?”<br/><br/>“Very much so, and thank you for asking.  Could you come in here, please?” she enquired.<br/><br/>What?!  He was afraid this might happen.  Oh, get over yourself, dude, he scolded himself.  You know it ain’t like that with you and her!  About to ask if she was decent, he thought better of it and decided not to.  Gently pushing the slightly open door, there she was, still under the covers, her head propped up on her pillow.  Chloe was smiling radiantly at him.  A second or two later, and Anton returned that smile.  Tightly tucked against her right hip was a stretched out, slumbering Licorice.  “I knew she’d come and say hi,” he proudly beamed.<br/><br/>“Can I keep her?” Chloe innocently asked.  And so casual, too, as if he was in the business of giving away pet cats.<br/><br/>“Uh, that would be a no,” he replied, laughing softly.  “Listen, I’m gonna make us some coffee.  You come out when you’re ready.”  Maybe it was the sound of his voice, maybe not, but Licorice started purring that contented purr.  In other words, loudly.  With her eyes still closed.  The showoff, he thought.  Smiling once again, Chloe scrunched her shoulders in delight, while also stroking the Persian’s exposed belly.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt;&lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt;​</div><br/>She had declined breakfast.  Said she wasn’t hungry, mostly anxious about Joel.  The pair did, however, manage to polish off an entire pot of coffee.  Conversation subjects ranged from the aforementioned Joel to Stella to Evangeline.  Chloe was still unsure about her ex-boyfriend, though she did agree with Anton that he’d more than likely ask for another chance.  Her model friend made it perfectly clear as to where he stood on that front.<br/><br/>As for Stella, Anton explained the events following the concert and how he believed Stella was possibly mad at him.  Worse, he freely admitted, would be if Stella was hurt by his actions, or inactions, as the case may be.  Chloe apologized profusely (needlessly so) for being in the middle and forcing his hand where her sleepover was concerned.  He informed her that was utter nonsense and if anyone was to be blamed in this mixed-up fiasco, it was him and him alone.<br/><br/>Seeing how well she fit into Evangeline’s clothes, prior to leaving, he insisted she join him in his bedroom to look through the rest of his wife’s wardrobe.  Anton had to reassure her time and time again that he wouldn’t freak out upon seeing her wearing one of Eva’s dresses or outfits at the agency.  She relented after he explained he didn’t know what else to do with her clothes and that it was perfect that they were about the same size.  Besides, it’s not like he could use any of it for himself.  Chloe got a laugh outta that one.<br/><br/>About 45 minutes later, two suitcases lay next to each other on his bed, nearly filled to the brim with all manner of women’s attire: seasonal fashions and evening wear.  All of Evangeline’s lingerie was the only clothing not up for Chloe’s scrutiny.  Anton had to admit, though, that he<i>really</i>needed to get rid of them somehow.  Too many horny memories just looking at the sexy items.<br/><br/>Anton was back in his apartment half an hour later.  There’d been no sign of a red Mustang in and around her neighborhood.  He helped her with the suitcases as she continued to thank him and rave about the just-like-new clothes and, of course, Licorice.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt;&lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt;​</div><br/>It was already Friday, and Anton was convinced Stella was avoiding him, not having seen her since the night of her concert.  He had a crystal clear idea as to why, too.  Not bumping into her in and around the building was one thing.  But no Tesla, too?  Nope, not buying it as a mere coincidence.  He’d gotten quite used to the occasional visitation at his front door from the affable Maine Coon.  Knowing Licorice, she was probably wondering what was going on, too.<br/><br/>Now, what was the name of that bar she performed at? Anton thought.  The something, which was of no use whatsoever.  He snapped his fingers, remembering he’d entered the name into his phone under Stella’s contact info soon after arriving home from<i>The Capitol Grille.  </i>There it was.<i>The Duke’s </i>it was called, with a<i>W, F,</i>and<i>Sa </i>following it.  With nothing to do on a Friday night, he figured he’d pay that bar a visit to watch and listen to her perform, knowing that it would be in a very different environment.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt;&lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt;​</div><br/>Always preferring to be discreet instead of the opposite, Anton had chosen a table for two, though he was there solo.  It offered a clear view of the stage, but wasn’t in its direct sightline, more of an angle and to the side.  The best part (and why he chose it) was that it offered a commanding view of the entire bar’s layout.<br/><br/>Eventually, Stella appeared on stage while some light applause greeted her entrance.  Anton was glad about the dim lights, catching himself staring at her and her chosen attire.  She looked damn sexy and gorgeous in that snug dress, while the split on the left side offered a generous eyeful of leg.  Even something as simple as her hairdo screamed sex appeal.  She wore it up in that whatchamacallit style (he could never remember the proper term), and he thought her auburn hair contrasted perfectly with that dress.<br/><br/>Following a handful of songs, Stella asked the crowd if they had any requests.  Anton wasn’t about to announce his presence with one of his own, so he kept quiet.  It was then that he spotted a familiar face beyond the stage.  She must’ve seen him first, as Magdalene was already staring at him.  He raised his pint glass in polite acknowledgment, which she returned with her own glass.  He was somewhat amused at seeing her date, recalling how she once told him she refused to date blonde men.  Yet, there he was, right across from her.<br/><br/>A well-dressed man stood (nothing fantastical about that), but then he started to approach the stage.  No one prevented him from doing so, as Anton thought this happened all the time.  Stella and Mystery Man chatted, though he wasn’t close enough to hear exactly what was said.  Voices and general bar buzz was also of no help.  They appeared to know each other, so this seemed to be much more than a casual request.<br/><br/>They performed a duet, and he thought they were actually pretty good together, though he was really here to see Stella, not him.  Song completed, they smiled at each other and chatted some more.  A handshake soon followed; Anton figured the man must’ve just introduced himself.  So they didn’t know each other.  Apparently, another tune was to be performed by the pair, as they promptly kicked into it.  Right about now, Anton wondered if he should leave.  Discreetly in, discreetly out.  As if a thought bubble appeared over his head in blinking neon, Stella glanced his way, eye contact definitely established.  Ah crap, he thought, so much for slinking outta here.  Whether her missed key was on account of him was anyone’s guess.  Her gentleman singing partner just so happened to also be looking Anton’s way.<br/><br/>And Magdalene witnessed it all unfold.