When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no - one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

The same tall man, with an unforgettable pair of deep blue eyes, sat at the same corner table across the room, nursing a cold bottle of beer. He gave no indication whether he was enjoying the show or not, nor did his face show any particular favoring for her selection of old R&B favorites. He just stared at her through unblinking eyes, as if his mind were elsewhere.

He'd been coming to the hotel bar for the last four nights, she noticed, wearing the same no-nonsense look on his face, and ordering the same bottle of beer he never touched. Sometimes, while she sang, she'd glance his way, and feel her spine tingle when she came in contact with his baby blues.

He requested the same song from her every night too, a classic Bob Dylan song, "Make You Feel My Love", undoubtedly one of her own favorites, and apparently also his. As simple as it was poignant, the song made her remember the times she'd sung it when she was younger, and less…jaded, maybe.

So, yes, she tried to accommodate him as much as she can.

As the last notes strained from the piano, she took her bow, smiling graciously at the generous applause her mostly-male audience lavished her.

Walking off the small makeshift stage, she took the small towel her pianist casually tossed her way. She nodded slightly in thanks, wiping the sweat that started to form on her forehead. She forgot how the heat of the stage lights affected her makeup. Gail, the club’s unofficial makeup artist, was going to kill her if she had to do one more touch up. She just got so lost in the music that…

"The bar manager says you're not classically trained."

She looked up and saw familiar blue eyes.

Her surprise made her miss his statement. "Excuse me?"

"The bar manager, over there," He pointed to Mr. Morgan, her boss, who stood talking to a few Japanese businessmen by the other end of the stage. "He said you're not classically trained."

She nodded slightly. "I've been singing for a long time, but no training. I do what comes naturally."

He shook his head and she swore she saw the ghost of a smile on the edges of his lips. "Very impressive. I've never heard anyone else sing Bob Dylan with so much soul, outside of Adele."

She tilted her head and regarded him with amusement. "Thank you. And I appreciate you asking me to sing it. I always enjoy performing more classic pieces."

"And I enjoyed hearing it," he smoothly replied, "For the last four days…"

THAT made her smile.

"It was my pleasure."

He leaned back against a speaker and looked at her with curiosity and interest. She fought hard not to blush all the way to her short brown hair and bright red tips.

"I can't quite figure you out," he drawled lazily, looking over her as if memorizing her features. "When I came in here four nights ago and saw you with this hair, I thought maybe you were going to bust out the Joan Jett and maybe some Debbie Harry. But R&B?" He shook his head. "I never would've guessed."

She shrugged. "Appearances CAN be deceiving." Inwardly, she slapped herself for saying the most cliched phrase in history.

"I'd like to see you again."

Relieved that she somehow managed to get away with that last statement, she grinned. "Oh, you're more than welcome to. I'm just taking a thirty minute break and I'll be back with my last set."

NOW, he smiles. And it nearly made her have a heart attack on the spot. If she thought his eyes were beautiful, it was even more so when it was lit up with a grin.

"I'll be waiting then," he said softly as he held out his hand, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss…"

She took it and felt his strong grip swallow her hand whole. She blinked and returned his smile with one of her own. "Tasha. Tasha Callaghan."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Tasha Callaghan," He squeezed her hand one last time before letting it go. "'Til next time."

He turned and walked away, as Tasha felt tingly inside from where his hand touched hers. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the rational side of her wondered who this man was and how he seemed to make her act like a teenager. Dammit, she WAS almost thirty. She wasn't some pre-pubescent little girl getting her first crush…

Then she realized she didn't even get his name.

"Wait!" she practically shouted before his figure disappeared behind the curtains.

He turned with a questioning raise of his brow, clumps of blond hair blocking her view of one eye. "Yes, Tasha?"

And how she loved the way her name rolled off his tongue. "Umm, I didn’t get your name."

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's Nick." He grinned again, this time it was a grin she knew rather well. "Nick Carter."

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* Lyrics from "Make you feel my love" by Bob Dylan.