“Just coffee.”
She nods and moves away, understanding the universal language of someone who needs to sit with their thoughts. I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms while I try to understand why I can’t stop thinking about a melody played by someone I told to stay away.
The bell chimes again.
Darian walks in.
Of course he does. Because Nashville might sprawl across miles, but the musician’s world shrinks to a handful of venues and diners where coffee doesn’t taste like disappointment.
He spots me immediately. Hesitates. I watch him weigh his options—acknowledge me or pretend we’re strangers. The fact that he’s considering it irritates me more than his presence.
“You can sit down,” I call out, my voice carrying across the mostly empty space. “We’re adults.”
He approaches slowly, like I might change my mind. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I know.” I gesture to the opposite bench. “Sit. Denise makes everyone nervous when people stand around.”
He slides in across from me, and Denise appears with the coffee pot before he’s fully settled.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
She pours, studies us both with the assessment of someone who’s seen every kind of human interaction, then disappears again.
“The wall looks good,” I say, because someone needs to say something.
“Jovie did the painting.”
“I know.” I take a sip of coffee that’s still too hot. “Thank you. You didn’t have to?—”
“I wanted to help.”
“Why?”
The question hangs between us. He turns his mug in slow circles on the table, watching the coffee swirl. “Because I understand what it’s like when something you’ve built starts falling apart.”
“Your band.”
He nods. “Among other things.”
“It must be nice to be able to walk away when it gets too hard.”
The words come out sharper than intended. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t defend himself. “Sometimes walking away is the only way to survive it.”
“And sometimes staying and fighting is.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Fighting?”
“Every day.” The admission surprises me. “This venue, this life—I fought for all of it. Still am.”
“I wasn’t trying to make things harder for you.”
“I know.” I stare into my coffee. “That almost makes it worse.”
“Why?”
Because kindness without agenda terrifies me more than cruelty with purpose. Because the melody you played last night knew things about me I’ve kept locked away. Because you makeme remember who I was before I decided safety mattered more than music.
