Mahone Bay was only thirteen minutes away from Lunenburg. Now that I officially knew where to find her, the unremitting itch to go to her surfaced, stronger than it’d been in years, encouraged only further by Gramps’ last words.
Showing up wouldn’t fix things, but Gramps was right. It was time I told her how sorry I was. I wouldn’t burden her with the fact that I’d never gotten over her, or what I’d done to her, but she deserved an apology.
July 23rd, 2008
The guys and I were playing at the bandstand, in the heart of the old town. It wasn’t our first gig, but it was our biggest one yet, the crowds larger than anywhere we’d played before. It was incredible.
This new opportunity was brought to us by my grandfather, who was friends with the organizers. Gramps was somewhat of a legend in these parts, and he had a lot of clout. For decades, he was a headliner at the folk festival, until he retired from playing in his early seventies, when Nan started getting sick.
Although retired, Gramps was kind of our music sensei; he encouraged us and found us new gigs to play at. Because of him, we were playing at the bandstand for the summer concert series, an honor usually reserved for more established musicians. At the last second, one of the scheduled bands backed out due to an issue with one of the musicians at the border. Their loss was our gain.
The lawn was full of people congregating in front of us. They were enjoying our sound—listening, bobbing their heads in time to the beat. The energy streaming out from my fingertips as I strummed the guitar seemed to rile up the audience. The rush I felt was unparalleled. We sounded incredible, echoing off the hundred-year-old grandstand.
I crooned into the microphone, my eyes working the crowd when my gaze was drawn to a girl around my age wearing a flowered sundress and a jean jacket. She stood out more than anybody out there. Maybe it was because she carried a hardcover novel with her, open on her lap as she sat beneath the tree on top of the hill. Maybe it was the dark pull of her eyes, or the flash of her thigh’s creamy skin as she got comfortable, but I couldn’t pull my focus away from her.
She had long, chestnut brown hair. The beachy waves fell freely down her back, and braid was interwoven along her crown.
Her eyes were dark pools, pulling me into their infinite depth like a ship to a siren’s call the moment our gazes locked.
I knew pretty much everyone in Lunenburg, and I’d never seen her before. She was probably a tourist, traveling with her parents for the summer. The urge to find out, to know her, consumed me.
My fingers strummed expertly along the strings as I finished the chorus, my eyes still on this mystery girl, praying like hell I’d get a chance to talk to her after.
A few songs later, the final bars faded and Evan, Dare, and I took a bow. “Thanks Lunenburg! We’reThe Forgotten Flounders. It was a pleasure playing for you tonight!” Evan signed off with the peace sign, of all things. Normally, I’d razz the shit out of him—but I itched to break away and find her.
To my immense disappointment, she’d vanished.
The next day while driving home from Dare’s, I glanced across the street at the right time, catching the mystery girl from last night just before she disappeared into the bookstore. I parked my Jeep, my mind already made up on going to talk to her.
She stood in front of a table near the entrance, reading the back of a novel. She was so enthralled with it. She didn’t notice my approach. It gave me a few moments to take her in, and pinpoint what it was about her that had struck my interest and held me fast.
She was dressed casually in blue denim shorts and a black, white, and burgundy plaid long sleeve button up over a white crop top; her smooth, toned stomach on display for my greedy eyes. Her brown hair hung over her shoulder in a thick braid, and she chewed on her bottom lip as her eyes traced the words.
A closer survey revealed pierced ears and a piercing in her belly button. She wore a thin gold hoop in her left helix, which caught the light streaming in from the bookstore windows. I grinned, wondering if her delicate piercings were an act of rebellion or a matter of taste.
Dark brown eyes; the irises rimmed with a deep purplish-blue, finally lifted, locking with mine. She didn’t seem surprised at all by my intrusion, or my perusal. “Can I help you?” she asked, arching a brow.
“You’re that girl from last night,” I grinned wider, pleased with her spark. She seemed so innocent and soft, but she had bite—and deliverance.
“Ah. The musician with the staring problem,” she retorted, her lips twitching with amusement.
“Can you blame me? You’re gorgeous.” I arched a brow, giving a pointed look.
She blushed prettily, and it was then I noticed the light dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose. She shook her head, setting the book down and moving on.
If it weren’t for the chemistry zapping between the two of us, and the way she kept peering at me over her shoulder, I would have taken that brush off and quit while I was ahead.
But her interest in me was tangible. So was her hesitance, but I didn’t blame her for being wary. I trailed along beside her, not even bothering to pretend I was there for a book. “Are you a tourist?”
“I live here,” she responded, looking at me directly. Her answer delighted me.
“How come I’ve never seen you before?”
“We just moved here two weeks ago.”
“Welcome to Lunenburg,” I grinned, holding my hand out to hers to shake it. “I’m Calum Jacobs.”
She hesitated for a moment before reaching out with her slender hand, shaking mine with a surprisingly steady grip. The air pulsed between us, and every inch of her skin upon mine was on fire—all from a simple handshake. That had never happened to me before.
