Chase frowns. “Every girl’s fantasy.”
“You’d be surprised.” My friend takes a seat across from him and extends a hand. “I’m Kenna. Annalise’s best friend, coworker, and future one-woman PR firm.”
Tentatively, he takes her hand, focus still aimed at me. “Chase.”
Pulling back, she smooths her fingers over her wavy, bleachy blond topknot and dark roots. “She filled me in. Exciting stuff. How’s your dog doing?”
“Fine.”
“Kenna, can you give us a second?” I tap my foot against the earth-toned ceramic tile. “Maybe go save our seats. I’ll be over in a sec.”
“Yeah. Sure.” With a quick turn, she sends me a look that says I need to tell her everything, immediately, no details left out.
When she floats away, I hesitate before taking a seat in her abandoned chair. I rub my lips together. Chase doesn’t say anything, appearing decidedly out of place, out of his element, and out of words. Can’t say I blame him; it was brave of him to show.
Curiosity spurs my tongue. “Are you here to watch Tag play?”
He looks down and swipes invisible crumbs off the tabletop, tapping his thumb ring against the surface. “Yeah. Figured it was time to venture out into the world.”
“Adulting is hard, I know.” I prop my chin in my palm with a sincere smile. “How’s your leg? Back to normal?”
“Questionable. Still hurts, but I’m over the worst of it.” He glances at me, and our eyes hold for several heartbeats before his brows lower. “Actually, I don’t know why I came.”
My breath catches, and my smile slips. I drop my forearms on the table and start drumming my fingernails. “Well, I bewitched you with the prospect of good music. You’re a music guy. The math checks out.”
“Right,” he says. “The music.”
There’s an inquisitive look in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher. Like he’s weighing something, turning it over in his mind.
Anxiety clogs my throat when I realize it’s possible he didn’t come for the music.
He may have come for me.
I should tell him I have a boyfriend, but the words stick like taffy, wadded up and lodged in my throat. That feels awkward and presumptuous.
“Tag is talented,” I tell him, my voice growing smaller. “You’ll see.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“I remember you singing to me that night. You were good.”
My cheeks heat at the memory. “Oh, thanks. I guess I can carry a tune. But I work a lot of hours. Double shifts and such. My free time is limited.”
“Where do you work?”
“Charlie Barker’s. It’s that diner off Fifth Street with the dog mascot on the sign.”
He nods, processing the information. Then he glances around the room with an audible sigh, scratching at his jawline. “I should probably go.”
Surprised, I inch back in the seat. “Why?”
“Once your brother knows I’m here, he’s going to call the cops and have me arrested. I probably deserve that, but—”
“No. He won’t.”
“What makes you so sure? I doubt he’s going to be as chill as your friend.” Wary eyes sweep over to where Tag tests the microphone and strums the opening chords to a City and Colour song.
