“Put that away,” I scold, shoving her arm back. “You’re not allowed to have that in here.”
“We’re a table of rebels. It’s fine.” She tosses the vape back into her purse.
Chase folds his hands on the table, pursing his lips. “I build guitars. Just sold my first one on Reverb.”
“No shit?” I hop onto the seat and swivel to face him. “That’s impressive.”
“It’s something. Still a long way to go.”
“You and Tag should start a band together.” Kenna’s espresso-tinged eyes light up. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”
We both stare at her, waiting for the third arm to appear.
“I mean, I didn’t say it was a good idea. Just that it was something.”
Chase scratches the back of his head. “Right.”
I clear my throat. “I’m not sure if that’s—” I’m cut off when my phone starts vibrating from my purse. “Sorry. One sec.”
Fishing it out, I glance at the screen.
Alex:Hi my love. I cooked your favorite dinner. Spicy salmon and Brussel sprouts.
My chest tightens, my thumbs swiping across the keyboard.
Me:You’re so sweet! But it’s Thursday, and you know I’ll be home late tonight…?
Alex:So you’re not eating with me?
Me:Kenna and I usually grab food here at the café, remember? But I can skip that tonight and head out early. Maybe keep it warm for me? Just give me an hour. Muah!
The anxiety flourishes as I watch his bubbles come to life, pause, then start dancing again.
Finally:
Alex:Forget it. I’ll toss it. Have fun.
My eyes burn.
Dammit.
Blowing out a breath, I glance between Kenna and Chase as my friend fills him in on her extensive collection of rare succulents, her soft Spanish lilt quieting the unease barreling through me.
Chase pretends to act invested as he nods at random intervals, but I can tell he’s not paying attention. He’s focused on the music. His eyes close, long lashes fluttering as if the acoustic strings are cutting through the sound of Kenna’s voice and resonating deep inside him. A hand taps against his uninjured thigh. His leg bobs in perfect time, body swaying slightly to the beat.
For a moment, Alex fades away. The text messages dissolve, and my anxiety peters out like smoke curling from a snuffed out candle.
He’s moved by it.
He’s moved in the same way Tag is moved.
The same way I’m moved.
It’s clear he didn’t come tonight because of me—he came for the music.
Heaving in a breath, I finally turn back to my phone.
Me:I’ll leave now. Thank you for cooking and I’ll see you soon.????
