I run a hand over the polished wood, checking for imperfections.
Satisfied, I reach for the pick resting on the table and strum a slow, resonant chord. The sound is clean, rich, carrying through the quiet room like a hymn.
Toaster abandons his bone to sniff the guitar, tail wagging.
Progress.
I’m getting closer to finishing my second guitar.
My eyes lock onto the time glowing on my wristwatch: 6:32 p.m.
I’m getting closer to a lot of things.
***
The busy café bustles around me as I order a vanilla latte with no foam and a hot Americano, then carry the drinks to an empty table in the back. Annie’s brother traipses around the small wooden platform, a pick clasped between his teeth, a dark beanie on his head. There’s a look in his eyes—determined, haunted—and I recognize the weight in them. The weight of dreams, of struggle, churning and foaming with no place to go.
Taking a seat, I collapse into a tall chair and lean back, fingering the rim of my coffee cup. Only a few minutes whiz by before the front door opens and familiar laughter fills the space.
Annie strolls inside with a smile, her friend by her side, and her hair piled up in a crown of braids, a plum-hued flower woven into the ringlets.
My stupid heart starts to race; she’s fucking beautiful.
And I don’t know if my coming here is because of the music, our shared connection, or because of the girl who emanates passion like a flame in the dark.
Vivid, untamed, and impossible to ignore.
It’s probably all of the above. But when she finds me across the room, her smile widening, her eyes locking onto mine with a glimmer of surprise, I know which one weighs heaviest.
Fuck.
I’m out of my league.
My heart is racing, and she’s still smiling.
“Chase.” She’s nearly out of breath as she floats away from Kenna and approaches my table. “Once again, you manage to surprise me.”
“Odd, given our initial introduction.”
Her eyes flash, but it’s not with residual trauma or scorn. It’s playful, teasing.
“Touché,” she says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show.”
“I grabbed you a coffee.” I slide the latte over to her.
Last week, I heard her order as I tried to remain invisible near the register, partially hoping she wouldn’t recognize me. It was difficult enough dragging my ass over here, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for another face-to-face meetingwith the woman I terrorized. But she spotted me instantly. And there was no anger, no resentment—only smiles and chitchat, as if we hadn’t crossed paths under the most fucked-up, harrowing circumstances.
As if she’d been waiting for me to show.
Annie hesitates, eyeballing the steaming paper cup. She blinks at it like she’s never seen a cup of coffee before. “Oh…thank you. That was sweet.”
“No problem.”
Kenna hangs back to place an order, eyeing me with interest from the counter.
Reaching for the latte and taking a sip, Annie waves her hand at the stage. “I want to introduce you to my brother.”
Record scratch.
