“It sounded like a yes.”
“Maybe it did.” Our eyes catch, and I wonder if she sees the twinkle I know is there.
She snorts into her coffee, looking away. “You’re confusing me.”
Feeling is mutual, but I don’t say it.
She’s affecting me, plaguing me with questions I don’t have the nerve to ask, unraveling something knotted deep in my chest, and threading herself through thoughts I have no business entertaining. It’s in the tilt of her head, the curveof her mouth, the kindness that seeps from her touch. I don’t even think she realizes it; it’s just who she is.
It’s in my best interest to pivot. “The stuff you write…does it translate into songs?”
Ambient lighting shimmers in her eyes like a silent secret. “Not really.” Her voice dips with a touch of regret. “They’re just pieces. Random thoughts about random things. There’s no harmony in them.”
“Write me something.”
She blinks. “Right now?”
I nod.
“I don’t know…”
“She’s amazing,” Kenna interrupts, the mysterious redhead disappearing from the table. “All she has to do is look at something and haikus pour out of her like an oil spill. But prettier.”
Annie’s gaze flicks to mine, and warmth unfurls in my chest.
I watch the spill take shape.
She grabs a napkin, pulls a pen from her purse, and starts writing. But she hesitates; whether from doubt, the fear of judgment, or something else, I can’t tell.
The napkin crinkles in her palm. A fleeting, uncertain glance is sent my way.
Then she hands it over.
Quiet like the moon
His gaze holds a thousand storms
Words trapped in the dark
Throat thickening and pulse revving, I read it once, twice, ten more times. “You can sing. Write. Why are you pulling double shifts at a diner?”
She slinks back in the chair, like she’s questioning her life choices. “It’s just the way the cards fell.”
“Cards are meant to be played. It’s different when you don’t have any cards at all. Then you’re just sitting at the table, watching everyone else reshuffle.”
She blinks back up with a frown. “Are you implying you don’t have cards?”
Kenna jumps in. “She’s incredible, right? I’ve been saying for years she should learn guitar and start performing. Or team up with Tag. They’d be electric together.” A beat of silence stretches before she leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Or, hey, maybe the three of you should start something. I can totally see it.”
I almost spit out my coffee.
This is the second time Kenna has mentioned me joining forces with Annie’s brother, even though the guy would rather shit in his hands and clap than make music with me.
Annie brushes off the suggestion, her knee grazing mine when she shifts in her seat. She draws out the contact for several seconds before pulling away.
The show wraps up two hours later.
Annie texts furiously on her phone between songs, her cheeks pink, expression strained, and I can’t help but flash back to her sudden departure last week. I wonder who she was talking to, who had the power to pull her away from something she obviously loves and looks forward to.
