The airin Warren’s truck is thick with something unidentifiable.
He’s been oddly silent since I finished my set. Not letting my mind run away from itself is proving impossible with every stop sign and awkward glance across the console.
Maybe country isn’t his thing.
Perhaps he doesn’t like the way I play the guitar.
Or my style.
As a musician, you must accept art is subjective. Only with Warren, I’m thirsty for his feedback and praise, an unfamiliar feeling. His continued silence leaves me parched and dry. I knew he wasn’t hot on socializing, and I put his mood down to being all peopled-out.
The only positive about this evening were the girls’ reactions. Warren accepted his mistakes, apologized, and left us all speechless. He spoke each word with conviction and candor, and in my eyes,he won them over.
The sidewalk sparkles under the flickering streetlamp outside my apartment, a light drizzle of rain dancing from the dark skies. It’s cold, and all I want is to turn on my electric blanket and watch something corny until I fall asleep.
Warren expertly maneuvers into an open spot outside my building and turns off the engine. More silence.Yippee.I study his side profile, enjoying the view of his well-defined bone structure before ending on his bearded jaw.
“Can I ask a random question?” My mouth works before my brain.
He eyes me warily. “Sure.”
“How come you have a beard? Aren’t firefighters supposed to be clean shaven?”
His jaw works tightly before responding. “Some stations allow mustaches.”
“Not beards?”
It’s a surprise the windshield doesn’t shatter under his hardened stare. “Not if you’re on active duty.”
It doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines. “And you’renoton active duty?”
“No. I’m not.” Steel would be softer than his tone.
I wait for him to fill in the blanks, which, in classic Warren fashion, he doesn’t. I could push and pry, but I don’t. Not after Ben’s advice. We’ve only been at this friendship thing for a couple of months, and I should trust that, eventually, he’ll come around and open up to me.
I purposefully left out the fact I was singing tonight, wanting to surprise Warren. My intentions have the opposite effect. It’s foolish to think a silly song would crack through his armor.
I wait, and when nothing gives, I call it quits.
“Well, hopefully tonight wasn’t too much for you.” I keep my voice casual. “Thanks for making the effort, and sorry fordropping my impromptu performance on you. Baby brain had me double booking this evening with my midweek shift.”
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, gaze half on me and half through the passenger window.
“Okay, well, bye. Get home safe.” I’m unbuckled and out the door in a flash. My guitar is at the distillery for my shift tomorrow, allowing me a swift escape. I don’t dare look back to see if he’s watching. I already know he is, can feel it burning through my clothes.
Once inside my apartment and free of the stifling tension, I finally breathe. I’d suspected something was amiss, considering how flexible his schedule is. It would also explain his reluctance to discuss his job.
I’m toeing off my shoes when there’s a knock on the door. There’s no need to look through the peephole to know who it is, and Warren’s big body fills the entire doorway when I open it.
Taking a leaf out of his book, I stay silent. It’s him who speaks first for once.
“The first song you performed. I’ve never heard it before.” He frowns at his boots.
“Oh,” I squeak, cheeks heating. Why, oh why, did I play that song? “It was one of mine.”
His cryptic gaze meets mine. “You wrote that?”
Ugh, he hated it. Let me shrivel up and die.
