“Yeah.”
“How did it go? Are you using someone in-house?”
“We’re still at square one. And no, I’m not using someone in-house.”
His head turns inquisitively. I know he wants to know. I want to tell him. But I’m strangely protective of her.
“It’s someone that I know who’s going to help with the marketing.”
“That blonde who was here earlier?”
I may give Carter a lot of shit, but he’s one of the smartest and most attentive people I know. Not a lot gets past him, so knowing he saw Angie leave earlier sends my hackles rising.
But I give him an answer, because he’s my best friend and teammate. “Yeah.”
“Is that really a smart idea?”
My eyes fly up to him, and I see his eyebrows raised in accusation. “No.”
Carter leans forward, and I’m anticipating a lecture that anyone else would give me. “I won’t tell you not to do something. But I will tell you to be careful.”
“Why do I have to be careful?”
“Come on, Brandon. You think I don’t know who she is? If your family finds out, the fallout from that would ruin you. Ruin your family. And I don’t think that’s something you’re prepared for.”
I sit back in my chair and bite on the inside of my bottom lip, all the while looking at my friend. He’s right. I know he is. When he would come home with me on quick breaks from school, my family would always have some sort of gathering at the house. Carter was folded into the Hayes family rather quickly. So he understood the dynamics that played out around us involving the Rawlins, the Taylors, and the Bailey family. The older kids stuck together and even though they are my brothers, back then it was hard to find any common ground with them.
“She called me out on it, but…”
“But you’re hooked?” Carter asks, interrupting me.
“Yeah,” I sigh, “it’s still up in the air for her.”
Carter shakes his head and raps his knuckles on my desk before standing up. “Well, it still stands to be careful.”
“I will. And thank you.”
“What are friends for?” he says rhetorically. “Anyways, I’m out for the night. See you tomorrow.”
With a head nod, he’s out the door. I turn in my chair toward the window. The sun is still heating up downtown as evident by the heat being absorbed by the windows. But beyond that, I think about what Carter said. I have weighed every option in pursuing Angie and the consequences of burning a bridge with my family. I’ll be devastated if my family revolts against her and me together. I understand it, but no one has sparked a lick of life in me like she has. And it’s with that notion that I shut down my computer for the night and head out to find her.
I join the after-work crowd as I shuffle out of the building. Heading somewhere. Heading nowhere. All Angie said was that I could probably hear her. So, I slow my steps and calm my breathing—I listen. Between the chatter of groups, acceleration of vehicles, and overall city noise—I hear thefaint sounds of a piano in the distance. I look around as if someone called my name, before I decide to head in the direction I was already headed.
Ever since that first instance of heading to the TapHouse with my team, I’ve thrown off my routine all for the sake of seeing Angie. Why? What draws me to her so much that I ignore what I’ve always done?
Step by step, the sound from the piano gets clearer and louder. And with each step, my heart thuds in my chest at what I’ll find. I head toward the center of the business district that holds all sorts of events, from movie nights, paint nights, and a singular piano. That blonde head of hair I’ve become so transfixed with swaying as she moves to the music she’s playing. When I take my eyes off her, I notice tables filling up and a crowd starting to form. And as I get closer, I can see why. She’s lost in the music that’s flowing from her fingertips. You can’t tell when one song ends or if she’s just playing extended versions of it because she keeps playing. But in the midst of her playing, I recognize the song that has been on a loop in my head since I heard it on her social media. It’s a hauntingly beautiful song.
Angie’s eyes are closed in concentration, her lips go from being pursed to tucked between her teeth. She never loses her focus. She never hits the wrong key. She’s utterly flawless on the piano that’s almost like an extension of her.
I’m so hypnotized by her that the sounds of clapping startle me. I look around and back to Angie to see her hands have come off the ivory and black keys. She sits on the bench, motionless until she picks her head up, and a blush covers her cheeks at the amount of attention she’s receiving. I stay just out of view and when our eyes finally clash, my heartbeat rackets up. The organ I thought would never become a cliche around someone has proven me wrong.
Angie smiles at those who are still around until she gathers up her bag and slowly makes her way over to me. As she gets closer, I notice the light sheen of sweat covering her body and the pinkening of her nose—it makes me wonder how long she’s been out here if our meeting finished hours ago.
“Hi,” she greets me when she stops in front of me.
“Hey.”
8
