Chapter Twenty-Two
As soon as Rusty left the warmth of Blake’s house and breathed in the cool air outside, he wondered what the hell he was doing.
Specifically, he wondered what the hell made him feel like he needed to do favors for Blake.
Notneeded, either. Wanted.
He wanted to do Blake a favor, he wanted Blake to be pleased with him.
That was… new, and not something he was willing to poke at too much. He was afraid there was something even scarier inside it.
The thing he needed to focus on right now was where the hell he was going to get his hands on a guitar. He hadn’t spotted anything that looked like a music store in town, so that option was out straight away.
The next best source of guitars was people who played them.
Back home, there were half a dozen numbers he could have called to get his hands on something like this in an emergency. Here, he was flying blind.
The pub, maybe? They’d know who the local musicians were, and if Rusty was charming enough, they might eventellhim.
Just as he had that thought, his eyes fell on a flyer taped to one of the telephone poles.
A flyer with a guitar on it.
That was about as direct a sign as he was going to get.
Sunday Sessions, the headline read.
And then gave the address of…
The book store?
Well, he’d played in plenty of little indie bookstores himself, so it wasn’tthatmuch of a surprise. They were a whole lot more likely to be open at this time of the day, too.
He rolled his shoulders back, breathing a sigh of relief. He felt a step closer to the solution to all his problems.
Which brought his mind right back to Blake, and why, exactly, he was doing this.
He didn’t know. At least, he couldn’t immediately come up with an answer that satisfied him, and he didn’t have time for soul-searching right now.
It was probably just because he liked to help people, and Blake reacted well to being helped. He hadn’t really needed to doanyof this, but despite a few hiccups, he’d been enjoying himself.
It’d been a long time since he just stepped back and had a little fun.
And it wasn’t as though he hated playing for people. It wasn’twhyhe did it, but it was nice to have an audience every now and again.
The sun reflected off the glass of the bookstore door as though it was pointing directly at it, a beacon leading Rusty to what he needed. He jogged the last few steps, pushing the door open and heading inside.
It was a lot darker and warmer in here, with a little coffee shop set up in the front, and walls lined with bookshelves.
A man carrying a stack of books smiled at him from the back of the store, his eyes lighting up.
“Youhaveto be Rusty,” he said, setting the pile of books down on the counter. “Everyone’s talking about you. I’m Ash.”
Rusty blinked at that. Everyone was talking about him?
That was… weird. He didn’t think he was all that remarkable.
“Oh, uh. Yeah, guilty as charged. Umm.” Rusty paused to rub the back of his neck. “I’m actually in here to ask a favor. Long story short, my sister-in-law’s getting married today and we’re short a band, so I promised to play a set for her, but… I don’t have a guitar, and I saw your flyer, so I was thinking you might know who I could borrow one from.”
