Mach nodded.
"I never know how the music might affect someone. And when it does, it’s a powerful thing. But, uh, why’d you stop telling me about your job?" Mach asked, catching her gaze with his and holding it there.
"You’re being very nice to me and that’s really nice of you." Darla held her hands together in her lap. "But there’s no way you really want to hear all of the mundane details about my job."
"Who’s saying what I really want to hear about?" he asked, settling deeper into the bench seat. "This is interesting."
"Even I know that it’s not." She brushed her hair off of her shoulder. "I mean this is fun, you know," she said, gesturing to the bar at large. "But the whole not-really-a-date thing is a surprise. And I don’t really like surprises. Even the nice ones. I prefer predictable."
"Where’s the fun in that?" he asked, polishing off the ginger ale he passed off as beer. A trick he learned from the veteran Dimefront guys. Save the street cred, but don’t get sloshed before a show.
"Life isn’t always about having fun," Darla said. "It’s not all piña coladas."
"Why can’t it be?" he asked. What was the point if you didn’t at least enjoy the life you got to live?
"I could give you my lecture that I give the patients who arrive in an ambulance after a night of entirely too much fun and zero predictability. I’ve got a whole spiel ready when we’re done with the stomach pump," she said. "But I won’t do that to you."
"I don’t know, maybe I’d like to hear it." He leaned in closer, elbows on the table.
She met him halfway, so they were sharing space there in the middle.
"There is a rhythm to understanding how things should be," she said. "How they work best. That’s how you get to the good stuff. It can’t all be fun and games."
He didn’t want to catch feelings for her. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. But he was actually enjoying this conversation.
"What’s your story, Darla?" he asked her, but also asked himself.
"Met a guy. Got engaged. You know the rest." She pushed her hair behind her ear.
His eyebrows pulled together. "Don’t think I do."
"It didn’t work out. Things happen." Was she trying to convince him or her?
"Fiancé did the whole it’s-not-you-it’s-me song and dance a few months back. Then he tossed me out on my ass. Just like that, my now-and-forever became a total asshat. And when all of that went to hell in a handbasket, I moved in with my friend and licked my wounds. Then I pulled myself together, and now I’m here."
Mach squirmed a little.
She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I’d been with him since undergrad."
He nodded along until that point. Then he shook his head. "Relationships that start when you’re a kid never last."
"That’s not true." She clearly didn’t like that. "And we weren’t kids."
"You were in college?" he asked, his interest level increasing as he spoke.
She nodded. "Yes."
"You were kids." He said this like he knew. But he didn’t. He didn’t know. Not really.
Darla’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Shit, he’d said the wrong thing.
Pam came by to let them know a blender had been purchased, the donuts were somehow on the way, thanks to Hans. Hans, whose connections knew no bounds.
Darla ordered another seltzer, but the spark from earlier had dimmed.
"Are you okay?" Mach asked. Which was stupid because she was clearly not okay, and he probably shouldn’t be asking her that. "I’m sorry if I hit a nerve." He was.
