The town has grown since back then, but it hasn’t expanded this far. The rock I spent hours sitting on looks the same as the last time I was here.
Cate was with me then. Many of the times before, too.
I’d been coming here for years before the first time she happened upon me while out for a hike. Monsters hadn’t joined human society yet. The Great Revelation was years away, not even a rumbling of it in the news. Nobody knew what was to come.
No human had ever slipped past my radar. I was always on alert. Always careful.
I found out later that she’d never seen a troll, yet in that moment, she didn’t startle or scream. And when I called out that she didn’t need to be afraid of me and I wouldn’t hurt her, her reaction was to smile and laugh before calling back, “Of course you wouldn’t.”
Extreme open-mindedness? Blind trust? Maybe on her end.
On mine, her presence sparked a visceral response. Internally. Externally. Every part of me instantly at maximum awareness. Not some kind of survival instinct because a human discovered my existence. Because I became aware ofher.
If she’d been a troll, I would’ve got up from that rock and claimed her as my true mate right then and there, because every thought and sensation rushing through me were exactly as my parents had described the knowing when you meet the one meant for you.
But it couldn’t be that. Not with a human.
I told myself that for years. Made myself believe it.
She didn’t sit on this rock with me that first day, but she did hang around and talk from a short distance. And before carrying on with her hike, she asked if I’d be coming back, and if it’d be okay to meet me again.
After that, what had been my place became our place. Every conversation brought us closer, in distance and connection. Wasn’t long before she was beside me, her leg touching mine, her head on my shoulder while I played. I stopped imagining a stage and a crowd. Every note, every lyric, were for her.
Now, sitting on the weather-smoothed surface and looking out across the unchanged landscape, I can almost picture her cresting the hill, walking toward me with a beautiful smile on her face, the way she used to.
I caught glimpses of that smile tonight. And when she relaxed and rested her head against my chest, it was easy to imagine a life where holding her close was the norm instead of a “one last dance for old times’ sake” moment.
My fingers go still on the strings, the notes I’ve been absentmindedly strumming fading into the night air. Even if I sit here all night, eventually the sun will rise on a new day that requires choosing a path from this rock.
A couple of days ago, I wouldn’t have considered any path other than the fastest one back to Los Angeles to prep for another tour. That’s the life I wanted.
Now I’m not sure. But I don’t need a lecture from my annoying inner voice to know that wherever I go from here, literally and otherwise, there’s no coming back from it.
Chapter Seven
The Next Evening
CATE
Sunday’s crowd is always on the smaller side. It’s a mellower group, generally the same few dozen people gathering to enjoy their fifteen minutes in the literal spotlight as they take turns on the stage. So, when the usual respectful silence abruptly becomes murmuring loud enough to interrupt Gwen’s rendition of “The Rose,” I pause restocking the fridge and pop my head up from behind the bar.
“Oh my god, is that…” My bartender, Jane, loses her ability to finish the question as the reason for the commotion moves deeper into the room.
“Grüsh. Yes, it’s him,” I say, rising to a full stand beside her, both of us watching the troll who towers over everyone now crowded around him.
“What is he doing here?”
“He was in town for his brother’s wedding yesterday.”
“Okay, but why is hehere, here?” my awestruck employee asks without taking her eyes off the unexpected main attraction.
“Good question.”
I’ve booked some really talented musicians and bands in the years I’ve owned The Corner Bar. Especially since the Great Revelation, which saw Harmony Glen’s tourist industry boom because of our community’s genuine inclusiveness and open-armed welcome to all nonhuman species. But none of those acts had Grüsh’s level of fame.
Not only did a legit rock star just walk into this small-town bar, he’s carrying his guitar. He wouldn’t have brought it if he didn’t intend to play. But why?
For a solid five minutes, he shakes hands and signs autographs. He even smiles while doing it. Something I haven’t seen a lot of in recent years.
