I lift the paper bag like a peace offering. “I brought you something.”
He squints at it. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”
My heart beats faster as his eyes meet mine, a stupid, desperate hope flaring in my chest. I think I see something there, a flicker of the old Jax. But it’s gone as fast as it came, replaced by a cool, detached calm that makes my stomach sink.
He seems completely unaffected, leaning against the bar like I’m just another person dropping by. “What’s with the ominous paper bag?”
“Technically,” I say, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind me, “it’s a congratulations gift.”
“For what?”
“It’s for your bar opening. You’ve been working on this place forever.”
He eyes the bag. “You got me a gift?”
“Well, now you’re making it weird,” I snap, my cheeks heating.
“Aren’t you supposed to wrap a gift?” he asks.
“Aren’t you supposed to not be an ass when given a gift?” I shoot back.
He rubs a hand over his face, clearly exhausted. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Headache.”
“Business-owner headache?” I ask.
He snorts. “Something like that.”
I set the bag on the bar. “Open it.”
He lets out a long, weary sigh and pulls the bag closer. He reaches inside and pulls out the small silver music box. He turns it over in his hands, his brow furrowed in utter confusion.
“Just open it, you big baby.”
He flips the lid. A tiny ballerina in a tarnished tutu pops up and begins to spin, a soft, tinny melody filling the space. It’s a little warped, a little sad, and completely out of place. For a second, everything is still. The only sound is the delicate, off-key tune echoing off the brick walls.
“You got me a music box?”
“For luck,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “I got it after I won my first solo.”
His eyes flick back to the spinning figure, his thumb tracing the edge of the box.
“And every bar needs a dancer,” I add, trying to lighten the mood.
A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, transforming his whole face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He carries it over to a dusty shelf behind the bar and sets it down like it’s made of glass. “Then I guess she works here now.”
I can’t help but smile back.
“Thanks,” he says with a nod.
“You’re welcome.”
I take the moment to really look around. The place is completely different. It actually looks like a real place. A place that could be something.
“You finished it,” I say, a little awed.
