“I believe in experiential learning.”
I glared while she ate hers without visible injury.
“You waited for mine to cool.”
“I believe in preparation.”
“That feels dishonest for someone who teaches people to breathe underwater.”
“It’s one of the contradictions that makes me interesting.”
The food was excellent.
Rosa had included three sauces, none of them labeled. Ellie claimed this was intentional and described them as safe, brave, and legally uncertain.
I chose brave.
It was not.
By the time we reached the fries, the steel-drum player had moved into a song I recognized immediately.
My song.
Not the summer hit from the café.
An older track from my second album.
A quiet song about leaving a small town before it could convince you to stay.
The melody was almost unrecognizable under the steel drum’s enthusiastic abuse, but the chords were there.
I went still.
Ellie groaned.
“Oh no.”
“This one too?” I asked carefully.
“I told you. I know Savannah Brooks’s music.”
“And you like this song?”
“I love this song.”
She looked toward the musician, who had just done something to the bridge that might qualify as a felony.
“Not like this,” she added. “This is between him and God.”
I laughed, but something tightened in my throat.
Ellie rested her elbows on her knees.
“This one got me through a rough winter.”
I turned slightly.
“What happened?”
