Page 14

I shake my head once.

I’ve been here for one night, and I’m already fucking up. The last thing I need is Jamie calling me with his disappointed voice. Lost in thought, I stay quiet until we pull into city parking by a coffee shop. Nelsonville, WY is a much bigger town than I anticipated. It reminds me a little bit of a tiny Nashville, with its bright, thriving downtown. The ground is paved in clean red stone, there are a fair number of tourist shops, a few grocers, restaurants, and, to my surprise, a music store.

My eyes linger on the Gibson in the window.

Damn nice guitar.

Sabrina is out before I can cut the engine, hovering over Bill as he ambles down. He’s a lot more agile than she gives him credit for. I climb out, locking the truck with the key fob in my pocket. Other than my mom, who passed when I was nineteen, the year I met Jamie, I never had a family. I mean, of course there’s Jamie, who’s like my brother. But I never had…this. It’s odd, like looking at something I’ve only heard about through a microscope. It’s like being at the zoo and thinking…huh, how interesting, without actually feeling anything.

Maybe that’s just the exhaustion.

“You feeling alright, son?” Bill asks, hand clapping on my shoulder.

“Yeah, I could use some breakfast.”

“The Bear Café has a western omelet that’ll knock your socks off.”

“Oh yeah?” I pull open the door, letting them file in first. Inside is a hipster-style cafe with a row of bearded men flipping pancakes and making sandwiches on an open grill. A girl with orange hair appears behind the register, smiling and flashing her bright blue braces.

“Hey, welcome to The Bear Café,” she trills. “What can I get for you?”

I step back so they can order, unsure what I’m in the mood for. Truthfully, I haven’t been super hungry since the pasta last night. I’m not used to eating food that heavy. I usually stick to mostly protein with some vegetables—I need my brain to be as sharp as possible for how much I work. I’m not used to eating for the sheer pleasure of it.

“You hungry?”

I blink, Sabrina’s face swimming into view.

“Yeah, I’ll get the western omelet,” I say, reaching for my wallet.

“We got it,” she says.

She hands over some cash before I can protest. Bill brushes past me, heading for an older man on the far end of the room. They start chattering, and Serena goes with him, leaving me and Sabrina alone. She smiles, rocking on her heels awkwardly.

“That music shop next door,” I say, jerking my thumb. “Mind if I go over there while we wait?”

She nods. “Want me to go with you?”

“Sure.”

I wait by the door while she darts around me to let Bill know we’re stepping out for a second. Then, I follow her out onto the hot sidewalk and through the glass door. A bell rings out sharply. The second the cashier looks up and sees us, I know he recognizes me, but he just smiles and lifts a hand. I smile politely as I do a slow turn, taking in the room. It smells so familiar, like being young again, before the success happened, when music meant guitar shops and open mic nights.

“Hey, Sabrina,” he calls.

She waves but doesn’t stop to chat as I skirt around the middle rows stacked with old records. The guitar is beautiful, hanging up in the window. Fifteen years ago, I’d have asked to play it, but I know it’s not the same anymore. I tried doing that at a store once, and someone texted their friend and in minutes, there was a crowd of people trying to jam through the door. Instead, I stare up at it and imagine how it sounds.

But I promised Jamie, after we decided I would go on a break, that I would let instruments rest for a while. I also told him I wasn’t going to get romantically involved with anyone until I got my head on straight. He agreed with me: no music, no girls. At least not for a bit.

I can’t start working again. If I have a guitar and my notebook, I’ll be cooked.

“You like that guitar?”

I glance at Sabrina, who has her arms crossed as she bounces lightly on her heels. She does that a lot. The powerful urge to reach out and touch the side of her neck comes over me. It’s a bare spot, bits of hair falling around it, and it looks so soft. This time, when I feel desire, it’s not surface level. It’s deeper, closer to a need to feel bare skin than just pleasure. I know that feeling. It’s loneliness, not lust.

She glances up, then freezes.

I know she saw the way I was looking. I turn my head, but not soon enough.

Fuck.