I drove her home at the end of the night and walked her to her front door. We stood on the stoop, hands lightly intertwined, and I stared into her eyes, lit up by the light beside the door. I cupped her cheek and slowly leaned in and kissed her, her lips soft and tasting slightly of gin. My hand slid across her face until it tangled in her hair, her fingers light on my hips. We broke just long enough for her to unlock the door, and then she tugged me inside, and I took her in my arms again as I kicked the door shut behind us.
In the morning, I awoke with Lena’s curls tumbled across my chest, smelling faintly of strawberry shampoo. She stirred as I shifted, eyes blinking open to look up into mine, a sleepy smile on her face.
“Good morning,” she murmured, and I kissed her on the forehead, utterly at ease.
I left after breakfast as both of us had things to do that day, promising to meet for lunch within the next few days. My car was right where I’d left, though there was a white slip of paper stuck under the wipers. I frowned. I was certain I was legally parked.
I tugged the page free and unfolded it.
It simply read, “I.O.U. -M.”
Epilogue
Silence surrounded my small circle of listeners as I finished my tale. Rapt faces stared back at me as I took a drink of water to wet my now parched throat. The night had grown old as I spoke, many of the Gellions Pub’s patrons headed home for bed, but everyone in the group of musicians stayed until the very end, unable to miss a beat.
“That’s some story,” the old man said and whistled.
“But you got together in the end,” a fiddle player pointed out. “So why are you looking for her now?”
“And what about the I.O.U.?” the guitar player asked.
“Stories for another night,” I said. I’d spoken so long I now felt completely void of words.
“I’ll take that as a promise.” The old man winked at me. “Come on. Let the man rest. I should have been in bed hours ago.”
He stood creakily and gathered his instrument case, the other musicians following his lead. I rested on my stool, bad leg stretched out in front of me, and watched them go.
“Thanks for making me seem cool,” a voice said behind me, and I craned my neck around to see Fletcher standing there with her wife on her arm. These days, Fletcher dyed her hair to cover the growing grey, and the undercut had shifted to the left side of her head. She and her wife, Evelyn, had been together for a decade now, and each year, they seemed happier than the one before.
“When did you get here?” I asked and stood to give both of them a hug.
“About halfway through,” Fletcher said. “Do you really come here every week looking for Lena?”
I nodded. “I can’t help it.”
Fletcher smiled sympathetically. She was well aware of my inability to get over Lena Taggert. She had turned into my own Loch Ness Monster conspiracy theory, and though I knew I needed to let her go, I simply couldn’t.
“Let me give you a ride home,” Fletcher said. “Since you look like you’ve had quite a few of those.” She eyed the collection of glasses on the small table beside me.
“I switched to water an hour ago,” I protested, but I handed her my keys. The truth was, it was getting harder and harder to drive with my bad knee. Fletcher grinned and clapped me on the shoulder, and then I followed her and Evelyn out into the night.
A Message from the Author
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