“Yeah.”
Our gazes met. For a tangled moment, my heart raced. There was heartbreak there. Sadness. The charming layers of Mark Bailey slid away for a moment before a half-smile shoved them back to where he must keep them hidden.
“Me either,” I said.
His eyebrows rose halfway to his hairline. “What?”
I swallowed with a small chuckle that was more a nervous tick than amusement. “I think . . . I think I sort of lost myself after college. And in the losing, I forgot to live and date and . . . love. There have been plenty of boyfriends, but not real love. Crushes. Attraction. Flirtation. It all ended before it became too serious and happy. But I just . . . I guess I've put it off.”
“What has been more important?”
Genuine curiosity filled his eyes now, and I felt something welling in my chest. Something hot and thick and oily and heavy. It looked like my parents and grated, twisted metal and the quiet of Grandma's house. For a second, I felt sucked into a vortex where I couldn't breathe and I felt like a small five-year-old trying to make sense of the pieces of her life again.
The waitress reappeared with our plates, breaking the sudden sense of falling apart that had washed over me. One piece at a time, I pulled myself together. Syrupy huckleberry pancakes waited for me, a glob of butter melting over their golden tops. A massive omelet with four types of cheese sat in front of him. While he murmured thank you, I had a centering sip of cold water.
Before another word could be spoken, Mark's phone jangled on the table. The name Lizbeth flashed across the screen and he brightened, a finger held up. “This should be about the cabin.”
With a nod, I gestured for him to take it, then shoved a bite of pancake in my mouth so I couldn't say a word. He stood and slipped out of our booth. The moment he was gone, I slumped down, closed my eyes, and shook off the weird moment. My thoughts were scattered and incomplete.
What had that been about?
Whatever it was, I had a tingly-not-so-good feeling that it was inextricably linked to the fact that my life wasn't as happy as I'd thought it had been. My life had been routine the past few years. Sheltered. Quiet. Lonely. While that seemed a small mimicry of the world Grandma had gifted me, the bright chaos of living with Mark made me realize that for me, down that unchanging path, there wasn't joy. Never had been.
Mark appeared again from outside as I poked and prodded at my pancake for several minutes, suddenly not that hungry. He stopped walking, then brightened as he cried out, “Hey! Seiko!”
The sound of laughing, a back slap or two, followed instead. I looked up to see him speaking with a woman not far away. The sounds of the diner made it hard to hear individual words, but I caught snippets of music and practice and tour. Five minutes later, the sudden appearance of Mark with his arm around the petite girl with jet black hair and thin eyes drew my gaze up. She had black leather pants and a bright pink top. The tips of her hair were an electric blue.
“Stella,” Mark said. “This is my friend Seiko.”
Seiko smiled and stuck out a hand with a skull and crossbones ring on the middle finger. “Nice to meet you,” she said in a lyrical voice.
Mark didn't move his arm and I had to force myself not to look at it. He tipped his head toward her with a broad grin.
“Seiko is a literal rock star.”
She grinned but didn't correct him.
“And,” he continued easily, but his eyes had latched onto mine with an intent stare, “she's here to regroup before going on tour with the rest of her rock band. Needs some space to be alone.”
Oohhh, I thought to myself.
The music scene wasn't one I dove into very often, particularly not any brand of rock. When I wasn't listening to non-fiction audiobooks, I'd throw on a movie to fill the noise, or maybe a soundtrack. I hadn't heard of or seen Seiko before, but had no trouble imagining her on a stage.
“Sounds amazing,” I said.
Mark leaned forward. “She not only needs a place to stay but a place to play. An open floor where there aren't noise restrictions but space for them to lay out. I think we may or may not have an entire building that would serve that purpose.”
The we in his statement gave me unusual comfort.
“Yes, the dining hall would be perfect.”
While my head flooded with implications—noise ordinances in the mountains? Desired square footage?—Mark turned back to Seiko. They migrated to another table where two other people with equally bright hair sat nursing coffee cups. While Mark flexed his charm muscle, I tried to school a rush of hope. This wasn't a sure thing yet.
But it could be.
While waiting for him to work his magic, I kept an eye on the outside of the diner. The mountain peaks loomed to the south, giant, green sentinels still on fire with the fall leaves. Who would ever think I'd be here, running from a manager that ran a company I used to really admire?
No one.
A flash of orange caught my eye, and I glanced over to see a man standing outside a car in the parking lot. He wore a pair of sunglasses, his body canted away, but had an unmistakably familiar look about him.
My heart squeezed like a fist had grabbed it from behind.
Was that . . . Joshua?
My breath caught as I straightened. The man stood, a phone to his ear, as he sauntered farther away, just out of sight around a corner. Heart racing, I had to force myself to sit back down and not chase him.
The tousled golden hair, firm shoulders, and sharp way of holding his body had all spoken to Joshua.
But . . . maybe I imagined it.
For what felt like an eternity, I stared out the window in a half-stance, half-sit. Willed
