Higher Octave (Heavy Influence #2.5) (8 page)

My stomach tumbled. “Do you wanna…”

Grace hung her head, shaking it unfavorably.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She smiled sadly and turned to walk
away.

“Please have dinner with me tonight.” The
words popped out eagerly, more urgent than I’d wanted. “I’m sorry I
didn’t call. Gabe didn’t think it was a good idea.”

She spun back to face me, her mouth hinging
open. “He said that?” Hurt laced her voice.

I sighed. “Not exactly.” I regretted
throwing Gabe under the bus.

“For some reason I think you’re just saying
that, Jake, but it’s okay. It probably isn’t a good idea.”

I looked inside her SUV and Ethan was
happily playing on a gaming device. “Grace, do you know anything
about me?”

Her aqua eyes scanned my
face. “I hear you on the radio, and read in
The Beach Reporter
about your
friend’s memorial service at the Manhattan pier. That’s the extent
of it.”

I sucked in a breath. “I’m a fucking train
wreck, Grace. I’m a recovering addict. I’m such a mess that the
love of my life is marrying another man. Not calling you had
nothing at all to do with what Gabe shared with me about you.”

Her shoulders relaxed and empathy splashed
across her face. “I’m sorry. Um…why don’t I call you after Ethan’s
swim class.”

I was surprised at how easily her tone
changed. I quickly took out my phone from my pocket. “Give me your
number.”

Grace and I exchanged phone
numbers, and she hastily left. It was the strangest, yet most
interestingly honest interaction I’d ever had with a chick I didn’t
know.
A woman. This was a grown woman I
was dealing with.

8

A funky melody coursed
through the dimly-lit and artistically creative interior of
the
Pamilla
Concina y Tequila
restaurant, an
upscale home-style Mexican joint. Intricately stacked white-painted
River Rock covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and heavy,
black, medieval chains hung around the perimeter walls. It was
still early, happy hour time. Hipsters and beach locals alike
filled the place
. An interesting
mix
, I thought as I turned out to face the
promenade patio from the front door. I wondered if these
hipster/Hollywood looking types lived here.

A twenty-something brunette
hostess with a delicate lip piercing greeted me in an aloof manner,
like it was some fucking privilege for me to be there.
“Hello, your reservation name?”
Until it dawned on her who I was, and she did a
double take and pointed at me knowingly.

“Jake? Rita’s…”

I nodded, giving her a tight grin. “That’s
me, and I don’t have a reservation.”

Starry-eyed, she blinked twice, hugging a
stack of menus to her chest, looking past me. “How many?”

“Two. My friend will be here soon.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll squeeze you in.”

She looked behind her, and I followed her
gaze. Eyes were on us. I felt like I was at some Hollywood hot
spot, where everyone looked at every person who walked through the
door. What happened to my beach town?

I followed her to a cozy
little table for two, set against the back wall –
nice.

“My name is Marina. I went
to school with you. I was in Alyssa’s class.”
Great.
She handed me a red embossed
menu and placed the other one on top of the table setting across
from me. I smiled and nodded, thanking her. “Um, okay, your server
will be right with you.”

I purposely faced the wall. I didn’t want
anyone to notice me. I was the only one sitting alone, and Grace
would surely know it was me, waiting for her. I scanned the menu
and drank from the ice-filled water glass the tattooed arm waiter
brought me. Finally, I felt the warmth of Grace’s hand on my
shoulder.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Her soft voice
filtered out as she bent close to my ear.

I stood, hugging her, getting a glimpse of
her in tight black denim jeans with strategically placed shredded
holes in the legs. Her black blouse was silky, and a tad bit see
through, with a teasing hint of a lace bra. She barely hugged me
back, shifting to move to her seat. “No worries,” I offered as she
slid past me, sitting against the wall. I caught a whiff of her
perfume; a romantic, feminine scent – a grown woman’s scent. I
stared at the gorgeous, aqua-eyed lady sitting in front of me,
feeling completely out of my league, undeserving of her eyes on
me.

I shouldn’t have pursued this. I sat,
feeling awkward, and cleared my throat. Grace smirked, leaning
toward me. She glanced in both directions, making sure nobody was
listening. “Maybe we should have just met for coffee.”

I chuckled nervously, embarrassed she saw my
trepidation. “You’re probably right.”

“No. I’m teasing.” She shook her head,
smiling, and her black hair shimmered, falling from her shoulder
and covering the opening of her blouse and her subtle cleavage.
Grace looked around the room. I studied her more closely; her long
black eyelashes and the curve of her jawline down her neck. She was
certainly an exhibit of fine beauty.

Her eyes met mine. “I haven’t been out to
eat in a long time,” she whispered, playing with the napkin on her
bread plate.

“How long?” I wanted to milk her for
anything and everything. I wanted to know exactly why she cried her
eyes out at my show. I wanted to know about her loss,
intimately.

Our bearded waiter with
colorful inked forearms greeted us again. “Welcome to
Pamilla
. Have you been
here before?” He clasped his hands, glancing between us.

I shook my head no. Grace said she’d read
about it the local paper. I made a mental note that she must read a
lot. His nametag read Jon, and he introduced himself as such. We
ordered our drinks; an iced tea for her, and for me, a soda water
with lime. We thanked Jon, and Grace smiled back at me, taking in a
deep breath.

“To answer your question,” she continued,
playing with the silverware in front of her, “I haven’t been out to
a restaurant in a couple of years.”

I nodded slowly, not really believing it.
“As in you’ve only cooked at home?”

She shook her head yes, and it was still
hard for me to believe. I felt the weight of her answer fall on my
shoulders. I felt strange for being the first person to ask her
out. I feared her expectations.

Her happy expression faded. “I don’t want to
burden you with my sob story.” She tried smiling, making light of
the loss of her husband. Her mouth hung open. “I admit that after
you told me about yourself, at the park, I talked more to Gabe and
then I actually plugged in my computer and read all about you.”

I nodded, feeling ashamed. “Not pretty.”

She shrugged and took a drink of the tea Jon
had placed in front of her. She arranged her setting and looked
back at me. “Life fucking sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?”

The f-bomb totally through
me off, making me smile, almost laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to
laugh. I just didn’t expect
that
to roll out of your mouth.”

She laughed too. “I don’t
think I’ve said
fuck
in two years, either.”

We chuckled together for a moment longer,
and Grace was the one who took over the conversation. It was more
about validating what she’d read about me. I confirmed everything.
Most of what she’d asked about was true, surprisingly. Then the
conversation moved to the more present day.

“So you said Alyssa is marrying someone else
now?”

I bit down on my bottom lip, hard, nodding
yes. “Pretty much.”

“And you’ve decided she’s not worth fighting
for anymore?”

A shock vibrated through me. Was I really
going to go there with Grace? This beautiful woman, who was
starting a new life? And me, a man (albeit younger than her) with
the option to start a new life right then and there, cutting Aly
out of it once and for all?

I gulped. “I don’t know,” I answered
honestly. “Part of me wants to run right out of here, and the other
wants to say fuck it, it’s over.”

Grace’s eyes roamed my face, and I watched
her swallow, blinking at me. She sighed deeply and licked her full
lips. A weird vibe coursed around, and she shook her head, looking
down at her hands.

I instantly felt bad. Here I had the option
of trying to get back with my love, and Grace would never have that
chance again, just like Sienna.

“I don’t mean to get so heavy, Grace. I’m
sorry.”

She gave me a sad, lopsided smile, and then
sat up straight, with a more upbeat air. “Okay. Let’s stop feeling
sorry for ourselves. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m the one that got
all…heavy…as you say, asking too many personal questions.”

Oh, just you wait until I have my turn.

Her willingness to lighten the mood
invigorated the moment. I watched her look over the menu she’d
taken into her hands. I did the same. We discussed the menu and
compared it to other Mexican joints in the area (Grace had lived in
the South Bay for over ten years herself). We ordered tacos: she,
the chicken and steak, and I, the fish and shrimp.

“Do you eat seafood?” She nodded. “You wanna
share?”

“Sure,” she agreed and lifted her glass
filled with iced tea. I picked up my water glass. “Cheers to new
beginnings.”

Our glasses clinked together, and I wondered
if she wasn’t drinking alcohol because of me. “You don’t
drink?”

She laughed mildly in spite of herself. “Not
in two years.”

Now it was my turn to ask
questions. “What
have
you done the last two years?”
Her head tipped down, and then she met my gaze. “Much like you,
I’ve just been trying to survive.”

The next question tumbled out of my mouth
like a disgusting loogie. “How did he die?”

Shock registered in Grace’s eyes, and she
gulped. I wanted to punch myself in the mouth. The look on her face
told me she could burst with tears at any moment, and I held my
hands up. “I’m sorry. Don’t answer that…”

But before I could say another word, she
blurted out the answer. “He died in a plane crash.” She held her
breath and touched her cheek, running her fingers down her
neck.

My hands went numb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to be so…” I couldn’t even finish my thoughts. I just hung my
head in embarrassment. Grace had no idea about how my dad, Michael,
died.

Similar tragedy. Instant. Permanent.
Forever. Leaving behind a young son.

She reached over and rubbed the top of my
hand, sending a chill running up my arm. “Jake, it’s okay. I don’t
know what either of us expected this to be. I was flattered you
wanted to get to know me.” She looked around the room again, as if
searching for someone she might know. “I’m not ready to be out in a
social situation. I don’t know what to talk about, but you don’t
need to tread lightly. I’m a big girl. I’ve made it this far.”

She smiled and pulled her hand away. I
wanted to reach out and grab it back. “Thanks for being a good
sport and not kicking my teeth in for the direct, insensitive,
question.” I laughed nervously. “I guess I need some etiquette
classes or something.”

My remark made her giggle. “Sorry you’re the
guinea pig.” She took another sip of her tea and sighed again.
“You’re the first person other than family and very close
friends…and Ethan’s teachers…who I’ve shared that with.”

“The first one outside your circle, in two
years?”

Her eyebrows rose up her
forehead, silently telling me
, no shit,
that’s what I keep saying.

I wanted to know more. I wanted to know his
name and what he did for a living, and what kind of plane crash it
was. There’d been jetliner crashes in other parts of the world, and
smaller ones in the US, but which? The odds were it was a small
plane crash. I was too chicken to ask, and thankfully our food
arrived. Spicy, marinated quality aromas filled my nose, making my
mouth water.

“Thank you!” Grace said cheerily to Jon as
he placed her steaming plate with three smallish tacos and a pile
of rice and garnishes in front of her.

Mine looked similar. Her eyes twinkled, and
she picked up her fork, holding it out to me. I knew exactly what
she wanted. I cheered food the same way – though it’d been years
since I’d raised my fork to anyone.

“Cheers, Grace,” I said, lifting my fork and
tapping hers.

Her head tilted to the side, and a smile
peeked at her lips as she stuck her fork into her rice. I didn’t
expect her to look up, and she caught me watching her. Heat rushed
out of my collar instantly, and I watched as color filled her fair
cheeks.

My attention was making her blush, and it
made me feel delighted.

“Um,” she almost giggled, looking back down
at her food, tossing her rice with her fork. “You’re one of the
very few people who never hesitated to raise the fork,” she said,
taking a mouthful of rice.

“I do it on occasion, too. Great minds.” I
winked and lifted my tortilla filled with shrimp and cilantro.
“These are gonna be so fuckin’ good,” I said, biting into it.

“Ok. My turn. Steak it is.” She began eating
her taco.

“Damn,” I said, swallowing.

“Oh. My. God,” Grace said through a
mouthful, and her eyes rolled upward. “This is so good.”

We ate. Giving our praise
to the food when Jon checked on us, then when our empty plates were
being removed by the busboy, Jon
had
to ask to take picture with me. I
was completely disappointed and irked, more than I think I’d ever
been by someone asking. He’d acted as if he had no idea who I was
the entire time, and I was stoked to be just a regular guy having
dinner with a beautiful woman.