Lights Out (8 page)

“Thank you,” Taylor said, and Piper smiled at Ellie, thanking her with her eyes for the patience she had showed her sisters over the past few weeks.

Piper looked up into the eyes of Joe and smiled. She hadn’t seen him in a while. She’d been busy with the girls, and his attendance had dropped off. He’d seemed different since they’d talked. He still teased her, but nowhere near as intensely as he used to. Guess he was moving on.

“What’s up? I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said.

“My work and your sisters,” he said with a smile.

She nodded in agreement. “Your usual?”

“Just coffee today,” he said.

Taylor had placed a cup under the dispenser and stood waiting for it to fill. He handed his card to Piper, who swiped it and handed it back, along with a copy of the receipt. Taylor handed him his order.

“Thanks,” he said, giving her his smile and turning away. He found a table toward the back and pulled out his laptop. He had a quick thirty minutes before heading on to Belton. He looked around and found Piper was back to teaching her sisters at the counter.

He’d been impressed with the care she’d shown them. There was more to her than met the eye. He knew her sacrifice first-hand.

He’d liked her from the beginning, with her smart mouth, sharp comebacks, and lovely body. He just didn’t do more than the lovely body parts these days, not any day, really. She’d been correct in her assessment of him. Women and commitment were roads he didn’t travel much—more like at all—especially now that Shane was a permanent fixture in his life.

Women. He liked them in bed—loved them in bed—but hadn’t found any he’d wanted to risk more with, so he kept them at a distance. When and if he settled, and he had a huge doubt about the if, it would be with an old-school woman, a partner, willing to put family first. He wanted one who would dig in with him for the long haul, make a life with him, one who had his back and he hers, and honestly he’d given up searching a long time ago. Hadn’t thought they made that brand anymore. Until now. But she didn’t think much of him, thinking back to her words that day. He chuckled. It was an image he’d worked hard to portray, and there was no use allowing his feeling to be hurt now because she’d believed him.

First weekend in August

Sunday night, two weeks later, Joe sat in a car parked out in front of Lights Out Coffee, for what he knew to be poetry night. He hadn’t been here in a while—two weeks, to be exact—not that he’d kept track. Work had kept him busy, and he’d decided to let Piper go. Danger lay there. She was more serious than he wanted, so he’d gone back to some of his other coffee haunts. He also acknowledged that her remarks had bothered him, and more than he thought possible. Another surprise.

She’d been on his mind, even without seeing her daily. Another bad sign. She’d show up at night, mostly before he dozed off, nude, legs wrapped around him. If he felt kinky, she’d show up with her hair in those two puffs and those Ropers on her feet, golden brown skin in between. She was always plaint, pliable, and completely at his mercy. Her eyes were usually closed, mouth parted, pleasure profound on her face as he…

“Joe.”

He heard his name and turned to its source: Rachel.

He was here at the request of Rachel, a woman he’d met from work, his date for the evening. Their third date. He’d found a sitter for Shane, his nephew, and he’d agreed to dinner, but she had a surprise for him she thought he might like. She’d done the driving tonight. Shane’s sitter was late again, so it was faster for her to swing by and pick him up; her suggestion.

Surprise for him, all right; they were here for poetry night, of all things. He didn’t do poetry. He was nervous, here with a date, worried that Piper might get the wrong impression of him, her words under his skin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it was a surprise,” Rachel said, looking over at him, reaching for his hand, bringing him back to the here and now.

“You may like it. And anyway, we can’t sit here all night,” she said.

Fine, he thought, getting out of the car, walking to the door, waiting for her to lock up her car.

He and Rachel entered the shop. He was again surprised by the size of the crowd, surprised at the popularity of this place, for any event, it seemed.

“Isn’t this great?” Rachel asked him, reaching for his hand and leading him toward a booth located near the front of the room. The tables closest to the stage had been taken.

“Yep,” he said, sliding into one side of the bench, she taking the seat across the table from him.

“I love this place. I love the new location. The other place is so small. Ever been there?”

“Nope,” he said.

“Interested in poetry?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Too bad. I brought some with me that I’d like to share with you,” she said.

He gave her a nod. It was better than anything else he could think to say.

“You want something to drink?” She opened her purse and pulled out her wallet. “My treat, for you being such a sport and coming with me,” she said, leaning over the table, placing a quick kiss on his lips.

He hadn’t been given a choice, since she’d been the one driving. He didn’t voice that, though.

“Coffee, black,” he said, his eyes darting around looking for Piper. Quickly catching himself mid-search, he turned his attention back to the one he’d come here with, Rachel, as she left the table. He followed her with his eyes as she made her way to the counter to place their coffee orders.

Piper stood behind it; her eyes caught his and moved away. She stood next to her sister, Taylor, the one Shane’s age.

He glanced over the room, taking in the many different kinds of people here. Who knew there were so many people interested in poetry?

He found Rachel again. She’d gotten her drinks and had moved on, and was now standing at a table near the stage, bent over it with pen in hand, writing. His eyes roamed over the crowd again, looking up as she returned to their table.

“I signed up to read tonight. The line is starting to form,” she added, again pointing to a line with three people standing in it; Piper’s younger sister was second, a sheet of paper in her hand.

He inwardly groaned, dropping his head to his chest. His hand went to rub his forehead. Poetry from all ages. He looked at his watch, wondering what excuse he could use to get out of here.

“I’m fourth,” she said, bringing his attention back to her. “And I’ve got to tell you, I wrote this poem with you in mind. I’m going to read it tonight.”

Fuck me, he thought, but gave her a smile. “Should be interesting.”

“It’s good,” she said, turning her attention to the stage as Piper walked up to the mic.

“Thank you ladies and germs,” she said, the mic in one hand. He let out the breath he’d held, unaware that he’d been holding it, his attention so drawn to her.

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” she said, looking around the room. “I’m turning you over quickly to Thomas, the guru of all things poetry, the planner and host of tonight’s event. I’ll be at the counter if you need anything coffee-related,” she said, stepping off the stage.

A tall, young African-American man strode up to the stage—hopped on, actually, all youthful vigor. He looked to be in his early twenties, still in college probably, funky Frank Sinatra hat on his head, smooth face except for that patch of hair on the bottom of his chin.

“Thank you,” he said, big smile, white teeth, contrasting his smooth brown skin. It was the kind of smile that said I know I look good. Joe knew that smile. He owned one.

“Let’s give a hand to Piper, the owner of this place and our personal barista for the night,” he said in a low voice. Joe thought he was probably trying to be sexy as he looked at Piper like she was the only one there. Needs work, Joe thought, but watched as Piper smiled back and blew him a kiss.

“You all know the drill,” he said, giving off that sexy intellectual vibe. “Sign in and spread some love, some rhythm, some rhyme. We welcome you to Sunday night poetry and coffee at Lights Out. Now without further delay, let’s welcome up Jasmine, that sweet smelling flower that tantalizes the senses and delights the soul,” he said. The crowd laughed, hollered, and clapped. She must be a regular, Joe mused, controlling his impulse to gag at the flowery introduction.

A tall, thin woman, her bald head a nice pink color under the lights, walked onto the stage, regal in her bearing. She raised her arms above her head, fist clenched tightly, and shouted at the top of her lungs, “Shoot ’em up! Shoot ’em up! Shoot ’em up! Take it to them! Take it to them! Take it to them!” The crowd was startled by her volume and the content of her message.

She then lowered her arms, bringing them together in front of her chest in a prayer-like pose.

Applause sounded. Well, apparently she was done, Joe thought, looking around the room, taking in the pleased expressions on the faces of those present. He totally missed that one.

“Wasn’t that great?” Rachel asked.

“Yep.”

“I’d better get in line,” she said, getting up and walking to stand behind a man with pink-colored dreads.

This is going to be a long night, he thought, rubbing his forehead again, watching as the emcee came back up and introduced Piper’s little sister, Kennedy. She was shy, walking onto the stage, child-sized employee uniform on, her paper clutched in her hand.

“The name of my poem is My Dogs,” she said, eyes darting between her paper and the crowd, paper and the crowd, then back to the paper. “My dogs. McKenzie and Pepper,” she began, a quick peek at the audience and back to the paper. “Good dogs, loyal dogs, smart dogs. They are man’s best friend, my best friends. I love them.” She looked up at the crowd expectantly. She was done, he guessed. Applause sounded, mixed in with a few whistles, and her smile appeared and then widened on her face at the onslaught of approval from her fellow poets.

He listened to the next two before turning his attention to Rachel as she was introduced and took to the stage. She looked like a gypsy—she was small in stature, with short, dark curly hair that fell to her shoulders.

“I’d like to dedicate this to a wonderful man. I’ve known him for two weeks, and tonight is our third date,” she said, to cat calls and whistles of innuendo. “Don’t laugh,” she said, her eyes teasing and playful. “You know when it’s your soul mate,” she said, and began to read something about him and the night sky.

Piper smiled, caught Joe’s eye, and laughed. He looked embarrassed. As well he should be, she thought. She wasn’t bothered that he’d brought along a date, and not really surprised. Joe was Joe. Okay, so she was bothered, but she’d told him no, she reminded herself.

She looked at him, his attention now focused on his date, face unreadable. What could he be thinking, having some woman wax lovingly about you naked under the night sky?

She laughed out loud at the part of the poem, a verse about the poke from your spoke giving her hope. Yikes, she thought, covering her laughter with a cough. Girlfriend, Piper wanted to tell her, that poem was not a good idea, and probably wasted on Joe.

He turned and caught her eye and smiled. She smiled back, trying not to laugh, moving her eyes and eyebrows up in question. Did he sink lower in his chair before he shrugged at her silent question?

It went on like that for the next hour, poets reciting, some loud, some soft, some with guitar accompaniments, some with portable keyboards, a few drums, some really long ones about the war, living free, and his personal favorite of the night, to tea or not to tea—an ode to the tea bagging community of America.

Joe drank his coffee, waiting for a chance to leave, and finally it presented itself. The poets were taking a break. The god of the non-poetic had finally answered his prayers and he’d talked Rachel into leaving. He was sitting there waiting for her to return from the ladies’ room, pleased that he was finally getting out of there.

Piper had been walking throughout the shop. He’d kept an eye on her, coffee carafe in her hand, refilling coffee cups, now standing next to his table.

“Under the night sky? Really, Joe? Had I known you were all that, I’d have made time. We could have used my office; forget about going somewhere else, Mr. ‘I’ve got women writing poems in my honor,’ ” she said, one eyebrow lifted before she started to laugh.

“Hey, you had your chance,” he said, falling into her smile.

Both of them looked up as Rachel joined him, sliding into the seat with him, entwining her arm into his, pushing herself closer to him.

“Nice poem,” Piper said to her.

“Thank you,” she said, smile wide, pushing herself even more into Joe.

“Well, have a good night, you two,” Piper said, winking at Joe. “Might want to take it indoors this time,” she said, and chuckled.

He laughed, but caught himself before Rachel noticed. Piper watched him pass her on his way out, taking note of his hand entwined with the woman’s.

* * *

Joe rolled over and looked to the space next to him, now empty, and inwardly groaned, hoping that Shane wasn’t awake. He’d overslept, meant to get up and get her out long before light and before Shane woke up.