Love Will (16 page)

“Yeah?” I ask.

“My degree’s in nutrition. Even though my menu doesn’t really reflect a lot of healthy options, I’m good with healthy. I promise. It’s what I cook for myself most of the time.”

“I trust you. I’d love that. And to think of the brownie points I’d earn… it’ll make up for so many times I’ve fucked up with them.”

“Whatever,” Shea says, blowing off my comment.

“Maybe a few times…”

“I’m ignoring all the negative things I read, Will. And it’s not that I don’t believe them… I’m just starting from a clean slate. That’s all. Everyone deserves a fresh start.”

“Thanks.”

“So stop tearing yourself down, okay?” She points at me until I nod to agree to her terms, then returns to the kitchen to continue cooking. I go back to playing my song, getting caught up in the chorus of it, the emotions it evokes. Even
I
get choked up.

“Excuse me!” I jump at the sound of a man behind me. “Waiter! Waiter!”

I look into the kitchen, but Shea’s so caught up in her food prep that she doesn’t hear him. He must be talking to me anyway. Still in my socks, I take off my guitar, returning it to its case, and walk over to a man seated in the first booth at the front of the restaurant. “Me?” I ask him.

The customer looks away from the menu he was holding and down at my feet, cringes, then looks at my face judgmentally. “I want some coffee,” he barks.

“Uhhh…” Coffee
does
sound good, but I’ve never smelled any brewing in here. “I’ll see what I can do for you. I’m sure I can find some coffee for you.” I spin around on my heel and start walking back to the kitchen.

“On ice,” the man mumbles. I stop for a second, thinking that’s an odd request, but they always say, ‘The customer’s always right.’ I’ll get the man what he asked for.

“Hey, Shea?”

“Yeah?” she asks, looking up from the two pots she was intensely focused on.

“I rhymed again.” I wink at her playfully, and she laughs. “Anyway. Do you have any coffee?”

“Not brewed… I can make some instant coffee really quick.”

“That works,” I decide, just wanting to get the man what he asked for. I lean in the doorway, glancing back at the customer periodically until she hands me the coffee. “If I wanted this on ice, what would I do?”

“You want it on ice?”

“Don’t ask.”

She takes it back from me, gets another cup, fills it with ice and pours the coffee in it. “Grab a straw from the rack out front. Unless you’re one of those guys that can’t drink out of a straw.”

I laugh a little, thanking her and taking a straw on my way back to the customer that she still hasn’t noticed.

“What is that shit?” he yells at me after I set his drink down in front him.

“Coffee. On ice.”

“Who would drink coffee on ice in this weather? In
any
weather, for that matter? It’s coffee!” he yells at me.

“You said on ice! As I walked away.”

“I said no such thing.” He slams down his menu and grabs his hat and scarf, placing them back on hurriedly.

“I’m sorry. That’s what I heard.”

“And would you look? It’s snowing.
Again
! And I left my umbrella at home.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I tell him, looking back at the kitchen. Shea’s now watching from the doorway.

“Oh, nice,” he says sarcastically as he opens the door, but it could definitely be mistaken for, ‘On ice.’

“Tha–” I decide to let it go as I let him leave out the door. I’m tempted to lock it behind him to ensure no one else interrupts my time with Shea, but I can’t do that. I turn around to face her, walking towards her solemnly. We meet on opposite sides of the counter, both looking at one another seriously. The tip of her tongue peeks through her lips, outlining her bottom one, drawing all of my focus there while she does it. I swallow hard before speaking. “I’m sorry, but I think I may have lost your only other kisstomer.”

She does that brow-dimple combination thing again, and my finger almost reaches out to touch it, but I make it stay put.

“Uh…” she says.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I misheard him.”

“Did I just mishear
you
?”

“What?”

“You just said
kiss
tomer instead of
cus
tomer.”

“What? No, I didn’t.” I replay what I said in my head. I
totally
did. She
totally
made me.

She starts laughing. “Yes, you did.”

“Well, that’s weird,” I say, blowing it off. “So I’m guessing on normal days you have other people working with you?”

She seems disappointed that I segued into another conversation, but I had to, or else I may become the legit definition of a kisstomer to her. “Yes, I normally have a small waitstaff, a busboy, and another chef… and believe it or not, many more
cus
tomers.”

“Good, because I was wondering if it was safe to leave a lone woman in this place, running it by herself.”

“I can take care of myself. Plus, I have a gun.”

“I’m not sure that’s really any safer,” I tell her. “I think I read once that the odds of an assault victim being shot were nearly five times greater if she had a gun with her than if she didn’t.”

“Is this something I need to worry about with you?” she asks me.

I chuckle at the suggestion. “Let’s just say if Mr. Coffee-On-Ice were to come back and rob you right now, I’d be counting on you to do the defending. I don’t know the first thing about using a gun. I’ve seen more than I’d like to, but I’ve never held one.”

She walks over to the door and flicks a light switch that appears to do nothing, then locks the door. “Just a precaution,” she says. “Plus, dinner’s ready.”

“Are we closed?” I ask her.

“Done for the day,” she says with a nod, her cheeks growing pink as she looks away from me.

“Excellent.” I’m starting to wonder if
Miss Livingston
might be into me…

Shea sips on a glass of wine, leaning against the stove and watching me rinse the last of the dishes. “I’m not lying. My aunt made the best enchiladas. And my mother could never replicate them… but you’ve… you…” I glance over at her, taken aback by how pretty she is. “I’ve forgotten what I ever liked about Aunt Patty’s enchiladas. I had no idea what I was missing. Tomatillos? Best fucking tomatoes grown. Where have they been all my life?!”

She huffs as if she doesn’t believe me. “What do you want from me, Will?”

“What do you mean?”

“You keep saying all these nice things. You must want something in return.”

“I swear,” I tell her. “I’m being honest.” I dry my hands off and draw an ‘x’ over my heart. “Astrophysicist here, remember?”

“Right, I forgot,” she says as she laughs.

“Dinner was perfect. Thank you. Now tell me where these dishes go.”

“Plates to your left. Silverware in the drawer behind you.”

“All right. What’s next?” I ask her, not wanting to leave yet.

“Your turn. I provided dinner. You can provide the entertainment.”

“I presume you don’t want my comedy routine tonight…”

“That song you played earlier–does it have words?”

“Yeah, but, you know… Damon’s the singer.”

“I heard you humming. You can hold a tune.”

“No, I don’t sing, Shea. Not for people. If you want to hear the words, we can probably find it pirated somewhere online.”

“Did you write it?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“The lyrics, too?” I nod. “What’s it called?”

“
Where Your Horizon Meets Mine
.”

She grins. “I love that. It sounds like something an astrophysicist musician might write. Please?” She walks out of the kitchen and back into the diner where she takes a seat on the couch by the heater.

I don’t think I can say no to her. After helping myself to another bottle of water from her cooler, I grab my guitar and take a seat next to her on the couch, where she’s directing me to sit.

“That’s a beautiful guitar,” she says.

“Isn’t it?” I agree. “It was a gift from the Hollands.”

“Birthday?”

I shake my head. “A thank you gift of sorts.”

“For?”

“Can you keep a secret?” I ask her, and she nods. “You know how I told you I reached out to my dad–the asshole–for a favor?”

“Yeah…”

“And you probably read how Callen was missing in your Googling of me last night…”

“I did… and it was news over the summer.”

“Let’s just say I collaborated with him to find him a place to stay for awhile. And he started out at the asshole’s home.”

“But your dad’s not cool with homosexuals, you said.”

“No, but he wasn’t aware that Callen was gay. And Callen split before he figured it out. But anyway, I was kind of harboring a runaway–which is a crime, and very few people know about it. All the ones that matter do. When Jack and Emi found out, they were impressed at the lengths I went to. They wanted to show me their appreciation.” I glance at the guitar.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Because he was desperate and it was the right thing to do. And in hindsight, I’d do it again, seeing how happy he makes my brother. Risks and all.” I start strumming the chords to my song, looking out the window at the desolate street as the snow continues to fall. Shea hops up and turns off the front interior fluorescents, keeping the place lit with small, ambient lamps on the countertop and the lights streaming in from the kitchen.

“So who did you write your song for?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I hadn’t met her yet.”

“Haven’t or hadn’t?”

I stop playing and glance over at her, feeling my cheeks flush red. I didn’t realize I said
hadn’t
, but now that she pointed it out, it makes me wonder if my subconscious mind thinks that I’ve met her since I wrote the song. Makes me wonder if she’s sitting right here next to me. “I don’t know that, either.” But the outcome of the song is
sad
, and I wouldn’t want Shea to be the girl in it.

And look, that
fucking
dimple is back.
Such
a distraction.

I clear my throat and play the song for her. She sets her wine down, leans back into the couch, and watches me, enchanted by every line I sing; every note I play.

A somber, autumn morning

Lying prone on a pile of brittle leaves

Bare feet, eyes to the earth

Roots steal her air like indulgent thieves

Hopelessness guides her

Her heavy heart hides her,

Presides over logic but

Casts it aside

Pulling myself up, telling you I’m fine

Stumbling to that place where your horizon meets mine

Midnight in the spring

No direction, no permanence, no place

Satchel packed, eyes to the sky

Stars take his breath away like a tight embrace

Curiosity feeds him but

His past leads him

Speeding away from

All that he’s known

Wandering the earth, looking for a sign

Until I find the point where your horizon meets mine

In the brilliant summer sun

Strangers give in to a magnetic force

Self-conscious eyes discover new faces

She smiles at his rambling discourse