I’m too conspicuous, though. Without ever taking my gaze off her, I drift over to the long coffee bar, letting the curve of it take me out of their direct line of sight.
But I can still see her, the spots shining down overhead, making her shimmer.
Why?
Why am I staying when it feels like she’s plucking away inside me with every strum of the guitar strings, quivering me up with bittersweet pain?
No.
I’ve got to escape before she sees me and gets that look on her sweet face again.
I start turning away and get a serious déjà vu trip.
“Hey,” another soft voice says.
Last time it was Haley.
This time, it’s Felicity Randall, Ember’s cousin and the owner of The Nest, slim and pretty and tired-looking in her apron. She wipes a rag down the counter, watching me with a sympathetic smile.
“You look like a desperate man,” she murmurs, “who sees the thing he wants most, but it’s just out of his reach.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “Honestly, that ain’t too far off base, Fliss.”
“Makes me wonder why you’re hiding over here. Almost like you don’t want to be seen.” Her smile turns wry. I only half hear her voice, still so lost in the mournfully gentle music; still so lost in Peace. “But I won’t ask. You look dog-tired, Blake. How about a coffee for the drive home? On the house.”
I finally tear my eyes from Peace, glancing at Felicity. “I look so rough you’re handing out freebies?”
“You look that heartbroken,” she answers with a laugh, something dark and haunted flickering in her eyes. “And I’m the coffee girl, so that’s all I’ve got for comfort.”
I try a smile, but I can’t seem to get my mouth to move quite right. “Thanks, lady. I’d like that a lot.”
She only lingers on me for a minute with that same sad smile, then slips away to snag a cup. A minute later, I’ve got a steaming cup of her best dark brew with a dab of sugar, just the way I like it.
It’s bracing. Helps to clear my head, reminding me I need to make a choice.
And that choice is to leave and not thrust myself up in Peace’s life when I’m just no good for her.
I’m no good for anyone.
Heading for the door, still trying not to be obtrusive about it, trying not to draw her eye, I push it open. Right into a group of kids who are just heading in as I’m leaving.
There’s a brief, awkward tussle for the door, before I step out of the way to let them pass.
I’m almost worried Andrea’s not with them when I recognize her friends, but she had a lot of homework tonight.
And I’m glad Andrea’s not with them when I see that little bastard pyro, Clark Patten.
The boy catches my eye just as I catch his, lifting his pierced upper lip in a sneer.
Then he promptly flips me off with both middle fingers, before laughing and shoving away with his friends.
Little shit.
I don’t like that kid.
No, I’m not so fucked up I’m gonna start a fight with a seventeen-year-old, when I know that’s just how kids are and he’s probably still mad at me for breaking things up at the carnival. I shoot him a dead-eyed glare instead. He smiles, then whips his head away, catching up with his friends.
That boy ain’t right.
I’ve got to figure out how to keep Andrea the hell away from him.
Almost as much as I’ve gotta sort this shit with Broccoli Girl some night when I won’t stomp all over her angel wings.
9
Play It Again (Peace)
I hadn’t expected to draw such a crowd.
Good thing I don’t get stage fright.
It’s been a long time since I had a chance to sing in front of anyone else, or with anyone else at my side.
But it’s been nice to lose myself—in the vibrations of guitar strings against my fingers, in the work it takes to find point and counterpoint and harmony with someone else. And in making a new friend, September, the cool lady who loves music and animals as much as I do. Haley introduced us.
I’ve needed the distraction.
I’ve needed to keep Blake off my mind.
With him, I just can’t anymore.
Can’t make him see what he doesn’t want to see. Can’t make him let go of his pain and try to find a new path forward when he doesn’t want to.
All I can do is offer him my hand along the way.
And he made it pretty clear tonight he doesn’t want it.
I’m not the type to cry over men.
Instead I sing, pouring all my feelings into the notes.
It’s an old song Dad taught me, one I never knew the name for.
It’s about birds in the sky and how they only come down when they’re tired—so as long as you’ve got the heart, just fly, because the ground’s only for people who’ve given up.
Just fly, I sing, while Ember follows me with her violin like she’s known this song her whole life. It’s amazing how fast she picks it up off a few strummed bars, trying them out in soft, keening notes of her own.
Just fly.
By the time the song ends, the whole café goes quiet.
Gentle, enthusiastic applause rises, breaking my trance. I lift my head, blinking.
Oh.
They’re clapping for us, aren’t they?
I smile sheepishly, glancing at Ember. “Well, I think we got everyone’s attention.”
“Oops,” she says with a dazzling smile, blue eyes bright, a few wisps of her blonde hair slipping out of its bun to stick to her face, a faint mist of sweat on her skin.
I’m just as damp; playing is weirdly hard work.
It also leaves you lit.
Just buzzing with all this energy, even if it’s secret and wordless.
Ember stands, lowering her violin and turning to pick up the case. Around us, the patrons of The Nest slowly start to slip back into their own hushed conversations.
“We should do that again,” she says. “You’re only in Heart’s Edge for the winter, right? I’d hate to miss out on the chance to play with you some more.”
“We’ll figure something out,” I answer, shouldering my guitar and slinging it to my back by its strap.
I don’t really have a reason to stay past winter, do I?
That thought shouldn’t make me as sad as it does.
Ember watches me as she puts her violin away with quiet reverence. “You know, I think you just missed Blake.”
“Wh-what?” I jerk my head up sharply, staring at her.
How could she tell?
How could she tell so easily that I’m already missing Blake Silverton?
“He was just here,” she says, and I suck in a breath. Oh. Ohhh.
That’s what she’d meant.
“He was just kind of standing there, watching,” she continues. “Then he got a coffee and left.”
I frown. Why is she telling me this?
We barely know each other. Even I can’t be that obvious.
I smile weakly. “I guess he was just...you know, late night or something.”
“He could’ve made coffee at home. Speaking of which,” she tosses her head with an impish smile. “C’mon. When you’re related to the owner, you get free lattes.”