“Hmm,” I say, tapping my nose to think.
He grins ever so slightly and taps his nose in imitation. “Hmm.”
“That’s not fair. You’re not giving me any information. Of course you live in the present moment. Who doesn’t?”
“Lots of people,” he says. “I know a lot of people who are stuck either ruminating on the past, or are anxiously wondering what the future holds. I myself get caught up like that sometimes. But not on a night like tonight.”
“Why not tonight?
He just musters a cocky smile. “It’s hard not to live in the moment when I’m sitting across from such a beautiful woman.”
“All right then, tell me something else about yourself,” I blush, feeling my pulse rising. I’ve never been good at receiving compliments. “Something random and dark.”
Zach laughs. “Random and dark. Well, you know how you asked me if I was a serial killer?”
“Oh no,” I joke. “Seriously? That thread needs to die.”
“No—that’s the good news. I’m not a serial killer. But the bad news is I’m a combo sociopath and psychopath. The good news is you’ll never get bored around me.”
“Um, excuse me?” I furrow my brow. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking or not right now.”
“And two of those three things are probably false.” He winks.
I squint. “Well, which things are true?”
I’m flabbergasted, unsure what to make of this sexy man, when our server finally gets to our table to take our order.
“Hi,” she says, a pretty blonde. “I’m Clarissa . . . so sorry about the wait. We’re slammed at the moment. What can I get you two?” She pours us two waters and sets the full pitcher down on the table, which is good because I’m parched.
Zach orders a whisky and I order a mojito, and we get some late-night quesadillas and guacamole to share as well.
“And tell Mason he absolutely crushed it with how well he opened up this place,” Zach says. “And whoever his fiancée is—he said she had a hand in it too.”
“Oh, that’s me.” Clarissa blushes.
“I’ll be damned. He did well for himself. I’m Zach. Nice to meet you.” He reaches a hand out.
“Nice to meet you! How do you know Mason?”
“I used to help with the alcohol and food deliveries for the Watering Hole, his old bar.”
Clarissa nods, and they exchange a few more pleasantries before she heads off.
My pulse races as I bring my attention back to Zach. He smiles as his eyes flit about the bar.
“That was quick,” he says to the server after our drinks come out.
I run my hand around the cold glass and hold my drink up in front of me. But I hold it short of his drink.
“So are you going to tell me?” I spit out, still fixated on what he said earlier.
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me which of the three are lies. Duh.”
He shakes his head and takes a drink from his whisky.
“You’ll figure it out eventually,” he says with another wink.
I tap my fingers on the table as I take a big sip of my drink. Figures I’d have to get a ride from the craziest, sexiest guy in town.
But I think he’s right about one thing: I’m not bored.
He leans back. “Now my turn to ask you a question.”
“Okay. What’s your question?”
“And no disrespect by this.”
“Uh-oh.” The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Here we go.
“What in the hell is a singer—and guitar player—as good as you doing playing in a place like The Hungry Burger on a Thursday night for seven people? I haven’t seen an act as good as yours since I was in Nashville.”
At the very mention of Nashville, I feel a little dizzy.
“The hell kind of question is that?” I mutter, defensively.
“A fair one. You’re really fucking good. Can I be honest?”
“Please,” I say, trying to fight the memories of the time I tried to make it in that amazing city—and failed miserably.
Zach sips his whisky and looks away. Then he brings his eyes back to mine.
“I was in a shit mood when I got to The Hungry Burger, Harmony. I don’t even know what propelled me to stop there. But once I heard your voice, something inside me shifted. I felt hopeful. I felt like life was being breathed back into me. You’ve got an incredible talent. Be a shame if you didn’t play some bigger venues.”
“I don’t play big venues.” I shake my head, averting my eyes. Not anymore. “It’s just a hobby.”
“Oh. Just a hobby?” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“That’s right.”
He looks at me and kicks back in laughter.
My blood boils. “Hey! What’s so funny?!”
He pounds his fist on the table and I jump. “You’re telling me talent like you just walks around Blackwell every day? Ha! That’s funny. And you’re the one who wants to know if I’m a liar. I don’t believe you’re telling me the truth.”
“I am telling the truth!” I yell back, and a few people glance over at us. “It’s just a hobby.”
“Calm down, sugar. No reason to get those panties in a bunch.”
I clench my fists and feel my jaw tightening. “Who do you think you are? I am telling the truth. And, sugar? Seriously?”
“Bullshit. And if you really think you are telling the truth, you’re lying to yourself too.”
I suddenly feel the need to slap this guy across his smug face.
“Who the hell are you? You’re just going to give me a bunch of unsolicited life advice tonight?! Do you even have a life plan with your obvious moodiness and never answer a question directly attitude? I asked for a ride home, not a damn pep talk about my music career and life goals.”
I cross my arms just as the waitress brings the quesadillas over.
“Oh. Smells delicious,” Zach says, rubbing his hands together.
“You are a sociopath, aren’t you?” I accuse. “That wasn’t a lie.”
He stops before he puts a quesadilla in his mouth and shakes his head.
“I’m just a guy who recognizes a musician who knows how to speak to a man’s soul when I hear her. And you, Harmony, are it. You have a gift from God. Now I’m done talking about that. Let’s enjoy some damn quesadillas and change the subject, shall we?”
I blink a few times at the man in front of me. I’m envious of how unencumbered he is. Even if I don’t necessarily like what he has to tell me, the way he’s so confident and direct enthralls me.
We shift subjects to small talk about the bar and the drinks menu.
As we talk about frivolous things, I get a strange feeling that Zach is someone I’ve known for a while. In spirit, at least, because I certainly don’t remember him from being around here.
We finish our meal and he stands, obviously ready to take me home. At least I’m hoping I make it home…safely, that is.
He finally drives me home and I jump off his motorcycle with my guitar. Grateful to be on my turf. I almost want to kiss the ground, but that would be too obvious and showcase my doubts about his generosity. Before I can head inside, he waves me back and hands me a folded-up piece of paper.