“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good enough,” I babble. “You’re really good. I give money to buskers all the time.”
“That’s not why I’m talking to you.” Her lips tighten minutely.
Great. Now I’ve pissed her off.
“I’m a good guy,” I say. “I’m not creeping on you.”
I totally am creeping on her. Also, why did I say that? Jesus.
Her eyebrows lift behind the long bangs. “I didn’t think that.”
“Okay, good.” I attempt a smile, also non-threatening and chill. Hopefully I don’t look like Christian Bale in American Psycho. “Are you done playing?”
“I am.” She pushes back her greenish hair. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”
I blink. “With you?”
Jesus. Could I be any more of a fuckwit?
Her lips twitch. “Yes. I noticed you’re not wearing a suit, so I thought maybe you had time…?”
I don’t know what to say. If I say yes, does that prove I am a stalker? If I say no…I don’t get to have coffee with her. My curiosity about her wins out. “Sure. Okay.”
“Okay.” She smiles fully, and wow, it’s dazzling. “Let’s go. I know a place near here.”
I follow her. “Can I carry that for you?”
“That’s okay.”
Out on the street, she turns right and leads me around a corner to a small diner. The old-fashioned sign above the door says Langley Luncheonette.
We pause inside the door, enveloped in warm air. I guess we seat ourselves, as this musician—hell, I don’t even know her name—leads us to a small booth upholstered in green vinyl. Round stools line the counter where I spy a glass container of donuts. Framed prints of various sizes cover the walls, photos of people who’ve probably eaten here.
“Looks like this place has been here for a while.” I shrug out of my jacket.
She slides in opposite me and does the same, parking her gear in the inside corner of the booth. “It sure has. I think sixty years.”
“It’s cool.” I finish my perusal of the place and focus on her. “I’m Owen.”
She extends a small hand to me across the table. “Nice to meet you, Owen. I’m Emmie.”
Her hand is soft except for the tips, which are calloused. Strangely, those callouses dragging over my palm is…erotic.
“Emmie. Nice to meet you, too.”
Face to face, I can indulge in studying her up close. Her full lips are pouty and smooth, her nose what I think people call “snub” with a slightly blunt and upturned tip. Behind the big gold-framed glasses, winged dark eyebrows sit above expressive blue-gray eyes heavily coated with mascara. Smooth, glowing skin, perfect white teeth and shiny eyes don’t give the impression of someone who’s homeless. Is that stereotyping? I don’t know.
A waitress approaches the table to take our order.
“I’ll have a coffee,” Emmie says.
The waitress looks at me. I don’t drink coffee. They probably don’t have kale smoothies here. After a pause, she says, “Our milkshakes are world famous.”
Jesus. I can’t drink a milkshake. “How about a bottled water?”
She nods and disappears.
“So.” Emmie adjusts the sugar dispenser on the table. “You pass by quite often. You must work in this area.”
“I do.” I don’t offer up what it is that I do. For some reason, I don’t want to come off as rich and famous. Which I kind of am.
“I pegged you as a successful businessman,” she says with a smile. “Am I right?”
“Pretty successful.”
Wait. She thinks about me? Huh. With slightly increased confidence, I smile. “I’ve been trying to figure you out, but I can’t.”
“Because I’m a busker.”
“Yeah.”
The waitress returns and sets and a cup and saucer in front of Emmie, then fills the cup from a pot of coffee.
I watch Emmie dump in a staggering amount of sugar, then cream.
“You’re a very talented musician,” I offer.
“So why am I playing in the subway?” she responds with a crooked smile.
“I have wondered.”
“I like it.” She stirs her coffee and shrugs. “I can do my thing. People can ignore me. Or not.” She lifts the cup to her lips and takes a sip, meeting my eyes.
Or not. “A lot of people stop to watch you.”
She smiles. “Sometimes, yeah. Different locations have different audiences. I do pretty well at Penn Station. Also Times Square and Grand Central.”
“I never would have thought of that, but I suppose the location makes a difference.”
“It does. Also the time of day. I never play during the end of day rush hour. Everyone’s too busy and focused on getting home to enjoy my kind of music.”
“It’s very…” I stop. “I don’t know anything about music. Except that I like it.”
“That’s okay.” She eyes me. “It’s very what?”
“Emotional? It makes me feel stuff. Oh, shit. That sounds dirty. I mean, inappropriate.” My eyes widen in alarm.
She laughs softly. “I know what you mean. And that’s the perfect compliment. So thank you.”
Relief flows through me. I make a face. “Your music is beautiful.”
“Aw, thank you.” She seems genuinely pleased by this compliment.
She’s beautiful too, in an offbeat kind of way with her funky glasses, green hair, and the tiny diamond piercing that glints on the side of her nose. I keep this to myself, though. For now.
“I’m not super talented,” she adds matter-of-factly. “But I do really love music.”
“I think you’re amazingly talented.”
Her smile is appreciative but her tone still pragmatic. “Thank you.”
My water arrives and I thank the waitress with a smile.
“Would you like a refill?” The waitress holds up the coffee pot.
“Sure. I’m going to need extra caffeine tonight.”
“Ah. More busking?” I frown, thinking of her alone in the subway late at night.
“No, actually, I have to go to a party.” She bites her lip and eyes me appraisingly. “That’s actually, um, kind of why I asked you for coffee.”
Her slight stumbling is a change from her confidence, and endearing. But I frown, uncomprehending.
“I need a date,” she adds bluntly, dumping more sugar into her cup.
I give my head a small shake. “Uh…you want me to go to a party with you tonight?”
“Yes.” She peers up at me tentatively through long eyelashes and green bangs. “Are you married?”
I already noticed her checking out my left hand. “No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.
“Okay, good.”
“I don’t get it.”
She sighs. “It’s a long story. My ex-boyfriend is going to be there. I just want him to think I’m with someone else now.”
“Ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” She sinks her teeth into her plump bottom lip. Her lips tighten. “We broke up and he didn’t take it well. And my stepfather wants us to get back together.” She rolls her eyes. “He talks about Roman all the time to me. Roman’s family and his family have been friends forever. He thinks this would be the perfect match for me.”