BOOM. Like a depth charge, heat and desire burst inside me.
My belly caught fire, and desire tightened my groin, making my blood rush south.
I wanted to be the one holding that cone, feeding that gorgeous young man, nourishing and nurturing him. Who was this other guy to him? They both looked young to me, but the grinning newcomer had a hard face. His skin was ruddy, and unlike the guitarist’s, his nails looked none too clean. I couldn’t help but notice that when he got too close, the guitarist’s dog backed up to lean heavily against his human’s side.
I exchanged a glance with Cooper. It was time to brush off my unexpected attraction or, at the very least, take a goddamn breath before my life turned into some Hallmark movie.
Cooper asked, “Where’d you learn to play like that?”
“My dad taught me some when I was little.” His voice was deeper than I’d expected. Richer. “Later on, I picked up most of what I know from YouTube. I practice a lot.”
“Beck’s a genius.” The friend threw the bottom of his cone toward the dog who snapped it out of the air.
“Beck?” Cooper asked.
“Last name’s Beckett.” Beck shrugged. “It’s a nickname.”
“Looks like you had a good night.” His friend scooped up Beck’s cash and pocketed it. “My boy here can play classical, pop, rock, Delta blues. He can play anything.”
Beck glanced away shyly. “Not anything.”
“Can too. I’ll get us dinner and be back in a bit.”
“Get some grilled chicken breast.” Beck glanced up. “Plain. Don’t forget.”
“I’ve got it.”
I added more cash to the case after he left before turning my attention to the dog.
“What’s her name?”
Beck petted her ears gently. “Calliope. I call her Callie.”
“May I introduce myself to her?”
Beck studied me closely while he made up his mind. I studied him right back. Hair like a rat’s nest. Blue eyes. Scruffy, barely there beard. A lip ring.
Why was my heart racing?
Why did Beck hold me so entranced I could barely speak?
“Go ahead,” he said.
“You’re a beauty, aren’t you, sweetheart?” I lifted my hands close to my body, palms up. The dog leaned over to give me a cautious sniff. She probably got a good whiff of the tacos I’d eaten. She licked my fingers. “You’re a very pretty girl.”
This got me a smile from Beck. “Callie’s the best dog ever.”
I held his gaze just a little too long over her silky head. Our hands met accidentally, and it was as if lightning snaked up my arm. He blinked the way cats do when they’re displaying trust. My heart contracted with happiness. Or terror. I couldn’t tell exactly which.
“She’s pretty chill.” I cleared my throat to hum while I petted her because usually that gets me the attention I want from a dog. Some people talk to animals, but I feel like a dumbass repeating stupid words over and over—Who’s a good girl? You’re a good girl. I get their attention by humming, or if I’m feeling jovial, singing out loud. It had become a useful habit and a bit of a trademark. In town they called me the singing vet.
As intended, my voice kept Callie still and alert. She was intelligent. Very receptive. Unafraid of human touch.
“I’m Linden Davies, and I’ve got a veterinary practice here in town.” I took a card from my pocket and gave it to him. “Maybe you can bring her in and let me take a look at her.”
He widened his eyes. “She’s up to date on all her shots. I have the papers right here.” I stopped him from scrabbling away to get them.
“I don’t need to see them.” I couldn’t bear for him to be afraid of me. “It’s okay.”
“I take good care of her,” he said defensively. “She’s on a leash.”
“It’s all good.” I lifted my hands in surrender. “It’s just that I’m a hopeless meddler when it comes to pets. I like to check under the hood. No charge, of course.”
“No charge?” He bit his lip. “Maybe that’d be okay.”
“You know, I get lots of samples from distributors. Toys. Gear. Food. Maybe there’s something in my stash Callie would like.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” His smile slayed me.
“It’s my pleasure.” I wanted to keep staring at him but stood. Cooper promised to stop by for another jam session if Beck stuck around. As we made our way back toward the busy bar together, I couldn’t help glancing back.
My gut said not to leave him alone like that. But he wasn’t alone. He had that friend. Boyfriend. He may have been homeless, or he may have been having the time of his life. People weren’t my purrrview as we say in the vet biz. I stuck to worrying about their pets.
Still, I asked, “You think he’s okay outside like that?”
“I used to do it.” Cooper’s expression appeared thoughtful.
“What?” I asked. “Busking?”
He nodded. “Before I came to St. Nacho’s, I never stayed in one place more than a day or two. Busking’s how I made ends meet between dishwashing jobs or whatever.”
“It seems like a pretty precarious way to live.”
“Guess it depends on why you do it. Some of us have to earn cash that way to eat, but for others it’s a big romantic adventure.”
“I wish I knew which it was for him.”
“He’ll do okay, especially here. St. Nacho’s loves to be entertained, and people are pretty generous with artists.”
I saw Beck’s friend leave the liquor store across from the cantina. He made his way toward us with a bottle wrapped in a bag. I wondered if Beck was even old enough to legally drink.
“Hey,” he called in greeting. “Gotta get my boy some food. What’s good here? Gotta be cheap.”
Cooper opened the door to the cantina for him. “I recommend the carnitas tacos. They’re three for five dollars tonight.”
“Awesome. Thanks.” We left him at the hostess station and made our way inside to get a drink.
Behind the bar, Jim, the cantina’s owner, schmoozed with the denizens of St. Nacho’s he knew and liked while another bartender did the real work. Cooper was a great favorite of Jim’s. As soon as he saw us, he retrieved Cooper’s violin case from behind the bar and handed it over.
“What put that big smile on your face?” he asked.
“There’s a kid out there playing the fucking strings off his guitar.” Cooper carefully put his instrument away. “Amazing fingers.”
“That good, huh?” Jim’s expression was fond. “Did you adopt him yet?”
“Ha, ha.” Usually it was Jim doing the adopting. If the stories were true, he’d adopted Cooper.
“Looks like he’s living rough,” I said. “So maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”
“That’s a rite of passage all up and down the coast,” Jim said. “Kids hit the road with a guitar and a big dream. It’s a rock and roll cliché for a reason.”
“Hope it’s just a summer thing.” Cooper accepted his usual soda from Jim. I asked for whiskey.