Chapter Two #2
I can’t help but laugh at the last bit. I reach out to play with one of the strips at the bottom that contains Tucker’s number.
When I glance over toward River, he hurriedly looks away and busies himself cleaning behind the counter.
Tearing one of the pieces of paper off, I pocket it and scurry out the door before River can give me any more crazy thoughts.
A few people pass by outside and wave, so I wave back.
I take a clarifying breath before heading toward Marcia’s little storefront to talk to her about the lantern festival.
But I pause halfway down the street to watch Tucker staple one of his flyers to a wooden light pole. He stands back for a moment and stares at it—either in happiness or irritation, I can’t tell from behind—then heads toward the other side of town with obvious intent in his step.
Cupcake and I head into Marcia’s little storefront.
She comes out of the back all smiles and curly white hair, her smile growing at the sight of me, and I can’t help but feel a certain brand of special because of that reaction.
Although I’m sure she reacts the same way to everyone who comes in to see her.
“Charles!”
“I come bearing gifts,” I say as I hand her the coffee. “River sent it with me.”
Marcia smiles and takes a careful sip. “Ah. Mocha. That boy is too good for me. What’s got you visiting me before our knitting meetup?”
“I was wondering if you needed volunteers for the lantern festival? Or any other festival.”
“I do! Actually…” Marcia pauses with a small worried smile. “How would you feel about being on the marketing materials as a guest?”
I barely hold back my wince. “I don’t know about that. I’d rather be behind the scenes.”
Marcia nods. “Understood. Well, I can put you to work unpacking all the lanterns when they arrive. And the day of the event there will be lots to do. Would you mind sharing about it on social media, maybe? I am not so good at that. One of my grandkids tends to help with the festival’s social media page. ”
“That I can absolutely do.” I pull out my phone and navigate to social media, easily locating the lantern festival’s very sparse page.
“How about this post?” I hold out my phone to show the most recent post showcasing a very pretty banner that contains all the dates and times and admission fees.
“I can share this one a few times over the next few months, if you’d like? ”
“You’re such a sweetheart, bless you.”
I am not a sweetheart, but it’s nice that she thinks so.
We spend a few more minutes talking about the lantern festival and all that Marcia could use me for, before I get ready to leave.
I’m halfway to the door when it opens to reveal a very grumpy-looking Tucker.
He wipes his feet on the mat and starts talking without noticing me.
“Ms. Marcia, there’s literally no one in town who wants to give their kids guitar lessons? There’s no gig work for me here. No bartending. I need something to do or I’m going to go fucking crazy.” He looks up just as he says, “Sorry for swearing, Ms. Marcia.”
Our gazes lock and Tucker’s cheeks turn a deep, ruddy burgundy that is so much more endearing than it should be.
He lets out a very loud huff of breath through his nose before squaring his shoulders and marching toward Marcia.
He pauses at the sight of Cupcake and looks slightly afraid, which I understand because she’s much larger than most dogs.
“She won’t bite,” I whisper for only him to hear.
“I’m sure,” Tucker replies just as quietly. “She’s very large though.”
“And she’s the sweetest dog on the planet.”
Tucker looks wary but holds out his hand for Cupcake to sniff anyway. Cupcake nuzzles it gently, earning herself a small quirk of Tucker’s lips.
“Why wasn’t she with you on the beach the other day?”
“Ah.” I rest my hand on Cupcake’s head and give her a little scratch. “She’s too old for sunrise runs now. Her hips aren’t so good anymore, and I like to go for long runs.”
“Oh. That makes sense. How old is she?”
“Twelve.”
“Aw.” Tucker gives Cupcake one more longing look before seemingly remembering he wants to act shy around me. He clears his throat and searches out Marcia, who has suddenly disappeared. Tucker’s eyebrows furrow adorably as he looks around for her. “Where’d she go?”
“In the back! Just a few moments!” Marcia calls out.
Tucker’s shoulders slump. “Great.”
I use the brief time to catalog his outfit for the day. It’s a black band T-shirt for an artist I don’t know, loose blue jeans, and he’s wearing adorable lime-green Chuck Taylors that might look obnoxious on someone else but just look right on him.
“You’re giving guitar lessons?”
Tucker attempts a brave smile. “Yes. Do you know anyone who wants some?”
I scratch the top of Cupcake’s head and smile back. “I’d love guitar lessons.”
Tucker makes a face. “Funny, haha. All right, well. Thank you.” He starts to walk away, pauses, then turns back to me. “Don’t forget to make your wish on the next sunrise run. It’s very serious, you know. It’s real.”
“I believe you.”
Tucker narrows his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s childish.”
“Nothing is childish.”
Tucker’s eye twitches as he considers me. A few beats go by before his shoulders lower. “Lessons are fifty dollars per session. Minimum once a week.”
I can clearly see on Tucker’s face that he’s charging me the famous-quarterback price. But I’m sure it’ll be worth it. “How about twice a week?”
Tucker startles slightly. “Why?”
“So that I can learn faster.”
Marcia returns just in time to hear the end of our conversation. She grins widely and claps. “There you go, Tuck! And I know a church on the mainland that could use someone for Wednesday night services if you’re interested?”
“Yeah! Will me being gay be an issue?”
Marcia sighs dramatically. “Kid, I’m not going to send you to one of those churches. You’ll be fine. I’ll send them your information.”
“Oh. Thank you, Ms. Marcia. Do you need help with the lantern festival? Pop told me to ask.”
“It’s a blessed day for me!” Marcia sits behind the counter, takes a sip of her coffee, and sends a wink both of our ways. “Now I have two strong men volunteering to help. What a day.”
Tucker sighs loudly. “Awesome.”
“Great,” I say, but with much more enthusiasm.
Tucker leaves the store without another word.
Cupcake and I quickly follow after him, out into the burgeoning afternoon sun.
The crisp cool breeze slaps me when I step outside, but it’s easy to find Tucker despite the glare of the sun.
His bright blond curls bounce as he heads toward the ocean on the other side of the street.
I chase after him in the least threatening way possible. At least, I attempt to.
“Tucker!”
Tucker pauses at the edge of the wooden walk that leads down to the sparsely populated beach. I reach him, thankful he stopped since Cupcake isn’t allowed on the public beach in this area.
“You don’t have to actually do the guitar lessons, you know,” Tucker says with his teeth gritted. “It’s okay if that was just for show for Ms. Marcia.”
Oh boy, he sure does think I’m a piece of shit. Maybe it’s not me specifically, but someone somewhere along the way made him feel like that would be an absolutely normal thing to happen, and I find it a bit depressing. Sure, I can be a typical asshole sometimes, but that’s next-level assholery.
“I really want lessons,” I tell him sincerely.
Tucker sighs yet again, a sound I’m getting far too familiar with. “Okay. Twice a week, still?”
“Yeah, fifty per session. An hour each?”
“Yes. I assume you have a guitar?”
Now it’s my turn to look sheepish. “No. I don’t.”
Tucker looks like he might sigh again, but he holds himself back, probably at the appearance of my shoulders inching up to my ears. “All right. I can help you find one. I only brought one of my guitars with me. The rest are still back in Boston.”
“What’s in Boston?”
“Hell,” Tucker replies far too quickly. “When do you have time? There’s a music store on the mainland. We can go and get you a guitar prior to the start of lessons.”
“I’m free now.”
“Uh.”
“Too soon?”
Tucker shakes his head. “No, that’s fine. I’ve hung up half my flyers anyway. Let’s go. What about Cupcake?”
“I’ll drop her off at my house on the way.”
Tucker purses his lips but accepts my answer.
We head away from the ocean, back toward the lot where I parked my truck earlier.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Tucker plays restlessly with the edge of his faded band T-shirt.
His blond hair blows in the breeze, and his angelic curls are so at odds with his eyebrow piercing and tattoos that I can’t help but find myself even more curious about him.
All I know is that he’s Mark and Brent’s son who was away for many years and has reappeared for unspecified reasons.
Brent and I met at River’s coffee shop one day and hit it off talking about cars.
But Tucker hasn’t been mentioned beyond passing comments that any loving father would make regarding the success of their child and wishing to see them more.
“Nice truck,” Tucker says as he climbs into the passenger seat.
“I’m so big, it’s easier on my knees.”
Tucker eyes me carefully. “Sure.”
I help Cupcake into the back seat, buckling her in for the ride home.
Tucker angles his head away as we make our way toward the house.
The silence is almost suffocating. I’ve always been the type to fill awkward conversations, but it’s been hard with Tucker since that morning on the beach.
Something about him makes me feel off-footed, in a way where I clam up instead of babble.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Tucker as I park in front of the house.