8. Leo
My feet made a boom-bap rhythm as I hopped/jogged down the back set of stairs to the kitchen. My mother’s shocked face greeted me. To her credit, she tried to cover the surprise as fast as it arrived.
“Don’t you look dapper,” Janice said, taking me in from head to toe.
“Has it been that long since I showered?” There was a slight shake of nerves in my voice.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” she asked with a wry grin.
“No.” I guess I had let my hygiene slip a little. Without hours of sweat-drenched practice, I hadn’t felt like I needed to shower as often. My curls had been tangled and greasy, and my beard grew a little long, giving me a somewhat feral look. It kept people from approaching me, at least, if I ever did have to venture from the house. For the not date with Mari—because it was clearly a work thing and nothing else—I’d tidied up my face and slicked back my hair as much as possible until the humidity would free the curls from their prison. I wore my nicest black jeans, and my shirt had a collar.
Mari had made a big impression on me in a short amount of time. I should have told her the truth about my history with The Burnouts at the homecoming game instead of agreeing to this meeting tonight. But there was something about the intimacy of our conversation and the look in her eyes that I hadn’t quite been able to get the words out right. Clara, my neighbor and Mari’s friend, had found me first under the bleachers. She wormed ideas into my brain about Mari, things like asking her out. The woman seemed to feel like she was taking on a big sister role with me. I didn’t need any more people in my life. Not that it mattered. Asking somebody out required leaving the house. And tonight was an exception to my rules.
Not that it was a date.
“Can I ask where you’re off to, or would that be uncool mom behavior? I don’t know the rules when you aren’t a teenager and it’s your home,” Janice spoke, breaking my internal spiral.
“First, I would be offended if you didn’t ask. And second, it’s your house. I just bought it.” She glanced at my shoes, my nicest black Vans, and raised an expectant eyebrow.
“I’m going to the Front Porch. Mari wants me to see Cath’s jazz drumming.”
“You decided to tutor her? Oh, I’m so proud of you.”
I avoided her gaze and glanced at my phone. “Crap, gotta go. See you later.”
“Mari’s single, you know,” she added as I rushed to say goodbye.
“Hardly relevant.” I kissed her forehead as she gave a knowing raise of her eyebrows.
I hurried out to the silver sedan we shared. The drive went fast, but it took me a few minutes to find parking. I had to resort to the overflow lot, cursing the gravel that made my shoes dusty.
With a steadying breath, I opened the door with sweaty palms and stepped in. It was nicer than I remembered. A rich, savory smell of grilled filets filled the air. Several sets of eyes took me in as I stepped into Green Valley’s nicest steak house.
I tried to evoke the aloof manner of a drummer who had played at Coachella. I tried not to need anybody here’s approval, yet I hadn’t felt so exposed since I was literally exposed to Mari in my front garden under my mother’s wrap.
“Name on the reservation?” the hostess asked after setting down the phone.
I raised my eyebrow. Was she serious? The back of my neck burned as I glanced around at the patrons of the restaurant. Several people looked up at me, one of whom I was pretty sure was my former boss at Pizza Hut years ago. He narrowed his eyes. Oh right. I had left without telling him I wasn’t coming back for a final shift. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come out.
Failure. Loser. Loner.
My eyes snagged on a familiar face in the back of the restaurant.
A wave of relief hit me when I spotted Mari helping set the band up in the corner, tightly squeezed in next to the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
“No. I’m just here to help Mari, uh, Miss Mitchell, with the band.”
“Okay, you can go back. I think she’s just gonna sit at the bar. You can order there, doll.” She looked at the tablet on her stand, pushing back her bangs. “Otherwise, if you want to get a table, I won’t be able to squeeze you in for a good hour.”
“No worries. Bar’s great.” I gave her a tight smile and made my way across the restaurant, refusing to make eye contact with any single person. It was the same when I was on stage. I would blur out the crowd by focusing on a fixed point above their heads. If I couldn’t see them, they didn’t exist.
What the hell was I doing here? Where had this compulsion to see Mari again come from? I wasn’t toying with her. If anything, I was toying with myself. As much as I understood wanting to help the kid, Mari needed to know some facts before she entrusted her pupil to me. So then, why had I acted like I was considering it when, after tonight, she wouldn’t want anything to do with me?
I had to come clean and end this charade once and for all.
Something had shifted between us when she found me under the bleachers. It was like we finally found the groove of our interactions. Or at least it had changed for me. Our first meeting hadn’t been friendly, but if I wasn’t crazy, our last exchange had almost been flirty. She had almost smiled at least once.
Being around her coursed an energy through me like the rush I hadn’t experienced since I nailed a particularly intense solo after hours of practice and everything clicked into place. A sort of confidence that gave me reckless excitement about the endless possibilities of the future.
She made me feel young. Or at least hopeful?
She glanced up as I approached, and her eyes widened after her gaze quickly flicked over me.
An instant surge of adrenaline pulsed through me once our eyes met.
Well, crap.
Was she happy to see me? Or was she happy for Cath? Did I care?
I must have, because why else was I here? Had her perspective of me changed, or was I still the spoiled little rock star who wouldn’t help out? What I wouldn’t give to have her look at me like I had potential instead of like I’d skipped her class to smoke weed.
Her mouth opened to a surprised little O before quickly clearing her features. She held up a finger to me—not the middle one, thankfully—before angling back to help the bassist tune. I took the opportunity to get a good look at her. Sue me. It was the first time I’d seen her hair down and styled. It was longer than I would have expected, with lighter pieces framing the edges in the low light of the glass candles on every table. It flowed past her shoulders in feathery, soft waves.
She bent forward slightly to hear the strings that the bassist plucked over the background noise of the restaurant. A dark purple dress made of soft cotton clung tightly to her waist before flaring out over her hips. A deep cut in the front set the creamy skin of her cleavage on full display. I really tried not to ogle it in front of her students and the fine diners of Green Valley. Tried and failed. A portion of her legs were revealed where the material came together, and her calves were nicely shaped.
She was even more beautiful than I’d thought.
I swallowed, and something in the back of my mind that had been napping sat up and paid attention. A cartoon hound dog with droopy heart eyes, rapidly stomping his hind leg, howled, “Ayywoooga!” One more peek and I was done.
The jazz quartet was setting up. It contained a stand-up bass, an electric keyboard, a muted trumpet, and Cath with her drum kit. I lifted my chin in hello.
The teen’s brows pinched together, and she glanced away. I’d already made a stellar impression. Was she mad that I didn’t talk to her at the homecoming game? Had Mari not told her I saw her? Maybe I should have gone and talked to her? It didn’t matter. After tonight, I was sure I wouldn’t see any of these people again. And okay, now why did that cause my chest to lurch?
I sighed and stopped a few feet away. This was exactly what I didn’t need.
“Hey, you made it,” Mari said in front of me. None of the ferocity in her gaze that had been there like at our first meeting. She seemed almost breathless and, well, not happy, but maybe cautiously optimistic?
“Who could turn down such a casual, nonthreatening invitation?” I asked as she shrugged innocently. “You look nice,” I said. She froze. “Sorry. Shit. I’m not—that wasn’t me making a pass. I only know you don’t have a boyfriend because my mom told me you were single. And Clara. Small towns.” Her brows crept higher for every piece of information that slipped out of my mouth. This was why it was always better not to speak. Once the words flowed, there was no mystery, just buffoonery. “You know how it is. And the Bunco Broads basically have a running checklist of every newsworthy thing happening in Green Valley. Not that you came up last time. They’ve mostly been filling me in on all I missed in the past ten years or so. Speaking of, did you know Sienna Diaz married Jethro Winston?”
Her features smoothed into an amused smirk. I really wished I’d stopped speaking after I said hi. Wait, had I even said hi? Was this my first night as a human on planet Earth? What was my deal?
“Wow. You really were out of the gossip loop. A lot more has happened since then.” She stepped closer as a passing server brushed by with a full tray over their shoulder. The scent of sweet cherries and almonds drifted to meet me. “Next, you’ll tell me you didn’t know Kip Sylvester was murdered.”
My jaw dropped. “What?” Dropping my head to whisper, I hunched over her. “Guess the Bunco Broads are slacking.” I wasn’t sure if she was messing with me. Her tone was dry, and her face, close enough that I could reach out and touch it, was difficult to read for humor. Another server brushed by us, and we penguin shuffled even closer. I was blocking the main thruway from the kitchen and couldn’t remember how to normally navigate shared spaces with this cursed, lanky body.
“I should let you get back to it. I’m going to go get a drink at the bar.” So I’d stop blabbering.
“They’re actually good to go,” she said. “I was going to go order some food.”
There was an awkward exchange as we both looked to the bar to find the only available seats close together near the end.
“Why don’t you—” I started.
At the same time, she said, “If you want company?—”
This awkward fumbling was so much worse than her two-faced rage at my mom’s. That at least had me playing the cool rock star persona, not whatever the hell this was. Band geek goes on his first date?
Not a date, bro.I could almost hear Vander in my mind, chuckling at me.
Mari had seemed like another person at that first meeting. But then, I hadn’t been a dressed-up goober worried about giving her the right impression. This was why giving a shit about what people thought sucked nuts.
“After you.” I gestured to the high-back bar chairs.
I definitely did not watch her ass as she walked to her seat. I pulled out her chair without thinking. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she sat. “Thanks.”
This wasn’t weird at all. The evening took an unexpected turn. There was too much pressure now. The low-light ambiance wasn’t helping. How was I supposed to tell her my shortcomings in such a romantic atmosphere?
“Drink?” the bartender asked, setting down cocktail napkins.
“Yes,” we both said instantly.
“And a food menu, please. House red is fine for me,” Mari said.
“Just a beer,” I said.
The bartender blinked. “Which kind?”
“There’s more than one?” I asked, surprised. That always worked in the movies.
He turned to point out several taps. “We feature a few nearby breweries.”
“Dark lager?” I asked, getting knocked down at least three cool points. Here I was, back in Green Valley, worrying about seeming cool. I hated this uneven footing I felt in a town that never wanted me.
He nodded and left to get our drinks.
“It’s changed a bit around here since you left, I take it?” Mari asked.
Her legs were crossed, and the slit in her dress went to her midthigh. I cleared my throat and focused on maintaining eye contact.
“I wouldn’t have thought Green Valley would have gotten on the craft beer bandwagon,” I said.
“Cities change, people change.”
“Not that much.”
Her mouth pursed just before she opened it to speak. Whatever she’d been about to say was interrupted by the stand-up bassist, a massive teen with a bobbing Adam’s apple and ruddy cheeks. “Uh, sorry.” His head barely lifted to make quick eye contact with my chin when he apologized before turning to Mari. “Miss Mitchell, my bridge slipped again.”
“Not your fault, Nathan. It’s these ancient instruments.” She stood, tugging her dress in place subtly. “Be right back,” she said to me. “Get us an app?” she asked.
I stared at the small bar menu, unable to decide what she would like best, not knowing if she was even vegetarian or had any other dietary restrictions. What if I picked something she hated? Better to give options.
After I ordered, I watched her fix the bass and re-tune it. As she was walking away, the trumpet player asked her a question that had her checking the mute, and then the keyboardist kept getting feedback from one of the microphones. She was patient and kind with each interaction, seemingly unbothered by the garbage instruments they were working with. The kids looked at her...like I looked at Dave Grohl the one time he walked past me backstage in Chicago—still one of the best moments of my life.
She ended up snapping a tempo to get them started. Her hips rocked, causing the light material of her dress to sway off her ass in a pleasing manner. After they got started, she backed away to let them do their own thing, encouraging them to listen to and play off each other as was required for jazz. They weren’t half bad. The keyboardist was a little timid, and the bassist slightly ahead, but honestly, they looked and sounded pretty damn cool. Except Cath’s drum kit seemed held together with duct tape and pure determination. It reminded me of my first drum kit, down to the collection of stickers on the side of the kick drum.
Wait.
I leaned closer, trying to see in the dark. There’s no way the school still used the same shitty drum kit from when I went there.
My jaw was on the floor when Mari returned. She grabbed a mozzarella stick and fried pickle, barely sitting down before tossing a bit of each back. “Still better at Genie’s,” she said, double-fisting the snack food. “Whoa, did you order the whole menu?” She glanced at the spread of every appetizer on their menu currently jammed into our small bit of bar space.
“I wasn’t sure what I wanted,” I lied. I was glaring toward Cath.
The drummer looked up, her eyes widened, and she stumbled over the tempo before finding her footing again.
Shit, that glare wasn’t meant for her.
Mari glanced at Cath and back to me. “Fix your face.” I saw her hackles rise, waiting to defend her student. When I did, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m trying to figure out if that’s the same drum kit I used when I went there.”
Mari turned to the band, who had just started with a slow, easy tune. The crease between her brow smoothed. “Oh, yeah. Probably.”
“How is it even still in one piece?” I asked. Another wave of guilt broke over my head like a crashing cymbal, imagining my top-of-the-line kit sitting covered and unloved in the basement of Janice’s.
“I don’t know that it is one piece. Are you really that surprised, though? Funding for art and music is always lowest on the district’s priority list. That’s definitely not changed since you went here. If Principal Pin Dick has his way, all funds would go to the sports teams, and the music programs would be cut totally. He thinks it’s a waste of time and money. Hence, twenty-year-old drum kits.” She took another bite, doing the mouth huff thing of someone whose food was too hot. The woman ate like she was running out of time. Didn’t anybody feed her? I would make sure she always had food, the way she was constantly on the run. After she swallowed with a wince, she said, “And broken music stands and barely any rehearsal space. Damn, these are good. Did you try those yet?” She pointed at the shrimp cocktail. I shook my head and grabbed one.
“That’s why there are five different coaches, and one Mari doing every music class outside choir?” I asked as she shrugged. “How can you afford anything?”
“Begging.”
I snorted.
“I’m serious.” She leaned closer to whisper, “I’m close to selling my panties online. I’m kidding.” I froze and felt the temperature of the restaurant go up five degrees. She waited a beat, then added, “Mostly. No. I just go around to all the business owners and ask for donations. We offer to put on shows and performances like this in the hopes that they are willing when I ask for donations. Which reminds me.” She glanced at the bartender and waved him over. “Is the owner here?”
“Yeah, back in his office. Want me to get him?”
“Nah. Thanks, though.”
After he walked away, she leaned closer to whisper again. I didn’t mind. “Better if I go back there uninvited and catch him off guard before he can think of an excuse not to donate.” The action caused her knees to brush against mine. Ever more electricity pulsed through me. I was definitely attracted to this woman, and more than that, the tenacity that fueled her.
“Vicious,” I said after a swallow.
“Well, you have to be.” She shrugged and grabbed a loaded potato skin.
I chomped on a shrimp, feeling more sick with every bite. It wasn’t expired seafood that was the culprit. It was witnessing how hard Mari was working herself to the bone for this small high school band. And for what? Most of these kids wouldn’t even think about music after they left school.
On the drums, Cath gently moved her brushes around the snare, eyes almost closed as she listened to the others around her. For every hundred students who just wanted an easy elective, there were the kids like Cath and myself. Kids who dreamed big and had souls fueled by music. Kids who had music so tied into their identity they didn’t know who they were without it.
This couldn’t be dragged out any longer. I needed to tell Mari.
“You said your family was supposed to visit?” my mouth blurted. That was not the plan. That was the opposite of the plan.
She glanced to the side before she took a large gulp of her wine, taking a moment to debate something. “They were supposed to come in last weekend. It didn’t work out.”
She’d said it lightly enough, as if passing on the weather report, but I had briefly glimpsed a tension to her shoulders when my mother had asked about them. Many Green Valley families were large and interconnected. Janice’s former stepmother, Belle Cooper, had several ex-husbands, and there were so many Hill family members, nobody could keep track. Who would she have to rely on for help if her immediate family wasn’t around?
“Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine. It’s hard to coordinate our schedules.” She cleared her throat. “I’m used to being the pushy, sad woman who devotes all her life to her students.”
“Not sad. Admirable,” I blurted. It felt too honest. I quickly added, “Better than the washed-up musician who sits around being...what did you call me? An entitled, spoiled brat?”
“Something like that.” She winced. “I’m sorry for all the name-calling.”
“Not the marching band?”
“No, that was hilarious. But my anger may have been a little bit misplaced. I was just feeling—” She changed her mind midsentence. “I was just really tired.”
I cleared my throat uncomfortably, deciding what to say to this news. I wanted to reach for her and tell her that her family had no idea what they were missing, but since she had been calling me names not so long ago, she may not take much stock in my opinions.
“Sorry. Way too heavy,” she joked and finished her glass of wine. “So, tell me about your garden. You seem weirdly attached to it, but convince me it’s totally normal behavior for a man your age.”
She shifted the topic off her before I could ask more.
I would get around to telling her why I was here. Eventually.
But for now, the food was good, the environment was better, and the company was the best. We chatted for a while. I may not have convinced her why gardening was totally normal and not at all weird, but she didn’t poke fun. Not as much fun, at least. Our knees bumped two different times before the quartet packed up for the night and left after saying their goodbyes.
Our knees bumped five more times after that. And one bonus arm touch. She lightly dropped her hand onto mine while laughing hard at one of my Bunco Broads stories.
Our plates and glasses had been cleared a while ago. We sipped decaf coffees and were running out of things to order. We sat so long that the Saturday dinner rush settled into a few tables of couples close together, arms wrapped around each other. This had been one of the best nights I’d had in a long time. Maybe my mom was right, and I was hiding out. Was Mari feeling the same? Or was this part of the charm she used to get her donations?
But if she was having a nice time like I was, what came next would suck even harder. The realization made me sick. I was about to disappoint this woman, and I never wanted to do that.
“So now all these moms are constantly finding excuses to come into the school and go to the car wash. Actually, our PTA volunteer numbers have never been so high.” She laughed, finishing her story.
I chuckled too, but had only partially listened. Not just because the story was about a hot guy at her work but because the more charming and quick-witted she was, the longer she spoke, the harder it was not to fall for her. She was cool and tenacious, not to mention a total knockout.
“I need to tell you something,” I blurted.
She held my gaze for a moment, eyes narrowing. “Did you know that your mom mentored me when I was in high school? I think you were in freshman band, so I didn’t know you.” The tension in my shoulders tightened.
I pushed down the words that had been about to spill out. “No. I don’t think she mentioned it,” I said dryly. I didn’t love where this was going.
“She wouldn’t, would she, as modest as she is?” She pushed away her empty mug and sat forward. “If it wasn’t for her, I would have never even applied to college or pursued a career in music theory. She was so supportive of my moderate, at best, talent.”
I shifted uncomfortably and glanced around the place. There was nobody to save me.
“It only takes one person to change the whole trajectory of a life. I’m sure you had someone who believed in you unconditionally and supported you.”
“Same person, actually,” I said with a huff. “She’s...one of the most giving women I know.”
“She really is. You see where I’m going with this, right?”
“I mean, it’s so subtle, but I’m picking up something.”
“Ah, and just when I thought you put your sarcasm away for the night.”
“No, it’s always there, lurking just below the surface.” I tugged at my hair, realizing now that the curls were long since freed from their gel prison. “But I really need to tell you something. I can’t help?—”
“Oh, hell no.” The anger I’d witnessed briefly had returned, and I braced myself.