CHAPTER FOUR COEN #2
“Oh yeah?” I pull open the door, letting them file in first. Inside is a hipster-style cafe with a row of bearded men flipping pancakes and making sandwiches on an open grill. A girl with orange hair appears behind the register, smiling and flashing her bright blue braces.
“Hey, welcome to The Bear Café,” she trills. “What can I get for you?”
I step back so they can order, unsure what I’m in the mood for.
Truthfully, I haven’t been super hungry since the pasta last night.
I’m not used to eating food that heavy. I usually stick to mostly protein with some vegetables—I need my brain to be as sharp as possible for how much I work.
I’m not used to eating for the sheer pleasure of it.
“You hungry?”
I blink, Sabrina’s face swimming into view.
“Yeah, I’ll get the western omelet,” I say, reaching for my wallet.
“We got it,” she says.
She hands over some cash before I can protest. Bill brushes past me, heading for an older man on the far end of the room. They start chattering, and Serena goes with him, leaving me and Sabrina alone. She smiles, rocking on her heels awkwardly.
“That music shop next door,” I say, jerking my thumb. “Mind if I go over there while we wait?”
She nods. “Want me to go with you?”
“Sure.”
I wait by the door while she darts around me to let Bill know we’re stepping out for a second.
Then, I follow her out onto the hot sidewalk and through the glass door.
A bell rings out sharply. The second the cashier looks up and sees us, I know he recognizes me, but he just smiles and lifts a hand.
I smile politely as I do a slow turn, taking in the room.
It smells so familiar, like being young again, before the success happened, when music meant guitar shops and open mic nights.
“Hey, Sabrina,” he calls.
She waves but doesn’t stop to chat as I skirt around the middle rows stacked with old records.
The guitar is beautiful, hanging up in the window.
Fifteen years ago, I’d have asked to play it, but I know it’s not the same anymore.
I tried doing that at a store once, and someone texted their friend and in minutes, there was a crowd of people trying to jam through the door.
Instead, I stare up at it and imagine how it sounds.
But I promised Jamie, after we decided I would go on a break, that I would let instruments rest for a while. I also told him I wasn’t going to get romantically involved with anyone until I got my head on straight. He agreed with me: no music, no girls. At least not for a bit.
I can’t start working again. If I have a guitar and my notebook, I’ll be cooked.
“You like that guitar?”
I glance at Sabrina, who has her arms crossed as she bounces lightly on her heels.
She does that a lot. The powerful urge to reach out and touch the side of her neck comes over me.
It’s a bare spot, bits of hair falling around it, and it looks so soft.
This time, when I feel desire, it’s not surface level.
It’s deeper, closer to a need to feel bare skin than just pleasure.
I know that feeling. It’s loneliness, not lust.
She glances up, then freezes.
I know she saw the way I was looking. I turn my head, but not soon enough.
Fuck.
“Uh…you like records?” she asks.
I nod, turning to the piles of worn records. “Yeah, I do. What do you like?”
Her fingers move through the pile, flicking through the alphabetical stack. It takes a moment, but she pulls out a green album and holds it out. I take it.
“Tom T. Hall,” I say.
“Yeah, I like this one a lot. Dad used to play it all the time growing up, before Mom…left.”
Her voice strains. I want to ask, but I know she’s not ready. We barely know each other.
“My agent, Jamie, loves this album. I mean, I do too, but he really loves it. Back when we first met, he had this old car, and it only had a cassette player. One time, we road tripped across New Jersey, all the way down the coast, and the tape got stuck, so we just listened to it again and again.”
She smiles, and it’s so brilliant, I have to force myself not to openly stare.
“How many hours?” she asks.
“Like three days.”
She laughs, and I’m mesmerized by the sound; soft fingers across a windchime. Then, she goes quiet for a moment.
“You really like music,” she says finally. “I mean, obviously. But that’s the most words I’ve heard you speak since you showed up.”
I sober, contemplative.
“Yeah, I’m a big classic country and folk guy,” I say finally. “My Mom got me into a lot of it.”
She looks at me with a soft expression.
“What was her favorite?” she asks.
“The man in black.”
“A good choice.”
“The best.”
She lifts it. “You want it. Dad has a record player.”
“Oh no—”
“It’s on me.” She smiles, nose crinkling. A warm glow starts in my ribs. “But we should get back. The café is usually pretty fast, and you don’t want to eat cold eggs.”
When she looks at me like that, I feel something instead of the disjointed sensation of being in the middle, the world spinning in circles around me.
It slows everything down. She’s so normal, so real.
It takes me right back to the beginning, when it was just me on the porch, when it was me and Jamie in my Buick.
Back when I didn’t feel a sad sense of accomplishment with every contract I put my name on. I was so excited at the beginning.
Now, I feel like a husk.
Blown here and there by the wind. On planes, trains.
Never landing.
We leave the shop after she gets the record and reappear in the café, sinking down at the table with Bill and Serena.
She tucks the bag aside, which I’m grateful for, because I don’t feel like talking about it.
Not with everyone here. I like Bill and Serena, but I’m more of a one-on-one kind of talker.
Maybe my brain is too tired for much else.
“You like it over there?” Bill asks, stretching out. He’s already done.
I cut into my omelet. “Yeah, it’s real nice.”
“I don’t mind getting some of those guitars out of storage.”
“Let me check back with you on that. I’m trying not to work. don’t want to rile Jamie up.”
“I would not,” he agrees. “I gotta call that bastard. It’s been a while. He’s more of an email guy now, it seems.”
“He’s pretty busy,” I agree.
He starts talking about something else. I’m quiet, glad to just listen. My eyes keep drifting to my side, where Sabrina sits, her silver hoop earrings dancing as she moves her head, laughing and talking. I’ll be thinking about that spot on her neck tonight, staring up at the ceiling.
I’m going to break one of my rules.
Either the work or the girl.
I kind of think I know which one it’ll be.