6
LUKE
Eleanor rushes out of the store, and I follow quick at her heels. “Well, that didn’t go the way I thought it would,” I say, once I’m in step with her.
She throws me a smile, then looks away, her curls falling over her face.
“I’m sorry I was late,” I offer.
“It’s okay.”
“I had to deal with some business. Had a meeting, it ran over, anyway, that’s no excuse,” I say. I hate when I can’t follow through on my commitments. My line of work has my schedule doing gymnastics most of the time. Being late is a cardinal sin in my mind, something my father pounded into my brain when he was alive. A man sticks to his obligations, even if they’re as small as meeting up with a woman at a record store to ask questions about a photo.
Especially when that woman is as intriguing as Eleanor.
“It happens,” she says without fanfare.
She’s making the whole conversation thing a little difficult right now. No problem. I’ll manage. “I hope he didn’t give you too hard of a time,” I say. “He’s rough around the edges but—"
We stop in front of a car which I realize is hers when she starts shoveling through her bag for her keys. “It wasn’t too bad, but I’m glad you showed up when you did.”
I gnaw on my lower lip for a moment. “You busy right now?”
Eleanor stops searching and finally looks up at me. “Why?”
“I owe you,” I say. “For being late.”
She smiles, eyes rolling upward. “No, Luke, really, it’s fine. You helped me out with Kenny. You did your part of the deal, so—"
“No, no, no. Kenny made me promise I’d be a gentleman, and I am nothing but,” I say. “Let me buy you lunch.”
Eleanor’s eyes widen through her glasses.
“For the trouble,” I clarify, though if she didn’t mind it being a pass, I’d let it be one. “Besides, I know the best taco joints in the city and if you’re going to be living in Austin, you need to know the right spots for tacos.”
Eleanor glances at her car, then back at me. She smiles. “Okay, fine. I’ll allow it.”
* * *
Eleanor and I sit across from one another at a picnic table, narrowly shaded by an umbrella emblazoned with the Coca-Cola logo. The smell of sizzling meat wafts through the air and is making me salivate.
“Best tacos in Austin are served in a dusty parking lot, huh?”
I glance around the parking lot. “What’s wrong with the parking lot?”
Her lips curl up and she shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess I never would have come here on my own.”
“Well, you’re going to love it, I promise,” I say before swigging a sip of my Topo Chico.
Eleanor triangulates her fingers on the tabletop. “So, Bobby Sutton . . .”
“Yeah?” I say.
“Who’s that?”
I take off my hat and place it on the table, running my fingers through my sweaty hair. Summer in Austin doesn’t mean I can’t look put together. I’m built for this kind of weather. “He’s a jazz musician. One of the best in the city and has been for I don’t even know how long.”
“And he owned The Lone Star?”
“He ran it,” I correct. “But even I didn’t know that until I heard it from Kenny.”
She looks off at the line of patrons forming in front of the truck service window. “So, you really do know a lot about this city, huh?”
I smirk. “The music scene at least. Were you questioning that?”
Eleanor shakes her head. “No, I just didn’t know exactly what I was getting into with you inserting yourself into my investigation.”
“Okay, Nancy Drew. Didn’t realize you were going full on sleuth mode here . . .”
Eleanor takes her cup of horchata and sips it, a sneaking smile on her lips.
My mind lingers on that word—“inserting.” “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve forced myself into this, I was just trying to help.”
“I’m just giving you a hard time,” she replies. “I appreciate it. Seriously.”
Our eyes meet for a moment and my heartbeat quickens.
“But I can’t help but wonder why you’re so interested in helping a stranger figure out some details about a photo that has nothing to do with you,” Eleanor says with a shrug of one shoulder.
“The photo has nothing to do with you either,” I remark.
“But it’s my job to figure out these kinds of things. In fact, this meal would have been a tax write-off because of that if you’d have let me pay,” she says.
I laugh. She’s starting to loosen up just a bit and her humor is devastatingly witty. I’m not used to that. “Wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly of me,” I say, raising my eyebrows.
“Ugh.” She waves her hand to me, playfully frustrated.
“And besides, you’ve got it all wrong, Eleanor,” I go on. “You’re not a stranger. You’re a friend.”
Eleanor frowns. “We barely know each other.”
“Well, yeah, maybe in Chicago knowing someone as long as we’ve known each other would still be considered stranger territory. But you’re going to have to get used to the way things work around here,” I explain.
She inclines her chin. “Southern hospitality, hm?”
“Exactly. Around here, you’re a friend until you’re not. So don’t start being an asshole.”
Eleanor laughs, her bare shoulders rising. She’s wearing a loose yellow top with spaghetti straps that gives me a beautiful view of her collarbone. Somehow, she’s managed to avoid the sun enough to keep her complexion cool and untanned. Not sure that will last for long, though. “No promises, Luke.”
I lean on my elbow, slide my thumb under my lip, and let my eyes fall to the wooden slats of the table. It’s cliché to say you like the way a woman says your name, but it’s a cliché for a reason because I can’t ignore how nice it sounds when she says it. “Anyway, like I said, I know a lot about the scene around here. Not just because it’s my job, but I’ve grown up around it. I used to come into town and sneak into venues with my older sister because I was underage and . . . the music around here was my life. So, when I come across something I don’t know much about, well, I can’t help but be interested in finding out the truth. You know?”
Eleanor regards me for a moment with her brown eyes that flare a bit brighter in the sunlight than they did the other night. “Yeah, I get it.”
“If you don’t want my help,” I say, raising my hands in surrender, “then we can have our lunch and I’ll leave you alone. Never going to force something on someone, especially not the pleasure of my company.”
She giggles. “You certainly think highly of your company.”
“I’m a damned delight, Eleanor.”
“And humble too.”
“Very.”
She laughs harder and I can’t help but grin that I’ve made her smile.
“But if you think my expertise might be valuable, I’m offering myself to you,” I say and find myself falling silent when I realize just how intimate that sounds.
She spins her cup of horchata slowly. Is she nervous? Do I make her nervous the way she makes me nervous? The only difference between the two of us in that regard is that I keep throwing shit out, trying to see what sticks while she remains quiet and poised. Almost unreadable. Then she says, “Okay, well, what would you suggest our next step be?”
I like the sound of that. Our next step. I’m not out of the race yet. “We gotta talk to Bobby Sutton obviously.”
“I take it you know him from the way you talk about him?”
“Know him. Sure. But I know a lot of people.”
She frowns.
“Knowing people is different than knowing how to catch people. However, you’re in luck. I know how to catch Bobby Sutton.”
“Are we laying a trap or trying to get information?”
I place my forearms on the table and lean closer to Eleanor. “Aren’t they kind of one in the same, Nancy Drew?”
She blushes along her cheekbones. Gradually it spreads down her face. “Okay, fine. We have to catch him. And how do we do that?”
“Well, he plays sax in the house band at Franklin’s every Thursday night. We can go this week.” I grab my Topo Chico and take a swig.
“Like a date?”
I nearly spit the carbonated water out. It jabs up in the back of my throat, threatens to spill out my nose. I swallow the water down to the best of my ability, grabbing the edge of the table as I do so. The burn remains at the front of my face. “Uh, what?”
“Just checking that you don’t have some ulterior motive for helping me,” Eleanor says calmly.
Well, if my reaction was any indication, I’m probably not selling that I’m not exclusively enjoying her company for the history lesson. “Not a date. Not what I meant.”
“Okay. Good.”
Damn, okay, that settles that. She’s not feeling it. And that’s fine. To be expected honestly. She’s all smart girl and all she sees probably is pretty boy. I’m sure she’d do better with a professor or lawyer or something. I will eliminate this crush as expediently as I can. If I can. “We’re just going for research. Friends. You know. Like today.”
“Like today. Right. That’s why you paid for my meal,” she says. Is that a smirk on her lips?
“I am indiscriminate with my kindness, Eleanor,” I say. “But if you have such a problem with it, you can buy drinks Thursday.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
From the truck, a woman calls out, “Order 58!”
I scramble for the receipt in my pocket, already swinging my legs out from under the picnic table. I confirm the number and get to my feet, grabbing my hat and plopping it on as I go. Can’t risk a burn in the twenty-foot walk from the table to the truck.
When I get to the window, I show the lady my receipt. As she slides the tray toward me, she asks, “You want verde with that?”
“If you don’t mind,” I say with a small nod.
“Give me a second.” She steps out of sight, and I’m left alone with the tray.
I turn back toward the table to give Eleanor a look when she’s hopefully not looking. Just because nothing’s going to happen doesn’t mean I can’t look.
However, I should have known better. Because she’s not just looking at me, she’s got the lens of her camera trained on me. Who knows how many pictures she’s taken already?
I try to smile at the lens but find it impossible to make eye contact with it, dropping my head forward slightly and focusing on a stripe of white on the black asphalt.
When I return with the tray, Eleanor flips her camera around to show me the photo in the viewfinder. “I’m sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I couldn’t resist.”
Sure enough, she caught me right when I was looking back at her, the brim of my hat dipped down, eyes cutting through the space between us like daggers. My throat constricts a bit. To see myself through someone else’s eyes is strange. Not sure I like it. “Photographer’s gotta take her photos, right?” I say, then shove the tray between us.
Eleanor flips the camera back toward her and looks at the screen. A small smile creeps across her face.
My pulse begins to rise.
“I like it. Quintessential Austin. Maybe?” she says with a hopeful gleam in her eye.
I chuckle. “You’re getting it, Nor. Now come on. Eat while it’s hot.”