Chapter 7 Annalise
Annalise
Three Months Later
The mid-April breeze catches my hair as I approach the entrance to the café, Kenna right behind me. I flatten the skirt of my lavender top-waist swing dress, then fiddle with the multistrand gold necklaces draped around my neck.
Kenna takes a final drag from her iridescent rainbow vape pen, blowing out a cloud of something fruity, before hiding it away in her purse. “I live for Thursday nights, you know. Coffee and bangers with my bestie. So wholesome.”
I yank open the main door, and we shuffle inside. “It’s definitely my favorite night.”
Tag is setting up on the small, one-person platform, a microphone situated in front of him as his guitar case lies sprawled open near his feet. A proud smile blooms on my face.
“Damn. Your brother looks positively giddy up there.” Kenna moves to the counter to order her usual cinnamon cortado.
I peer across the room at Tag again—no smile, no twinkle in his eyes. Giddy is not the adjective I’d choose. He’s the poster child for brooding musician.
“It’s a shame my vocal contributions didn’t work out,” she continues, swiping her card through the reader. “We could’ve made a good team.”
“I love you, but your singing voice is akin to a dying giraffe.”
Kenna frowns. “Do giraffes make noise?”
“Probably when they’re dying.”
Nodding, she discards the receipt and moves aside so I can place my order. A few wayward strings pluck from the front of the café as my brother drops to the stool, doing a quick tuning.
“How come you don’t sing with him?” Kenna asks.
I glance at my best friend while ordering a vanilla latte with no foam. “You know I hardly have time for these outings, let alone vocal practice. I just sing for fun.”
“You’re so good at it. If I had your voice, I’d have a Spotify profile, a YouTube channel, and a website with merch, a mailing list, and a fan club up and running.”
My brain shuts down at the mere thought. “At least I’ll know who to hire if anything changes.”
She takes a big sip of her coffee, wincing when it burns her tongue. “I feel like you’re wasting your potential at the restaurant. Respectfully.”
“You work there too.”
“That’s because I’m only good at two things: shmoozing the late-seventies retirees with a penchant for competitive bird-watching, and rocking those cute retro aprons.
” She pauses, taking another hesitant sip.
“I can also throw tennis balls with my toes. They’re prehensile.
But I don’t foresee any beneficial uses for that. ”
“I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue.” I collect my coffee, and we saunter through the café, looking for an empty table. “One hundred percent success rate.”
“There are many beneficial uses for that.”
As we locate a table closest to the makeshift stage, I send a cheerful wave to my brother. He spots me, offers me a nod, and pops a pick between his teeth. He’s in the zone.
I set my purse down on the two-person high-top table, assessing the crowd. Families are scattered about, toddler-age children glued to electronic devices while their sleep-deprived parents suck down espresso and attempt to partake in a rare moment of socializing.
My eyes scan the room.
A few college girls, musician types eager to take notes on Tag’s performance, an elderly couple bonding over matcha, and—
I blink. Do a double take.
My jaw drops.
No way.
Shock slices me from chest to toes as I zero in on the familiar man at the back of the room. His attention is fixed on his cell phone, one leg bobbing up and down under the table.
A black hoodie, dark-wash jeans, dirt-smudged boots.
Messy waves of caramel hair and golden-brown eyes to match.
Those eyes lift, flicking in my direction.
Our gazes lock.
I waste no time snatching Kenna by the wrist and hauling her over to the man I never thought I’d see again. Especially not here.
“Whoa, whoa, these heels are not made for marathons,” Kenna huffs out, scampering behind me, trying to keep up. “Are you kidnapping me?”
“No, but he might.” A grin stretches as we near the table.
“Wait, what?”
Chase straightens in place, setting his phone down and skimming a hand through his hair. A silver thumb ring glints beneath the kitschy pendant light.
He looks everywhere but at me, but I can tell by the way his shoulders square, his biceps twitch, and his jaw tightens—he recognizes me.
“Oh my God. You came.” We land at the edge of his table, and I watch as his gaze gradually shifts in my direction, eyes panning up the length of my dress until they settle on my stunned expression.
He swallows, leaning back in his chair, the front legs elevating. “Annie. Hey.”
Kenna makes a face, and we share a look.
She kicks my shin. “Annalise. Are you going to introduce me?”
“Annalise,” Chase repeats, squinting as he reads the room. “No one calls you Annie, do they?”
“You do.” My smile beams brighter; I can’t believe he came. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
The chair legs descend back down to the tile. “I was bored.”
My eyes taper as I recall my final words to him that day before I walked out of his house. Then I clear my throat and turn to my friend. “Um, this is Chase. I told you about him.”
She blinks at me, peers over at Chase. Her gaze dips to his denim-clad thigh, hidden underneath the table, before awareness splashes across her face. “Holy shit. You’re the guy who kidnapped her.”
The elderly couple twist around in their seats, sending us a sanctimonious look.
I finger my assortment of necklaces. “Accidental kidnapping, if we’re getting technical.”
“Dreamy,” Kenna sighs.
Chase frowns. “Every girl’s fantasy.”
“You’d be surprised.” My friend takes a seat across from him and extends a hand. “I’m Kenna. Annalise’s best friend, coworker, and future one-woman PR firm.”
Tentatively, he takes her hand, focus still aimed at me. “Chase.”
Pulling back, she smooths her fingers over her wavy, bleachy blond topknot and dark roots. “She filled me in. Exciting stuff. How’s your dog doing?”
“Fine.”
“Kenna, can you give us a second?” I tap my foot against the earth-toned ceramic tile. “Maybe go save our seats. I’ll be over in a sec.”
“Yeah. Sure.” With a quick turn, she sends me a look that says I need to tell her everything, immediately, no details left out.
When she floats away, I hesitate before taking a seat in her abandoned chair. I rub my lips together. Chase doesn’t say anything, appearing decidedly out of place, out of his element, and out of words. Can’t say I blame him; it was brave of him to show.
Curiosity spurs my tongue. “Are you here to watch Tag play?”
He looks down and swipes invisible crumbs off the tabletop, tapping his thumb ring against the surface. “Yeah. Figured it was time to venture out into the world.”
“Adulting is hard, I know.” I prop my chin in my palm with a sincere smile. “How’s your leg? Back to normal?”
“Questionable. Still hurts, but I’m over the worst of it.” He glances at me, and our eyes hold for several heartbeats before his brows lower. “Actually, I don’t know why I came.”
My breath catches, and my smile slips. I drop my forearms on the table and start drumming my fingernails. “Well, I bewitched you with the prospect of good music. You’re a music guy. The math checks out.”
“Right,” he says. “The music.”
There’s an inquisitive look in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher. Like he’s weighing something, turning it over in his mind.
Anxiety clogs my throat when I realize it’s possible he didn’t come for the music.
He may have come for me.
I should tell him I have a boyfriend, but the words stick like taffy, wadded up and lodged in my throat. That feels awkward and presumptuous.
“Tag is talented,” I tell him, my voice growing smaller. “You’ll see.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“I remember you singing to me that night. You were good.”
My cheeks heat at the memory. “Oh, thanks. I guess I can carry a tune. But I work a lot of hours. Double shifts and such. My free time is limited.”
“Where do you work?”
“Charlie Barker’s. It’s that diner off Fifth Street with the dog mascot on the sign.”
He nods, processing the information. Then he glances around the room with an audible sigh, scratching at his jawline. “I should probably go.”
Surprised, I inch back in the seat. “Why?”
“Once your brother knows I’m here, he’s going to call the cops and have me arrested. I probably deserve that, but—”
“No. He won’t.”
“What makes you so sure? I doubt he’s going to be as chill as your friend.” Wary eyes sweep over to where Tag tests the microphone and strums the opening chords to a City and Colour song.
“Because he’s my brother and we’re a team. I told him not to. It’s done.”
Our eyes meet.
And then words tumble through me like snowflakes at dusk, delicate and pure.
It’s instant. Effortless.
Honeycomb eyes
Music in the air
Broken strings hum
A song of despair
“Hold that thought.” I leap from the chair and race to the counter where a pile of napkins rests beside flavored syrups and plastic straws. An associate hands me the pen I request, and I head back to the table to scribble down the disjointed poem.
“What are you doing?” Chase stares at my moving hand.
I scoop up the napkin and stuff it in my skirt pocket, hiding it away. “Inspiration strikes unexpectedly sometimes. I have a treasure trove of these things at home. It drives—”
Alex nuts.
But my words clip off prematurely.
“Anyway, ignore me,” I continue, eager to change the subject. “Do you sing?”
He hesitates. “Not really. I mean, I can, I guess…but I don’t.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
The look he sends me tells me he agrees.
Tag continues to play, his raspy voice filling the room as people watch, talking among themselves and sipping overpriced lattes. I glance over at Kenna, who gawks at us from twenty feet away, looking impatient as she pulses her eyebrows at me.
I pivot back to Chase. “Did you want to come sit with us?”
“Uh…”
Jumping off the seat again, I signal him to follow. “Come on. I’ll grab another chair.”