Aubrey #2
He glanced at the door. “Oh, do you not wish to be interrupted? No, of course not. No creative wishes to have someone come in during a reading to ask for a copy of The Odyssey. Not that there’s a thing wrong with it.
Why just recently I was quoting Odysseus lamenting about facing the Cyclops but not in the exact words of the great poet and author. ”
“I’m not keen on others hearing it. People might think things.”
Ah, oh, okay, I was getting a vibe here. The “I am so far back in the closet I’m finding Christmas presents from five years ago” and didn’t that break my heart?
“That’s fine. Let me just…” I jerked a thumb at the door then bolted like a rabbit to lock up and flip the OPEN sign over. Then I darted back, hoisted myself up to sit on the counter, crossed on leg over the other, and grinned at him. “There. All ready for your reading.”
“Okay.”
There he stood. Staring at me as I stared at him. “I uhm…I tinker, you know, with poems. Nothing like what you were reading.”
“Few of us are,” I confided which got me a tender little twist of his lips.
“Sure, right. But I…well, I got time on my hands now.” He glanced down at the sling then back at me. My heart rate doubled. “And so I’ve been…”
“Tinkering.”
“Yeah, tinkering.” He pulled a wadded up sheet of paper from his front pocket, smoothed it out on the counter, and then looked at me for the go ahead.
I bobbed my head, a strand of hair from the bun that had come apart hours ago falling into my face.
I blew it out of the way. “That’s cute. When you do that.
” His shoulder shifted up, the good one obviously, as if waiting for a blow to his head for admitting a man could be cute.
This poor man was so in need of comfort.
He needed some of Gee-Gee’s creamy potato soup, a loaf of hot bread, and a bookseller in his lap stat!
“Okay, so this is… not edited or nothing. Just words I scribbled down.”
I reached out to pat the tan hand holding his paper to the counter.
A thousand little fizzes erupted from that touch, racing up my arm like seltzer in my veins.
Oh goodness. Oh goodness! With a shiver of delight mixed with trepidation I pushed on with my thought.
The fizzes kept fizzing as I spoke. His gaze grabbed mine tightly.
“I’m sure they’re wonderful words,” I whispered.
“Okay, well, maybe they’ll be okay.” He left his hand on top the paper, not jerking it free from my little queer fingers. Which was a big sign to me that he just might be a rainbow warrior, just a deeply hidden one. “Right. I don’t have a title yet.”
“That’s fine. Many poems are untitled.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Okay. So this is it.”
I perked up as he drew in a steadying breath.
“Red roans drift where the windy plains run,
Dust on their hides, backs warmed by sun,
I follow their tracks through wind and stone,
Found my own name where the red roan roams.”
His cocoa eyes lifted from the wrinkled paper with apprehension.
“That was amazing,” I whispered, so stunned by the sheer talent this busted-up bull rider possessed I could barely speak.
“Don’t just say that to be nice. I know it’s rough.”
“I’m not just being nice, Hoyt, that is lovely.
Truly. The imagery of those lines! Holy Hannah, it’s so evocative.
Filled with sentiment, truth, and the spirit of the West that we aficionados adore!
It’s fantastic! And the last line where he speaks of discovering himself. So wonderfully said. Do you have more?”
“No, well not written out. In my head I have more.” He searched my face. “You really liked it? It’s not too dumb?”
“It’s delightful. I loved it. Oh how I wish I had the talent to create something that lovely. Alas, I can only admire and extol the beauty of such work but I can’t even write a grocery list.”
He chuckled, the tension leaching from his face. “I could maybe write another one and bring it to you to read. If you have time? I know this is a real imposition and all…”
“Figgledy! It’s not an imposition at all.
It’s what I live for. Handsome men reading me the verses they’ve penned?
Swoonworthy to the nth. Please, do write more.
And bring it into the shop. We’re having our first poetry slam event in two weeks.
If you’d like to read it in front of other poets and fans I’d love to have you. ”
“Oh, I…nah, I don’t think I can read them to other people. They’d think there was something off with me. I have to go back to the circuit when this heals up and I can’t have folks talking about me being a poet or anything.”
His words rushed out as if well-memorized. The anxiety was back in his jaw.
I gave his hand a pat. “That’s fine. Not all of us are chatterboxes like me. I’d be happy to read one of your works for you if you’d like to see the reaction from the people attending? We have ten so far which is ten more than I thought we’d have!”
“Oh, well, maybe.” He gave me a shrug. “We’ll see. Maybe. I have to go to urgent care for another checkup for this thing.” He tucked his chin at the sling. “If you’re not busy or nothing, maybe we could…I don’t know…grab a bite or something. You could give me some tips on my poems and stuff?”
“I have a crock pot of chili at home if you’d rather go somewhere private?”
“Yeah, that’s good. Better. Sure. Text me your address. Say in an hour?”
I nearly toppled off the counter to find my cell lying on the other side of the register.
Exchanging numbers. This was something big.
Which scared me shitless even as we read our numbers to each other.
There. Hoyt Knox. In my contacts. I should not have been so thrilled over such a simple thing.
I was supposed to be avoiding manly types to be a hermit.
Inviting Mr. Shy and Sexy over for chili was not very reclusive.
“See you in an hour!” I chirped even as my heart and my head began an argument my dick was not paying the least attention to. Typical for a dick. They rarely listened to logic.