Chapter Six #2
“When were you?” he tossed back easily, eyes raking over my hair that I flat-ironed pin straight and tied back from my face so neatly that not a strand fell out of place. “The last time we were together, you looked so different.”
“Stones. Glass houses.”
“You used to hate having anything in your hair. I remember when your mom put your hair up for school picture day. You were so mad. You pulled every single clip out while we were in line and I hid them in my pockets for you.”
“Well, I remember when you were the only kid in our class who didn’t have long hair, because you hated locks falling into your eyes when you read sheet music. Guess you overcame that.”
“Yeah, okay, but you always had these wild, wavy princess curls that—”
“We were different people in middle school. There’s no—” I stopped abruptly. “What did you say?”
Jake blinked at me, like he hadn’t meant to let that thought of his slip. If past me had ever heard Jake refer to her hair as princess curls, she’d have died and gone to heaven.
“Princess curls?” I repeated, the shock doing nothing to dull my smirk.
“Yeah. Well, uh, uh . . .” Jake stuttered for a moment, his floundering at odds with his cool-guy image. “You were wearing some kind of girly, poofy pink dress when I first met you. I thought you looked like Princess Peach or something.”
“Interesting. I didn’t think you were Mario.”
“Well, thank God for that.”
“I mean, you could still grow a mustache.”
“That’s true.”
“And put on some overalls.”
“Yeah, no chance.”
Sitting across from Jake as we traded comebacks felt familiar. Conversation always flowed when we were together—we used to never run out of things to say.
Until, apparently, we did.
A crack had formed in the wall between us, but I felt the urge to seal it up tight with cement. Jake’s not staying, I reminded myself. He was never going to stay, he’s just here for PR. He’ll go back to his life and won’t be in yours again, unless you press Play on your phone.
History couldn’t repeat itself. Jake was just going to leave again and go back to being as unreachable as before. But this time, I refused to be blindsided when it happened—or let myself get close to him and hurt all over again.
“I emailed you because the café needs help getting more visitors,” I said, getting back on track to discuss why Jake really came back. Or, why Jake’s manager made him come back and bury his latest scandal.
“Because it’s summer, right? Didn’t you always say summer was slow?”
I eyed him with surprise. “You remember that?”
He shrugged my question off. “I remember the café being empty when school was out. You and I had the café to ourselves a lot.”
“Oh, well, yeah, summer’s part of it. But there’s more. And Mom’s trusting me to keep the café open.” I didn’t know how else to do it. “I know you told me you’re here because your manager sent you down to take some photos . . .”
“But you’ve come up with another plan.”
Well, yeah, I’d been planning to pitch him the idea I came up with last night. But how did he know that?
Jake gestured toward me, making circles around my face in the air with his spoon. “That’s your I’ve Got a Plan face. You always get it when you scheme.”
That’s ridiculous. Mom had no idea anything was going on when I saved for weeks and surprised her with a spa certificate last year.
“You had that exact face when you explained your five-pronged plan for winning the state spelling bee,” Jake mentioned off-handedly as he got another spoonful of cereal. “Did you ever win that, by the way? You never told me.”
What did he mean I never told him? It’s the very first thing I texted Jake—just like I promised—after I congratulated him for getting into the band. I even sent him a photo of my trophy. Did he forget or something?
“Yeah, first place. Anyway,” I continued, “we really need something big and eye-catching to get attention. I know you normally perform with your band, but since you brought your guitar, can we livestream you singing a song or two solo? I think it’d get a lot of views.
You can shout-out The Tiny Tiger, and post links under the video so people can donate or make reservations.
Like, surely if the Jake Moody performed—”
“Did you really have to emphasize the like that?”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“It makes me feel like a landmark. The Eiffel Tower.”
“A landmark’s what I’m going for, actually.” I leaned forward, growing excited. “I think people would want to visit the place you’ve performed at. I mean, my friend Amber and I once drove two hours to see the place where Hunter Dean filmed one of his scenes in Rise of the Phoenix.”
“Yeah that’s—” Jake paused, eyes narrowing. “I thought you didn’t like superhero movies. You used to throw popcorn at the commercials. We were almost kicked out of a theater once.”
“I like superhero movies when Hunter Dean is in them.”
“Really? Hunter? That guy?”
“Seriously? That’s what you got out of my pitch?”
He leveled an unrepentant look at me, his jaw ticking tighter. Then he shook his head, as if having to physically rid himself of my Hunter comment. What was his problem?
“Your taste in guys aside,” he continued disparagingly, and I stifled a snort, wondering what he’d say if he ever discovered he’d been my first crush.
Maybe he had a point about my type. “You’re not wrong about the location pilgrimage.
Apparently, this bridge where the guys and I filmed our first music video gets lots of visitors who come down every year just to cross it.
” He frowned. “People started leaving comments saying it’s a traffic problem. Local commuters hate US.”
“That’s great! Well, the visitor thing. Not the fact that drivers hate you. I’m sure the coffee shop there likes you a lot, if it’s any consolation.”
Jake hummed in response, looking vaguely amused.
“So,” I pressed, “can you do it?”
Instead of answering, he looked down for a moment, hesitant, but when he looked back up, he wore a different expression entirely.
“You know what I don’t get, Lucy?”
I eyed him suspiciously. He sounded like he was coaxing me into a trap, tone deceptively light with a dangerous edge.
“What I don’t get,” he continued, “is after clearly being prickly about seeing me last night—”
“I—” I sputtered. “I was not prickly.”
“You were like a vexed cactus, actually. And yet . . .” Jake leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and making the silver chain around his neck glint with the movement. “You’re asking me to be around more? Stay longer?”
I tensed. I was asking that, wasn’t I?
“Planning a livestream’s a lot more involved than just snapping a few promo photos and getting out of your hair.”
He stared at me across the table, eye contact unwavering, expression unreadable. It was unnerving. For a split second, I felt the urge to shrink back or look away. All those articles had it right: The full force of Jake Moody’s intense, intimidating stare was something to be reckoned with.
But I knew him from before. And despite the new getup and bad attitude and whoever this person he’d become was, there’s no way I’d let him get to me. I refused.
“Don’t act like you don’t need me as much as I need you,” I told him steadily.
Jake tilted his head the tiniest fraction—as if he wasn’t expecting my answer but didn’t want it to show.
“You need to be back in the good graces of the public; I need the public.” In the café.
Adopting Mittens and knocking back cappuccinos and unknowingly making everything safe for me to leave in the fall.
“This is an even better way to get what we want, and you know it. Besides,” I said, my tone softening, “wouldn’t you rather do something for your PR here than someplace else?
You used to love being at the café, Jake.
” You used to love being with me. “Doesn’t that count for something? ”
He stayed silent for another beat. Then, “This weekend.”
“What?”
“I can stay through the weekend. Hold the livestream Sunday. That should be good enough. I have some lunch thing Marie’s bugging me to be at on Monday, so it all has to be over by then.”
That was exactly seven days. It somehow seemed way too short and far too long.
“Good,” I forced myself to say. “A week from now. Then you’re gone.”
Jake’s eyes stayed locked on mine as I held my breath. It felt like tug-of-war, with each of us holding fast to the tether between us, too proud to pull, too stubborn to loosen our grip and ease the tension. I was determined not to be the one who looked away first.
“Then I’m gone,” he echoed.
I got my hollow victory, because Jake dropped his gaze—just like I knew he would.
After all, he’d been the one to give up on us first four years ago.
Jake leaned back, then picked up his phone, his thumbs flicking across the screen.
With an exhale, I fell back into my chair too. This dynamic between the new Jake and me felt confusing. One minute we were getting along fine, like old times, and the next we were facing off. The rapid changes were giving me relationship vertigo.
I watched Jake tap his phone screen. “What are you doing?”
“Running all this by my manager. Since she wanted the photo op, I’m sure she’ll want this. And I’d like the opportunity to perform again before our tour too.” Ah. So that’s also why Jake was so on board for this. “It feels so far away, and I’m itching to sing again.”
So far away, and yet it was scheduled for fall. But then, that was Jake. Any moment without a melody was a moment too long.