8. Mia
MIA
This time, when I approached Cody after class, he looked slightly less surprised and less likely to bolt for the door. But just a little.
He’d sat in the back row again. If he’d been doing that since the beginning of the semester, it was no wonder I hadn’t noticed him before. I hadn’t known he’d be my roommate someday, but that gorgeous face of his… any woman would’ve noticed that.
“Hey.”
Cody pulled off his thick headphones, leaving them hanging around his neck. Though he was only four or five inches taller than me, I was in the row in front of him, which was one step lower, so I had to look up. “Hi.”
“Great lesson today, right?”
The corner of his mouth twitched—did the man actually know how to smile?
We both knew that he hadn’t listened to a word Professor Beringer had said.
I’d peeked over quite a few times, only to see him tapping softly on the desk or scribbling on a pad of paper.
Aaron said that Cody lived for music, and that appeared to be true.
“What were you listening to?” I nodded in the direction of his headphones, which he’d put on the second the class let out.
“You wouldn’t know it.”
I blinked at the obvious dismissal. “Okay, well, I just wanted to say hi. See you.”
Heading for the exit, I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. I didn’t have to become friends with all my roommates. Having someone I felt as comfortable with as Aaron was a gift, and Jenna seemed like friend material too, even though she wasn’t around much.
“Mia.” Cody caught up to me at the steps on the side that led down to the exit. “I just meant, the music I’m listening to is from one of my classes. It’s never been released, so no one’s heard it.”
It was the most words I’d heard him say at one time. He had some tone to his voice that I couldn’t identify, but I liked listening to him. “That makes sense.”
“I didn’t want you to think…” He trailed off, looking uncertain where he was going with that. “Shit, I need to remember to grab coffee before this class. I almost fell asleep twice.”
We walked out into the hallway together.
I did a quick check to make sure the teacher wasn’t standing behind me.
“Trust me, if you’d actually been listening, it would’ve been more times than that.
” I lowered my voice, and Cody tilted his head, leaning in.
“I have no idea how he manages to be both confusing and boring at the same time.”
“It’s a lethal combo.”
A tall guy in a Henley shirt darted into an open classroom, and I stopped dead to avoid running into him. Cody’s hand came up, grasping my arm just for a second, to make sure I was steady. Then it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it… except I could still feel the heat from his fingers.
“If you still want some caffeine, I’m going to a coffee shop right now.” I hesitated, but he was my roommate. It wasn’t like I was asking him on a date. “Want to come?”
His light blue eyes sharpened a moment before he looked away, continuing down the hall.
I caught up to him. “I take it that’s a no?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. Finally, he said, “You don’t have to do that.” His voice was so low that I could barely hear him.
“Do what?”
We reached the side exit and Cody pushed open the door, holding it an extra second for me before jogging down the steps.
Once again, I had to catch up. “Cody? Do what?”
He turned onto the sidewalk, pausing next to a lamppost, and I almost walked right past him. Out here in the sun, his hair looked lighter. More bronze than brown. “You don’t have to pretend you were going to a coffee shop just because I said I needed some.”
For a moment, I just stared at him. Did he think I was making things up as an excuse to spend time with him?
He was a good-looking guy, and I could imagine women doing that, but I’d just been trying to be friendly.
There was something compelling about him.
Maybe it was the slightly unusual way he spoke.
Or the sadness in his eyes. “I didn’t?—”
“I’m fine on my own.”
Wait, was that really what he thought? That I’d said I was going to a coffee shop out of pity?
He turned to leave, and without thinking, I reached out and caught his arm. Even through the thick fleece of his hoodie, I felt hard muscle there. “Wait a minute, please.”
Cody did so, but I could practically feel his desire to slip his headphones on, pull up the hood of his sweatshirt, and go on his solitary way.
Cautiously, I let go of him and then reached down to unzip my bag. I pulled out a piece of blue nylon and fumbled with it until I found the hard piece of plastic pinned to it. “See this?”
“Mia,” he said, not addressing me but reading the name tag.
“I work at a coffee house, and my shift starts in a few minutes. I thought that if you didn’t have class right now, you could come with me and get some caffeine.”
Cody stared at me as if my invitation was somehow a trap. I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to him to make him so wary. Or maybe wounded was a better word.
“At least let me make you a drink, and then you can do whatever you want. You don’t have to stay.”
There was a long pause, and it was an effort not to fill the silence. Finally, he said, “Do I have to tip?” His mouth quirked just a little, like before.
“Absolutely.” I grinned. “That part’s non-negotiable.”
“What instruments do you play?”
Cody and I were at the little coffee shop where I worked.
As usual, it was empty. We were located in the basement of the social sciences building, and there were better options for snacks or meals close by.
I was the only one on duty, but since Cody was my only customer, I was sitting next to him at a little café table.
His light blue eyes seemed to stare right into my soul, but at least he didn’t seem opposed to answering, as he had the questions I’d asked on the way here.
“Guess,” he said. Maybe the hot coffee I’d prepared for him had been good enough to get him talking.
“I’m going to say drums, given by the way you were tapping your pencil in class.
” I studied the way his fingers were twitching.
“Even now, your eyes keep darting around the room like you’re looking for something you can use for makeshift drumsticks.
” I’d noticed that even though I’d been trying not to stare at his handsome face.
He gave an actual laugh, a low chuckle, and the sound pleased me. “You’re not wrong. Straws are too light, but maybe two of those little stirrers…”
“I’ll have to charge extra for two.”
His arched eyebrow raised further. “You didn’t let me pay for this in the first place.
” He’d still stuffed some bills in the tip jar, however.
Which was nice. This place was so out of the way that some days I’d only have a handful of customers throughout my entire four-hour shift.
I had no idea how this place stayed open, but that was for my manager, whom I hadn’t seen since my first day on the job, to worry about, not me.
“It pays to be a barista’s roommate.”
“I guess it does. And it’s good coffee.” He took another sip, and pleasure centers in my brain lit up. The most reticent man I knew had just said something that was almost a compliment.
“Glad you like it. So what are you going to do with your music degree? Perform?” My voice wavered a little on that last word. He seemed like the last person who’d want to play in front of a crowd.
“God, no. Composing is my favorite part of it all.”
“So you’re going to be a composer?”
“I am a composer,” he said steadily. “But unless you’re Beethoven, it’s not a living, so I’m studying audio engineering. I don’t care if I make music by writing it, playing it, or putting it together digitally.”
That made sense. “When’s the last time you composed a song?”
Cody glanced at his phone. “About twenty minutes ago.”
I did a double take. “In class?”
“Yes.”
“Just in your head?”
“I jotted the notes down in my notebook.”
Wow. “I can’t believe you can do that in the middle of a lecture hall, without, like, a piano.”
“It wouldn’t fit through the door.”
My mouth gaped open. “Was that a joke?”
He cocked his head to the side, studying me. “I reportedly don’t have a sense of humor.”
There was no need to ask him who’d made those reports. All of us who grew up in the foster care system were well used to all kinds of assessments being made about us. I wondered if Cody’s had always felt as inaccurate to him as mine did to me.
After a moment had passed, I asked, “So instead of taking notes on the class, you were writing musical notes?”
“Yep.”
“Can I see?”
He hesitated. “It’s not finished.”
I grinned, nudging him with my elbow. “Which might be a problem if I could read music.” Cody was still hesitating. He was one of the most private people I’ve ever met. “Come on, I guarantee it'll be the best original composition I’ve even seen.”
“You mean the only one.” He pulled a pad of paper out of his backpack and tossed it on the table in front of me. “There. Opus No. 34.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I straightened out the pad, looking it over.
There were five horizontal lines grouped together, which I was pretty sure was called a staff.
And notes, lots of notes, moving up, moving down.
Some were close together, some far apart.
It looks like real music to me. “You wrote all this?”
“Yep.”
“In class?”
He nodded.
“No wonder you didn’t hear anything the teacher said.” I scanned the paper again. “Will you play it for me?”
“Nope.”
“Please?” I twisted my lips into a pout when he shook his head again. “I’ll back you up if you decide to move a drum set into your room. I’ll stand outside your door and guard you from anyone who comes up there wanting to smash a cymbal over your head.”
Maybe it was my imagination, but it looked like he was fighting a smile. “How about I just lend you a pair of drumsticks and you can hit that whiny one when he passes by.”
“Raymond?”
“Is that the blond one?”
“Yes.” I frowned. “How can you not know the name of someone who lives with you?”
He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “Same reason I don’t listen in class.”
“Because you’re in your head where the music lives?”
“Exactly. Trust me, it’s a far more pleasant place to be.”
I couldn’t deny that it sounded like it—or at least a lot more pleasant than talking to Raymond. And I’d bet that music had gotten Cody through a lot over the years.
I took a sip, too, glancing around to make sure no was waiting at the counter, but we were the only ones here. Working here was boring, but at least it gave me time to do my homework when I was caught up with my tasks.
Biting my lip, I tried to think of how to keep the conversation going. Cody’s shoulders weren’t tense anymore, but he still looked like he might take flight at any given moment. “When did you first start composing music?”
His blue eyes were unfocused as he seemed to be looking into the past. “I guess when I was six or seven? But I didn’t have any way to play or write any of the music down until GarageBand.”
“You were in a garage band?”
He shook his head. “It’s software that comes preinstalled on Macs. You could create music and hear it played back… it took me a while to figure out how it all worked, but once I did, it was like a whole new world was open to me.”
Despite his words, there was a note of sadness there, and I waited.
Finally, he sighed. “It was amazing that the songs I created were no longer stuck in my head, but it was my foster brother—their biological son—who had the Mac. Whenever his parents caught me on it, I’d get in trouble.”
“Because you used his computer?”
“Because they thought I was looking at porn.” His blue eyes met mine, as if worried I might have an adverse reaction to that word. “And because I used his computer.”
My heart broke for the little boy he’d been, and the wounded man he was now. “They should’ve given you your own computer so that you could make great works of art.”
He nodded, humoring me. We both knew that kind of thing didn’t happen often for foster kids.
“So maybe sometime—” I began, but I didn’t get to finish.
Someone cleared their throat from right behind us. Cody flinched, and I whirled around.
A young woman, maybe a year or two older than me, stood there in a white blouse, black pants, and ankle boots with at least a three-inch heel. She was a lot better dressed than the usual bleary-eyed students who managed to find this place.
I stood, smoothing my vest down. “Welcome. Have you been here before? Our menu’s listed on the board above the counter, and if you give me a moment to get over there, I’ll?—”
“Don’t bother,” she said, staring me down like a stern librarian. “I’m not a customer.”
Okay, then why was she here? “I’m sorry?”
“You should be,” she said. “I’m your new boss.”