Chapter Three #3
“You need an education in outlaw country.”
“That’s a type of music?”
“Yes it is.” Nash smiles. “Regarding our fictional relationship…do people think we’re back together?”
“I think they think you’re on probation.”
He pauses. “Makes sense. What does living in the moment mean to you?”
“Living in the moment? I don’t know.” Conversing with this man sure keeps me on my toes.
“Guess in a way it’s part of our simple pleasures conversation.
Paying attention to what’s happening around you.
No getting distracted by things that happened in the past or might happen in the future.
Using your five senses to really soak up the now and take it in, you know? ”
“Good answer.”
“What do you think it means?”
He pauses. “It’s honestly not something I’ve given much thought to before. There was always just the hustle and what needed to come next.”
I nod.
“And what do I talk about with people now?” he asks. “If I can’t say when the next album is dropping or shit like that.”
“You do things other than music.”
He raises a brow. “I don’t know about that. Everyone I knew was in the industry, so it’s all we talked about. The focus was on work all the time. But what the hell else do I have?”
“You need a new hobby, or three.”
He wanders the aisles gathering colored tees, a coat and a cardigan, some army-green cargo shorts, and such. Imagine shopping without a budget. Just getting whatever you want. His life is so surreal. “Wonder if Audrey would give me cooking lessons?”
“You should ask her. I know she has a gardening club and bingo. There are bound to be more local groups. Over by the door was a board with community notices. Maybe you’ll find something interesting.”
Nash hands over his finds to the sales assistant as we wander by the counter.
The world feels calmer and more in control with him fully clothed.
We are just two friends hanging out. Which is great.
Maybe I’m more aware of him than is needful or necessary.
However, I can pretend to ignore it the bulk of the time.
Most of the announcements on the board are about music shows or outdoor movies happening in the area over the summer. But there are some other options.
“Did you want to keep working out?” I point to an ad for a local gym and an invitation to join a jogging group.
“Running from my responsibilities would be on brand.” He peruses the board. “What do you do in your free time?”
“I read and watch movies. And I used to hang out with friends. But then the breakup happened and I realized most of them were really his friends.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” I pause. “Was that an overshare?”
“No. We’re friends, and honesty is a good thing.”
And the funny thing is, talking to Nash this way feels like a weight has lifted off my shoulders. He’s not going to judge me harshly. None of this information will be used against me at a later date. There’s a chance I’ve been hanging with and dating the wrong people.
“You okay there?” he asks.
“Just thinking deep thoughts.”
“So, I guess we both need new hobbies,” he says, carrying on despite my brief bout of emotional weirdness. “Sunshine Sourdough Society. Is there honestly that much to discuss about bread that it merits a weekly meeting?”
“I have to strenuously disagree with you there. Carbs should always be taken seriously.”
“Do you think they name their starters things like Doughlene and Ryehanna?”
I smile. “Then there’s always the pickle, jam, and chutney club. Or how about the paranormal research group? Bet they’d be interesting. You could actually ask Johnny Cash what he thinks about you wearing color.”
“That would be amazing.” He pulls a credit card out of his back pocket. But not just any card, one of those exclusive black, invitation-only ones.
I cover it with my hand before the shop assistant can see. “Normal people don’t have those, and they’ll see your name. Do you have anything else?”
He shakes his head. “Left my phone in Nashville too.”
“Let me get it and you can transfer the money.”
“I appreciate that. This attempt at a new life owes everything to you and your grandma.”
I give him a wink. “You’re in safe hands.”
“Speaking of which, we should probably hold hands on the walk back.” He gives me the most dubious grin in all of time and space. The man is not the least bit serious. “Maybe even make out some on Main Street. For authenticity’s sake. Just to bolster our story. What do you think?”
“Let me ponder it for a minute.”
My smile doesn’t seem to sit on my face quite right.
Time to shove my feelings for him down into my darkest recesses.
Again. Because I wish he wanted to kiss me.
And I wonder what it would be like to place my hands on his skin.
But these are just rebound or crush-type sensations that aren’t the least bit helpful, and are best ignored.
As he himself admitted, this fuckboy flirtation routine is no more than nonsense.
“No.”
“Dammit.”
And me and my fake ex-boyfriend head on home. Without any physical contact.