6. Chapter 6
“Twelve timeless love tips from Sex and the City for women of all ages and races.”
“Yuck,” I whispered to myself.
The inability to focus struck once again me. Sighing, I leaned back in my office chair and looked around the open workspace. I had been gone for several days, but nothing changed, and no one noticed. My coworkers typed away at their workstations like good little worker bees.
Buzz buzz.
I climbed out of my chair and wandered back to the staff kitchen.
The space was cubicle size. Three people pushed the limit on its capacity.
I was alone and didn’t have to worry about sucking in my gut to fit around an open cabinet.
Frozen mac and cheese was freed from the box and tossed in the microwave.
As my meal heated, I leaned against the counter and admired the creature comforts of being a staff writer for Popbyte.
They provided us with a coffee pot, fridge, and microwave.
All the appliances looked 5 years or older and they sported all the appropriate dents and scratches.
For being such “important parts of the machine” or whatever horseshit Ally always told us, they sure did treat us like crap.
Some big media companies offered their workers perks outside of benefits and dental care, fancy things like Zen rooms and calming corners.
A catered lunch would be nice now and then.
The microwave buzzed. I grabbed the steaming tray by my fingertips and scurried back to my desk.
I sat down and looked down at the unrealistic yellow of congealed steaming mac and cheese in front of me.
The totally appetizing scent of burning plastic, not cheese, filled my nose.
I could feel the hard frown on my face. I gently guided the tray off my desk and into the trash. It hit the can with a satisfying thump.
Ugh…
I abandoned my desk again and wandered to bother Jordan. If I couldn’t work, neither could he. It was only fair. His office door was open. I didn’t bother to knock. I leaned against the doorjamb and announced myself.
“Hey.”
He looked up from his computer and grinned.
Today, he wore a green cable-knit sweater vest over a striped shirt.
Shay’s aesthetic was cosplaying 90s Lauren Hill, coolness personified.
I couldn’t figure out why she always looked like an asshole.
A toddler dressed in a dark room kind of an asshole, but still an asshole.
“What’s up, Poppy?”
I slouched against the doorjamb. “Nothing much. Just not feeling it today.”
He stuck out his tongue at me. “When are you ever feeling it? Glad you’re feeling better, by the way.”
“Good point, but I’m not wrong. Something is in the air…Bad juju.”
I pulled that explanation out of my ass. I had no idea what bad juju even meant.
Jordan rubbed his temples. “I don’t know what to say to that. But Shay would love discussing this with you.”
I laughed. Knowing her, I’d be wearing crystals by next week. It wasn’t a belief he liked to advertise, but Shay made sure Jordan kept a few crystals in his desk.
“Make sure you toss that in the group chat.” I noted.
“Already on it!” He shifted in his chair and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “By the way, Shay wants to know if you’re up for dinner tonight?”
My jaw clenched. That reaction was unexpected. I loved hanging out with my friends, but I didn’t feel up for it today.
“What’s on the menu?” I asked.
“Thai food.”
“Maybe. I’ll let ya know. I’m headed home.”
“Already?” He blinked. “It’s like 3:30.”
“Wanderlust.” I blew him a kiss.
Grinning, he snatched my kiss out of the air and tucked it into his pocket.
“Don’t forget to text me later!” he called after me.
The cold air smacked me in the face the moment I stepped out of the Popbyte offices.
Teeth gritted, I tucked my chin deeper into my coat and I started my walk.
I didn’t bother with my earbuds. I was content with the incessant buzzing between my ears.
My feet went past my usual turn. I swallowed.
There was nothing worse than trying to fight for space with other pedestrians on New York’s sidewalks.
I’d rather put splinters under my nails than do it voluntarily. But today I was volunteering.
What are you doing?!
The cracks in the sidewalk, the chips in the brickwork, the gutters, the lampposts—these streets were all familiar.
A path I’d committed to memory. I caught myself smiling as I looked up at Summoner’s building.
I wondered which set of windows housed the hidden rockstar.
The view out his living room window made me imagine the viewpoint of a Central Park pigeon, flying high above it all before returning to earth.
I was sure Summoner didn’t care to share another cup of coffee with his weirdo stalker.
He would never let me interview him. I needed to leave before the cops came. I sighed into the cold air.
“Poppy?”
I flailed and stumbled back in a panic. The doorman who once gave me pitying glances now held the door open. Beyond confused, I carefully walked up the front steps.
“He told me to let you in,” he whispered with a smile.
Bewildered as all hell, I mumbled thanks, and I walked inside.
I jogged onto an elevator as if someone was going to stop me.
My toes clenched and unclenched in my shoes as the floor numbers went by with a ding.
The elevator stopped on the 28th floor. Summoner’s penthouse was unlocked, so after an awkward and agonizing moment in the hallway debating if it was unlocked for me, I let myself in.
I took off my shoes and hung up my coat on a hook near the door.
That’s when I heard it. The notes removed me from my head.
All my worries, all my difficulties, and all my concerns seemed meaningless.
Everything fell away. Like it had done all my life, music transported me.
Music took me away from everything. My body sought the holy sound.
Without conscious thought, I wandered through Summoner’s home.
Dazed, I was a puppet, and my strings were being yanked. The music was in control of me.
Upstairs, I followed the music down the hall.
I paused in the doorway of a small music studio.
The space was crowded with speakers, microphone stands, a keyboard, and several types of guitars.
Jaw clenched, I observed the scene in front of me.
Breathing became impossible. An air bubble got stuck in my throat, hard, unmoving, and uncomfortable.
My knees knocked together at the hurt. But none of that mattered.
Everything, even suffocation, paled in importance to what I witnessed.
Facing partially away from the doorway, Summoner sat on a stool with an acoustic guitar.
Leisurely, his shoulders bobbed as golden musical notes left his hands.
Adeptly, his fingers moved across the fretboard of the aged instrument.
His forearms tensed and tightened as he pressed his fingers down and teased the strings.
This was muscle memory. Effortlessly second nature.
Sounds that probably meant nothing to him were everything to me.
The sounds that filled my head were something I could only equate to liquid gold.
Rich and complex. So powerful, and he was their master.
Never in a million years did I think I’d see Summoner perform, and now I was having a creeper’s personal performance.
A memory that I’d close my eyes and cherish all my life.
It took a moment for me to return to earth when the music stopped.
I blinked and realized I’d been clutching the doorframe so hard the joints in my fingers had started to cramp.
Summoner sat down his guitar and stood up.
Stretching his arms overhead, he turned toward the door, only to pause at the sight of me being a creeper…
creeping. A tiny gasp escaped my mouth as his eyes locked onto mine.
Held captive by his gaze, my internal temperature shot up as embarrassment took its claws and tore my body to fucking shreds.
After a beat, when he allowed me enough time to stew in my head, Summoner’s eyes softly crinkled around the edges with humor.
“I was wondering if you were going to show up today,” he noted as his arms returned to his sides.
“… Uh…I, uh, had to work,” I responded once I remembered how words and language worked.
Summoner nodded before asking, “Tea?”
“Sounds good,” I rasped, suddenly aware of how dry my throat was.
With a smile pulling at his lips, Summoner inched around me in the doorway.
His body made no contact with mine, yet all of me stood at attention.
He led me downstairs to the kitchen. I sat at the island.
Today, Summoner didn’t bother with the stove.
He pressed a button on an electric kettle before pulling down cups and sugar from the cabinet.
“Six teaspoons, right?”
“Yeah…I can’t believe you remembered.” I said the quiet part out loud.
Shut up, weirdo!
“You take it very sweet. I don’t think I could forget if I wanted to.” He smirked as the kettle bubbled.
He made up our cups and walked around the counter, placing a steaming mug in front of me.
“Thank you. And I like sweet things. I can’t help it.” I grabbed my mug with both hands.
“Sweets can be addicting, though.” Summoner sat on the barstool beside me.
“Sweet tooth.” I shrugged, trying and, most likely, failing to sound nonchalant.
“Addict.” His eyebrow raised as he took a sip of tea.
I bristled quietly under the shade of his little jab. After all my creeping, it was well within his right to pick at me.
“…So, have you given any thought to my interview?” I asked before sipping my tea.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like people.”
I shook my head. “That’s not true! If you hate people, then why were you at the coffee shop? And why are we here now? I’m people.”
I pictured myself slamming my hands down on the counter in an AH-HA moment like a crime drama lawyer. Instead, my hands clenched my mug tighter.