6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Aurora
Iexamine the options on the shelf of candy in front of me, recognizing this is likely the most important decision I’ll make today.
My eyes dart back and forth between a Snickers and a Clif Bar as I tap my foot to the tune playing through the overhead speakers.
It has those deep, slow, singular beats that spread goosebumps across my skin.
I crinkle my lips as the lack of dental insurance tilts the scale toward the healthier option.
I should really speak with Sergei about the possibility of getting on a plan.
As I’m about to reach for my selection, someone bumps into me.
“Excuse me,” a male voice mumbles from behind as something drops.
I turn, pick up the small Doritos bag from the floor, and hand it back to its owner. “Here you go.”
“Aurora? Is that you?”
I lift my gaze. It takes a moment for my optic nerves to transmit the information to my occipital lobe and pass it to my temporal one, then another to actually process who’s standing in front of me.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Daniel?”
“Aurora?” he repeats as if he also can’t believe the coincidence.
I’m surprised he remembers my name. I doubt I could forget his, having met him the night my carefully constructed tower of building blocks was violently knocked down—the night I got rejected from the internship.
I dragged my depleted body off the dance floor, limping toward the bar area.
“Excuse me?” I waved my hand, trying to signal the bartender.
At one point, I’m confident we locked eyes, and yet she turned around and walked to the other side of the bar.
“Excuse me?” I leaned over the smooth acrylic surface, peering at her while she was busy flirting with some guy.
Loud thumping music filled the space. The bass pounded in relentless waves, vibrating through my body.
Just as I was about to give up, someone behind me let out one of those sharp finger-whistles.
I spun around to see a young guy standing there.
He was probably in his late twenties, casually dressed in black jeans and a slightly wrinkled navy-blue collared shirt, indicating he had probably come straight from work.
His dark brown hair was tousled, complemented by a light beard, which made him look attractive, though he was not really my type.
His deep brown eyes traced the length of my body before returning to meet my own.
“Can I help?” he asked, just as the bartender, finally deigning to give me her attention, shouted, “What do you need?”
The stranger looked at me, prompting me to speak.
“Do you have a Band-Aid?” I asked the bartender.
A look of frustrated confusion crossed her face. “Who do you think I am? CVS?” She shook her head, returning to the other customers along the bar.
“Well, that was rude,” he remarked, pulling his wallet out of his front pocket. Flipping the black case open, he plucked out a single Band-Aid.
“Thank you so much…” I trailed off.
“Daniel,” he answered.
“Thank you so much, Daniel. You’re a literal lifesaver.” I glanced down at my shoes. “I’m going to murder my friend for forcing me to wear these.”
I reached out for the Band-Aid, but he tugged it away from me. “As a detective, I must warn you that I have to take your threat seriously.”
My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. I placed my hand on my chest, feeling my heartbeat quicken beneath it. “I was just kidding!”
“Are you sure?” He raised a brow as he handed me the Band-Aid.
“As a crime show enthusiast, I would never joke—”
“Oh… You’re one of those people,” he drew out. The rotating overhead lights cast flashes of red and gold across his face.
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, straining my voice to be heard over the loud music.
He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a smirk. “You think you can solve crimes.”
“I don’t think I can solve crimes,” I replied defensively. “I just enjoy listening and reading about other people solving them. But I’m pretty good at spotting the bad guy in movies and books,” I added proudly.
It was a skill I developed from watching countless SVU reruns on the weekend with my stepdad, much to my mom’s displeasure. That fascination was fueled further when I got my hands on the novels of Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
“I don’t think spotting the bad guy is as hard as you think it is,” he continued.
“The soundtrack cues your emotions. Ominous music that plays when a character shows up? That’s your prompt to suspect them.
And if you recognize an actor playing a seemingly random character, chances are they’re not some random Joe—they’re likely the real bad guy. ”
“Should I be taking notes?” I asked.
A loud crash drew our attention to behind the bar, where the same bartender crouched to gather shattered glass, cussing profusely.
Daniel’s mouth opened as if he was about to say something, but instead he pulled out his phone.
I spotted a photo of a beautiful woman, and the name “Bambi” flashed across the screen before he quickly declined it.
“Sorry about that. My sister has a knack for reaching out at exactly the wrong time,” he said with a faint smile, pocketing his phone.
“I just realized I didn’t ask your name. ”
“It’s Aurora,” I said at the same moment the DJ screamed into the mic, and the crowd exploded as the beat dropped.
“What is it?” he asked again, leaning closer to me.
“Aurora!” I shouted over the loud music, but his attention wasn’t on me as he took his phone out again.
His eyes scanned the screen before he let out a long breath. “Aurora, I’m sorry, but I need to go. Is there any chance I could have your number?”
The question took me by surprise. I narrowed my eyes, trying to imagine him as a defendant in my murder trial.
Sitting all composed, with his hair combed over, maybe a pair of glasses to exude sophistication.
But no, I couldn’t picture it. There was a natural energy about him, like he was the type of person who would prioritize his friends over himself, or someone who would check on you when you’re recovering in the hospital.
“Okay,” I said and gave him my number. It was nice to be wanted for a change. What’s the worst that could happen?
“Aurora?” Daniel’s voice draws me back to the present. “What are you doing here?” He tucks the bag of chips under his arm.
“I’m shopping,” I reply, lifting the items in my hands in explanation. I hope my tone carries a healthy dose of snark, clearly communicating the Idiot, can’t you see? “Lost your detective skills?” I add, turning back to examine the shelf in front of me.
“It’s nice to see you,” he says, sounding almost earnest.
My eyes remain focused on the array of gum options. “Is it?”
“Listen, Aurora, I’m sorry about how I left things—”
“You ghosted me,” I cut him off, shooting him a pointed look before turning away. “I sat in that coffee shop for close to an hour.” I shake my head, recalling the humiliation I was dealt when I was already mentally scraping the floor.
“Wait.” Daniel reaches out, grabbing me by the arm.
“I know I don’t deserve a single minute of your time, but can we just talk?
” He takes off his cap, running his fingers through his hair.
“I want to explain what happened. Please.” His voice carries a weight of desperation that softens the tension in my shoulders.
“Can we grab coffee sometime or go see a movie? Just as friends? I could really use one right now.”
He looks so different from the last time I saw him, if the dark circles under his eyes are to be trusted.
I want to tell him to get lost, just like he basically did five months ago, but he looks so helpless and hopeful at the same time.
Maybe I’m just longing for any meaningful social interaction that doesn’t involve dinosaurs, because I hear myself saying, “Fine, but you’re buying. ”