Page 50 of The Girl with No Name

But speaking of regrets, let’s talk about them.

I don’t have many, but one is that I’ve never had that need-to-see-about-a-girl moment. You know, the climax ofGood Will Hunting?

Matt Damon’s character finally understands, after all the therapy with Robin Williams’ character, that he’s avoidant, and he leaves him a note that says he “needs to see about a girl” and he won’t be doing therapy anymore.

If you haven’t already, check it out. One of my favorite movies of all time.

I consider myself a romantic, but I’ve never been able to put myself—my ego, my whole being—on the line for a woman.

That could be why I never asked Sam if she wanted me to go out to California and live with her, like a true romantic would. Instead, we’ve kept our distance, even though we were—are—in a monogamous relationship. I sometimes imagine the crushing feeling I’d have if I’d asked her to move and she’d said it was too fast to move in together. That would be a blow to the ego abouttwenty times worse than when we’re FaceTiming and she says she’s not in the mood for a little fun.

On Saturday morning, I wake up in our hotel room to the smell of coffee.

Somehow I’m less hungover than I was the day before, which is kind of a miracle, considering the night’s festivities. Maybe it’s because I slept in an actual bed. So much for being gentlemanly. Looks like Dunn and I left Luna the couch.

I look over and see her writing in what looks like a journal of sorts.

“Morning,” she chirps without looking up from what she’s doing.

“Morning. You’re…up already?”

“I didn’t drink a lot last night. Well, definitely not as much as you guys.”

I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. “Journaling?”

“Writing poetry, actually.”

“Can I read?”

She closes the notebook. “I don’t know you like that yet.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll listen to your songs though.”

“I’d happily play for you.” I like the idea of playing for her because she’s really a stranger. She won’t judge my songs the way my family would, the way Mason would.

“I’m actually starving,” she says. “I heard about this really cool diner, but I was waiting for you and Dunn to wake up.”

I look over at Dunn, still sleeping soundly. “The thing about Dunn is, he loves his sleep.”

“Should we go eat then?”

I nod. “I actuallylovediners. One of the greatest things about America, in my opinion.”

“Well, say no more. Let’s go. You can play for me after.”

“Deal.”

Lunaand I sit in a cozy corner booth at Ramsey’s Diner, which is evidently a Lexington staple, with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air around us. As we sip from our steaming mugs, the waiter arrives with our orders—plates of crispy bacon, sunny-side-up eggs, and pancakes.

“So, you ready for the music festival today?” Luna asks.

I nod, feeling a smile come across my face. “Absolutely. I’m glad we made it, as much as I resisted. How about you?”

“I’m beyond excited. I even made us a schedule so we don’t miss any of our favorites,” she says. “There are multiple acts on different stages at any given time. I put our must-see acts in this column: Zach Bryan, Sheryl Crow—no way I’m missing her—and the Red Lemons for you.” She winks.

“Thanks. I love that. Definitely not missing the Red Lemons.”

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