Page 14 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

“Fine.” Sebastian answers through clenched teeth before turning to me. “Why don’t you stay and listen to us play?”

“She’s got better things to do,” Adam says at the same time I say, “I’m pretty wiped out.” And even though we’re in agreement that I should go, he still glares at me.

I respond to the Prince of Darkness (this is what I will call him now) with a smile. I’ve spent a lifetime sprinkling sunshine wherever I go—it’s been my job, whether or not I wanted it to be—and His Surliness (also what I will call him) will not stop me. He will not rain on my proverbial parade, no matter how hard he tries.

“Thank you for the delicious dinner,” I say through my teeth, finally, because we are still smile-glaring at each other. Except only one of us is smiling. On the outside anyway. Pretty sure there’s no smiling inside for either of us. I don’t know whatishappening inside Adam’s dark soul, but there’s some intense emotion happening in my own soul. I should want to skip away, showering everyone with rose petals.

Instead, I’m drawn closer to Adam. Like metal to a magnet. Or light to a black hole.

One guess who the hole is.

“All right then.” Britta’s words break the tension in the air.

We all take a collective breath, and I have no idea what just happened. Apparently, time stopped long enough for Adam and me to engage in a stare down in which everyone else here disappeared. And I’m not sure who is more embarrassed, him, me, or the rest of the room.

“I’m going to go now. How much do I owe?” I hope not a lot as I reach for my purse. My last paycheck and the rent-free condo have given my bank account some much-needed cushion. But if Georgia’s project doesn’t go through, I’m going to need that cushion to live on.

“It’s on us. A welcome gift,” Britta says.

I glance at Adam, expecting him to disagree, but he’s already in the corner of the restaurant, strapping on his guitar.

“See ya around,” Sebastian says, then hustles to catch up with Adam.

“Ready?” Bear asks.

I nod, eager to get as far away as possible from Adam, The Garden of Eatin’, and any more Biblical puns and magnetic force fields.

“So great to meet you. I’m usually here in the evenings if you need anything,” Britta says over the first chords ofAin’t No Sunshine.

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind. And, apparently, I’m right across the street if you need anything. Or if you ever want to hang out or something.” I like Britta already, and since Zach ditched me, maybe she can be my first friend.

“I’d love that! Any friend of Georgia’s is a friend of mine!”

She pulls out her phone and we exchange numbers, and I pretend most of my attention isn’t on Adam and his singing.

I follow Bear to the door, but as he opens it, Adam’s raspy voice and the line, “anytime she goes away,” curl around me, enticing me to stay, scratching at every emotion itching under my skin. I give into the temptation to turn around, even though I know who the voice belongs to.

Adam’s eyes meet mine. The sad song and his voice weave together, threading their way into hidden places in my heart, coaxing me to feel things I don’t want to feel.

I turn my back on him and the gloominess that’s settled over the room. I follow Bear to my truck to get my stuff, then across the street, chattering the whole time. No matter how hard I try, though, I can’t fight the feeling of wanting to be back in The Garden of Eatin’ filling up on the bitter and the sweet.

Chapter 8

Adam

After Evie walks out the door, I pour myself into playingAmerican Woman.Especially the “stay away from me” part. Because...

What. The. Hell. Just happened?

I’ve loved one woman in my life. Dated one woman. Almost married that same one woman. Haven’t stopped loving her. Maybe I never will.

So I can’t figure out why I couldn’t stop looking at Evie. Yes, she’s attractive, but that doesn’t explain why I kept staring at her while I sang. The only logical reason is that singing sad songs always brings up emotions in me. That’s why I play them. That’s what they should do for everyone who hears them. People need to be seen in their pain.

Lucky for me, she doesn’t stay for the whole song. Once Bear gets back, he, Seb, and I play for another hour without a break. Not because they want to, but because I need them to. And whether they know the reason, they sense I need to forget everything else but the feel of strings on my fingertips and the words of my favorite songs.

Finally, after the third time I make them go through Leonard Cohen’sHallelujah, Bear calmly lays his sticks across his drums and stands.

“I’m done, bro,” he says through a yawn and stretch. “Good sesh.”

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