Page 5 of See Her

“Kind of the same thing,” he admits, and that cute dimple makes another appearance.

“You work from home?”

“Well…” He shrugs uncomfortably and his dark eyebrows draw together. “More like a side gig.”

“And what’s that?”

He draws in a long breath before letting it out. “I write songs,” he answers shyly.I almost stop walking.

“Are you serious?” I ask, as he gives me a curious look. “Don’t tell me... you’re in a band?”

“Would that stop you?” he asks.

“Stop me from what?”

“Talking to me.”

I look him straight in the eye so he knows I’m sincere.“No,” I say plainly.I don’t tell him how I’m really feeling on the inside, that I have a serious weakness for guys like him. The kind that are creative and expressive. They bring me to my knees (metaphorically), every time. Not that it’s going to stop me from talking to him.

“So if writing songs is your side gig, what’s your main gig?”

“I bartend at The Cedar a few nights a week,” he answers.“Ever been there?”

“A couple of times, yeah.I haven’t seen you there though.”

“Are you sure you would’ve remembered me?” His smile turns playful.

“Yeah, I think I would have.”I try not to blush as I keep our slow stride.“What about the band you’re in? Do I know you guys?”

“We’re called Turn it Up,” he says, turning his head to me with a smile that borders on pride, yet still manages to be modest.

“I like it. What kind of music?”Please be alternative.

“I guess you’d call us rock, or alternative rock.I don’t know if we really fall into a category.We just play what we want, what feels good.” He continues to look between me and the view in front of us.

“Again, I like it,” I say, starting to feel myself relax a little. “Do you play anywhere? Like local gigs or anything?”

“Yeah, we’ve played at The Cedar occasionally, and we’re hoping to line something up downtown.”

“What instrument do you play?”

“I do guitar and vocals.”Wow.The whole rock star fantasy starts forming in my head, and I try to picture this laidback guy rocking his guitar and singing into a microphone while a bunch of groupies (myself included) swoon below the stage.

“And what about you?” he asks with a tone that’s a remarkable mix of warm and cavalier as we sit down on a wrought iron bench. “Tell me what you do when you’re not on your laptop.”

“That’s going to be hard since I’m on it a lot,” I chuckle. “I actually want to write creatively, like books, or a blog or something,” I confess my first thing.

“I love that,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I think it’s the dream to make a career out of being creative.”

I sigh at that statement. This is too much. Having only just gotten my confidence back after my last so-called relationship, I’m not ready for all the wondrous perfection this guy seems to be so far. I know damn well it’s likely too good to be true.

“Me too,” I agree on a nervous breath.

“That’s good,” he gives me a sincere look. “But you still haven’t told me what else you like to do with your time.” His facial expression seems to be struggling with the sincere mask it tries to hold up before a sharp breath escapes through his nose.Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he lets out a chuckle. “Fuck, are you hearing this lame game I’m laying on you? I might as well talk about the weather.”

His words take a beat or two to sink in, but when they do, an ecstatic humming bird takes flight, fluttering up in my chest, the beat of its wings sending little shock waves down my spine.

I let out a light, nervous laugh. “We’rebothlame,” I amend his statement, quirking my eyebrows at myself as my gaze drops down to my lap. “If you’ll recall, I’m the one who made things weird, asking you for sugar back at the café. It was like an awkward thing neighbors say.”

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