Page 17 of Over the Edge

“You like this one,” I note and instantly regret it when he stops.

“I know it really well. It’s one of the first songs I got good at playing on the cello. Pretty much everything I learned to play was from a list of songs Alina liked to sing,” he says.

“You said she wasn’t your grandmother the other day,” I say, inviting an explanation.

“She was my neighbor.”

“And you learned music from her?”

“Only the piano. The mayor's wife used to play cello professionally and taught music at the elementary school until she retired. Nothing formal. I just practiced a lot.” As he explains his knuckles tighten then loosen again on the leather of the slim steering wheel.

“And how’d you pick up the bass?”

“Wes needed someone to play bass. I figured that out,” he explains as if it’s that simple to be proficient in three instruments, playing one professionally.

“That’s all,” I say. “Wow. I mean…it’s impressive.”

I can play the guitar and I have the finger calluses to prove it, but it's nothing noteworthy. The only reason I’m as proficient as I am at piano is that I’ve been learning since I was five.Sure, I have a natural skill when it comes to writing and feeling the music, but that’s different. I can’t imagine picking up an instrument and just figuring it out, not in the way he’s implying.

He shrugs. “If you say so.”

“You’re bad at taking compliments.” I shake my head, causing more of my hair to break free and catch in the wind.

“If you say so.” This time he gives me a hint of a smirk.

When we pull onto Austen Dr., something in me mourns the end of our day. It’s not dark out yet, but it will be soon. The moment I get inside I’ll be alone in the house with the reality that even if I used to know what I was doing, I don’t anymore. I wish there was some way to stretch today just a little further. One more hour or maybe two. Not that I want to spend time with him, but it’s better than my other options.

The convertible pulls to a stop next to my SUV at the end of the driveway and he lazily props his elbow on the door as he turns to me. “We’re not done, by the way.”

“Is that so?” My hollow longing for company shrinks.

“I have one last stop planned, but it’s best if we wait a few hours and we both need to eat.”

“How considerate. Will I need to bring anything special? Perhaps a shovel. I’m not sure what’s in the shed out back, but I can check,” I offer.

“You should change.” He gives me a once over, employing one of those looks of his that pierces right through me and causes my stomach to swirl. “I’m taking you to a local’s spot so it’s best to put in an effort to not look like a tourist. And you’re not allergic to cats, right?”

“Noted,” I say, “And no, not allergic but thoroughly intrigued.”

“Seems like that doesn’t take much.”

“Hey.” With this, I reach over to give a playful shove. His bicep is firm under my touch. Damn.

“I never said that was a bad thing.” His gaze intensifies, harnessing the fiery essence of the late afternoon light.

There’s a truth that I will never admit because it’s rarely ever relevant. There have been a handful of times that Garrett has made my stomach flutter. The instances are so infrequent that I can convince myself they’re just the product of his conventionally attractive features or those small flashes of emotion that I draw out of him. But it’s never been either of those things. It’s those eyes of his, rough cut amber that punctures straight through me, seeing things I’m terrified of anyone knowing about me. He makes my walls turn to glass and I want to tell him to look away, but that in itself would be admitting too much. That I know he’s looking.

There was one night in particular that comes back to me in fragments. A rooftop. My dress soaked in champagne. The knowledge that if I ran to him, I wouldn’t have to put on a brave face. A suit jacket I’ve kept ever since.

“See you soon, I guess.” The words scratch against my throat as I fumble for the handle to leave.

There’s an art to nervously pacing. My tiny apartment in Chelsea is very bad for pacing because what ends up happening is I start walking in circles. If I forget to turn the other direction, my head starts to spin and I get hit with a wave of nausea that tangles with, and then amplifies, my nerves.

The rental, with its expansive living room that stretches into a dining area and floral upholstered breakfast nook, is great for pacing. I can take long unobstructed strides as I peel off pieces of pepperoni from my frozen pizza. I should start getting ready,but I haven’t decided on what qualifies as proper attire for the evening. Eventually, I give up and text Garrett.

Evelyn

What should I wear?

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