Page 22 of Past the Broken Bridges

Sawyer answers for her. “Yes. If you look up Dixie Milano, you can find her performance at Carnegie Hall. Carnegie frigging Hall!”

I’ve heard of it before but can’t say I know its significance. Based on her tone, I’d say it’s a big deal. So I offer Dixie a casual, “Congrats.”

Sawyer rolls her eyes. “I used to live in New York, so I guess I’m more impressed than most people would be.”

I tuck that tidbit of information about Sawyer away for another day. New York. I wonder if her face lit up the same way there as it does here. Or is that why she left?

Dixie cuts in. “It’s not a huge deal. I was young—”

“Which makes it a bigger deal,” Sawyer argues firmly.

Dawson must feel left out because he chirps in despite not having any clue what we’re talking about. “That is a huge deal.”

I snort, knowing damn well he didn’t hear what it is he’s agreeing with. My focus goes back to the tomato-faced brunette across the table from me, who’s still toying with her drink. “Well, if jazz is what you want to study, there’s no better place to be than Louisiana.”

Her smile is warm with appreciation as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s what I was hoping.”

Dawson stands, tapping Sawyer’s shoulder to regain her attention when he realizes he’s lost it to Dixie and me. “I’m getting another drink. Sawyer, you want to come with me and grab some food?”

The blond looks from him to her friend and then at me. With raised brows, she asks, “Dixie, did you want to go with him? You told me you were hungry before we left.”

Dixie’s eyes go to Dawson before she sinks into her seatwith a gentle head shake. “I guess it passed,” she murmurs.

I see the way Sawyer frowns, but she regains the smile when she sees Dawson still waiting for her.

Interesting.

“We’ll be right back,” she tells us, scooting her chair out and following Dawson over to the counter across the room, where people are ordering baskets of basic, greasy bar food.

When it’s just Dixie and I, I lean back. “You don’t want to be here.”

Dixie goes to say something but stops herself. Rubbing her lips together, she moves another strand of hair behind her ear and glances back down at her drink. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

Which means yes.

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t want to come out either. But I gotta make sure that guy”—I gesture toward my friend, who’s laughing with Sawyer over something—“behaves himself.”

Her eyes go over to them, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip. “How long have you known Dawson?”

“A long time. Since we were preteens.”

She turns to me. “And you went to college together too? That’s pretty cool. I didn’t like anybody enough in high school to do the college thing with them.”

I shrug. I’ve always known I’d go to LSU because of my dad. If I went anywhere else, I’d be paying a hell of a lot more money than what I do here. Having a parent as a professor has its perks, even on the bad days.

“What about you and Sawyer?” I ask. “How long have you two known each other?”

Dixie takes another drink. “We actually just met. I dumped my lunch on her. She never got mad once.”

Huh. Most women would freak out if that happened tothem. I’ve seen it. “Sounds like a fast friendship.”

We fall to silence as her eyes go back to the two people we came with. Except I don’t think her focus is on the blond girl like mine is but the boy beside her.

Clearing her throat, she toys with her drink straw. “He seems very…friendly,” she says of Dawson, her eyes trailing in his direction briefly and then moving away before she’s caught.

He’s playfully pushing Sawyer, who doesn’t touch him back. I note that. But does Dixie? “I know for a fact he can be a flirt. Always has been. He usually bombs it anyway. I wouldn’t put much stock into that.”

“Into what?”

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