Page 39 of Final Serenade

A tremor took over my body. I dropped my hand to my lap, my cracker crumbling against my jeans. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, butsorryprobably wasn’t the word he wanted to hear. I was sure he’d heard it a thousand times.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you telling me all this? And don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t want to know. I do. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a fan. I’ve been a fan of the band for a while.”

“Oh, I figured it out all right.” He laughed softly and plucked a handful of grass. “I can tell when someone is a fan and when someone isn’t.”

His revelation surprised me. “And it doesn’t bother you?”

“It always bothers me on some level, but if we let our insecurities and fears rule our lives, we may never get to live the way we really want or should.”

“How do you know I’m not going to write a book about it and make millions off your name?”

“You can. But you won’t. I’m eighty percent sure.”

“Eighty?” It was my turn to laugh. “Wow. Glad to hear you have that much confidence in me.”

“Besides, I haven’t really told you anything that’s not searchable on the net. You don’t have enough for a book. Maybe a short story.” A chuckle.

“You’re nuts, Frank Wallace. You just picked a fangirl from a crowd of reporters and went all Prince Charming on her without verifying she won’t sell you out.”

“She won’t. And I didn’t pick her. It was all the Universe’s doing.”

“So what is this then?” My hand bounced between us.

“Remember I said that I don’t believe in coincidence?”

“How could I forget?”

“Back in my day, people used to meet the old-fashioned way—in person. They chatted a bit, and if sparks flew, they went out to get a drink or a cup of coffee. None of that Tinder crap.”

“Oh my god, you sound like you’re my grandpa. What are you, sixty-five?”

“No. But trust me, thirteen years is a pretty decent difference, especially when seven of those are a black hole…” He paused to let the words sink in. It hadn’t really occurred to me how much older he actually was. In my mind, Frankie Blade had always been a rock ’n’ roll stud with blue eyes and the body of a twenty-five-year-old to match his boyish smile. Seven years away had changed him. His features had become sharper, more pronounced. He was a polished-to-perfection man nearing forty who didn’t look a day over thirty-two or thirty-three. Traces of youth still graced his beautiful face and I didn’t care that a scalpel could be given credit for some of the work.

“…especially when it comes to technology.” Frank’s voice pulled me back to the real world. “Can you imagine my shock when my publicist told me I was on Instagram?”

“That’s right. There was no Instagram before you…” I stammered, “B-before you took a break.”

“Right. Everything was about Myspace until Facebook came. Then one day, I woke up from a coma and there it was. Instagram.” He leaned back and propped himself up with his elbows. “I’m scared to go to sleep now. Might miss the next big thing.”

“And where does coincidence factor in here?”

“Well, that’s a different story. I was getting there.”

“I’d love to hear it. It’s not like I’m in a rush to leave.”

“In my line of work it’s not easy to remember one person in particular when you meet so many…especially women. They blend in…” He paused to take a breath. “But you…You stood out that night at The Regency. It was like someone kept on putting you in my way so I could remember you.”

“I take it you’re a third time's a charm kinda guy?”

“Something like that.”

“And since we’ve gone out toget a drink”—I raised my water bottle to him—“I’m assuming you thought sparks flew?” I pressed.

“There was definitely some electrical activity.”

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