Page 9 of Shattered Chords

My hesitation must have been obvious. Camille gave Ally a pinning stare and said under her breath, “I don’t think he wants his photo taken, Bug,”

Ally glowered back at her mother first, then gave me a sideways glance as if asking permission.

Everything about their exchange made me warm. I couldn’t explain it. They were like tiny fireworks exploding in front of me.

“It’s all right,” I finally found my voice. “I don’t mind.”

Camille turned to face me, her lips twisted in an apologetic smile. “Thank you for the...umm...present,” she mouthed, fishing out her car keys. Then I heard the bleep of the alarm.

“You don’t have to thank me.” I nodded, enthralled by her stupid sunflowers and pink bra straps that showed through the soft lavender fabric of her flowy top. “I really am envious of how good your daughter is.”

Ally rounded the 4Runner, pulled the passenger door open, and slid the guitar case onto the seat.

“I’m sorry she can be a bit demanding,” Camille whispered, meeting my gaze as the warm summer breeze whipped her hair across her cheeks and scattered it over the elegant slant of her shoulders.

“I’m used to handling large groups of people,” I joked, expecting her to ask me about the band. Most women would.

She didn’t.

Ally handed her mother her phone and leapt over for the photo. There were some people in the parking lot and a few heads turned in our direction.

Camille gazed around with concern. “Gotta be quick, Bug,” she shouted, stabbing her index finger into the screen several times in a row.

It was over fast, and for some reason, I didn’t want them to leave. Not yet, anyway.

Camille returned the phone to Ally, then mouthed a quickthank youat me and added in a normal voice, “Looks like you may have been spotted, Dante.” A playful glint in her green eyes told me she was fun when she wanted to be.

“I guess I better get going.” I gave her a flirtatious smile in hopes she’d pick up on my signals.

Ask for her number, dumbass.

“Our set is at eight thirty,” Ally said matter-of-factly, rocking on her heels. “It’d be cool if you came by.”

“I might.” I gave her a fist bump. “Keep practicing.”

“Totally.”

I’d never had a problem asking a woman for her number. I’d asked them for bolder things—blowjobs, drugs, threesomes. You name it. But I couldn’t figure out how to ask for a simple phone number with a starry-eyed kid in the picture.

“It was a pleasure meeting you.” Camille held out her hand. I shook it.

Our gazes locked for a second.

Ally’s phone buzzed and her attention suddenly shifted to the incoming message.

The moment was perfect. I just had to say it out loud, the words that were on the tip of my tongue, ready to leave my mouth. And then the silence between us was split by a cluster of loud voices. A family of four needed to get into their van that sat next to Camille’s 4Runner, and continuing this conversation while two toddlers were boycotting the ride in their car seats seemed inappropriate.

We parted quietly, exchanging smiles and light headshakes.

When I got home, I called Eden, the new publicist I hired after severing all ties with Jay Brodie PR. They’d been good to me, but in my new drug-, cigarette-, and alcohol-free life, I needed fresh faces, preferably ones that didn’t remind me of my turbulent past.

Eden Romano was perfect, and she’d come highly recommended.

“How are you feeling, Dante?” her voice, small and crackling, said over the speaker.

“I’m still breathing.”

“Oh, good!”

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