Page 21 of Cadence
Stepping forward, I close my eyes, my brow furrowed, concentrating on a particular song I know has a tricky beat, my hands tapping out the rhythm against my leg as I try to keep up.
“Be with you in a sec,” the barista says as I reach the front, sliding my headphones around my neck.
Blinking, my hands pause mid-air, my brain trying to catch up with what I’m seeing. Beau stands on the other side of the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos on full display, his dark hair tucked beneath a backwards cap.
I know today is our day off, a rare one at that, but I wasn’t expecting to walk into Rise and Grind and straight into a bandmate. Especially not one with a green apron with the coffee shop’s logo stitched at the bottom, tied around his waist.
“How did I not know you worked here?” I ask, leaning forward to watch him slide a tray of pastries into the glass display with the same ease he has when playing guitar.
Beau looks up, a flash of surprise crossing his face before it melts into an easy grin. “Gotta fund the dream somehow. Waiting around for our big break doesn’t exactly pay LA rent.” Shutting the case, he wipes his hands, coming over to the register. “What can I get you?”
I glance up at the board behind him, my eyes quickly scanning the menu. “Just a caramel latte, please.”
“You got it.”
“Oh, and one of the chocolate croissants warmed up, too?”
“Sure.” He nods behind me, and I turn, following his gaze. It’s early, but not dead for a mid-week morning, and tucked in the back corner by the window is Eli, a sketchpad open in front of him, coffee cup in hand. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring it over, okay?”
Nodding, I dig into my bag for my wallet, only for Beau to wave me off. “On the house.”
“You sure?” I ask, not wanting to get him in trouble, but pull out a twenty-dollar bill anyway, dropping it into the tip jar by the register.
“Paige, that’s more than what your order would’ve come to.”
Shrugging, I wave him off, watching as he smiles and turns his back to start making my coffee. I head toward Eli, hunched over his pad, shading something with the tip of his pencil, his eyebrows pinched in deep concentration.
“Hey, stranger,” I say, taking the seat opposite him. “Mind if I join you?”
His blue eyes widen as he glances up. “Drummer Girl!”
Thumbing back toward the counter, I say, “I’ve been coming here every day since I came home from New York last year, and I haven’t seen Beau once.”
Eli smirks as he sets his art stuff onto the table. “Ididn’t know you used to live in New York.”
Letting out a breath, my lips curl up into a half-smile as I lift a shoulder. “I guess even though we’ve been spending so much of our time together, we don’tactuallyknow all that much about each other, huh?”
“True, so let's change that.” Eli sticks out his hand. “Eli James, full-time bassist for Sip Station, part-time tattoo artist.”
“Wait— Seriously?”
Eli smirks, turning his sketchpad around and sliding it across the table. Eagerly, I drag it closer, my jaw dropping when I see the intricate lines and shading of a dragon that seems to be leaping off the page.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, my fingers hovering over the sketch, too scared to touch it. “This is beautiful.”
“These lines will be different shades of blues and greens, hopefully giving an iridescent look to the piece.” He waves overa section of the wings that glints in the light where he’s already shaded each scale in charcoal. “My client is into the whole Dungeons and Dragons vibe so I’m trying to get this finished for his approval before we head on tour.”
“You won’t be doing it yourself?” I ask, glancing up before my eyes are immediately drawn back down to the page.
“Nah, don’t have the time.” Lifting his mug, he takes a sip. “Besides, I’m still learning, and this guy is a bit too complex for me.”
“Bullshit,” Beau says, appearing at the table with my order. “Eli sometimes lacks confidence in his ability with the tattoo gun.”
The tips of Eli’s ears turn pink as he scratches the back of his neck.
“Do you have any tattoos?” I ask, quickly scanning his clean skin. Beau barks a laugh, smothering it with a cough. “What?”
“He has one. A teeny, tiny, little one near his ribs that says,Sip Station.”
