“Hey, guys, we saved you some seats.” Jaycee patted the wooden chair next to her and batted her lashes with an exaggerated reminder of my agreement to enjoy the evening.
I draped my sweater over the back of the chair and faked a passible smile.
Trevor greeted A. J. with one of those universal guy handshakes.
“Who is this dude? A local celebrity or something?” A. J.’s question followed a sweeping appraisal around the noisy room.
Trevor squinted to read one of the flyers taped to the cobblestone wall across from our table. “Riley Preston, according to the posters. You guys better get your orders in now. Looks like he’s got quite the crowd going on.”
“I can see that.” A. J. extended his arm. “Shall we?”
Halfway up to the front counter, I caught another glimpse of Mystery Eyes busy arranging a stool and guitar stand on top of the wooden stage in the corner. So, Mystery Guy has a name. And. Is. A. Musician. Perfect. As if he didn’t have a hold over my thoughts already. Now he has to go after my heart? Knew I should’ve stayed home and studied.
“What can I get for you two?”
As casually as possible, I pivoted toward the counter, where a short, middle-aged woman wearing a black apron and matching visor waited to take our orders.
A. J. withdrew his billfold. “I’ll have a medium house roast, regular please.” He moved to the side and nudged me forward with the slightest touch against my back.
The woman’s attention shifted to me. “And for you, sweetheart?”
“Um . . .” I clutched the counter and tilted back on my heels. Between the barista hovering over the register and A. J. unfolding his wallet, I probably had about thirty seconds to finagle a way out of him buying my drink.
“A. J., why don’t you go ahead and pay for yours. It’s going to take me a few minutes to decide what I want.”
He angled away from the barista. “You sure?”
“Yeah, absolutely.” Okay, so that wasn’t true, but lying had to be better than giving him the impression we were on a date. I was not going to succumb to his charm, even if he was a nice guy. No relationships this year. Real or imagined. Sorry.
Hesitating at first, A. J. paid for his coffee and made his way through the maze of people to our table.
Coffee beans churned in the automatic grinder, my nerves not far behind. “I’ll have a small—actually, make that a large chai tea.” It had the potential of being a very long night.
The barista twisted from the back to the front counter and set my drink next to the register before I unburied my wallet from my cluttered purse. “That’ll be $3.79, dear.”
Someone set a five-dollar bill in front of me. “May I?”
The timer on the oven behind us announced its last minute countdown, each beep ratcheting my pulse.
Slowly, I lifted my head toward a voice I didn’t recognize to find the eyes I knew by heart.
chapter three
Center Stage
I couldn’t answer him. Not with that half smile tying my vocal chords in knots.
Riley propped an elbow on the counter. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Blink. Say something. What in the world was Riley Preston doing paying for my drink?
“It’s rare you see a non-coffee drinking college student.” His voice was rich and dangerously mesmerizing. “That’s impressive.”
Words, Em. You can do it. “I . . . I never really cared much for the taste of coffee. Tea has less caffeine, but it still helps. I’m a tea kind of girl.”
Really? I’m a tea kind of girl? I buried my chin in my shoulder and reached for my earring to block his view of my now-burning cheeks.
Riley circled around, flashed a soft, playful grin that made me feel faint, and handed me my cup. “Well, ‘I’m a tea kind of girl,’ I hope you enjoy the night.”
Thank goodness the stage was on the opposite side of the room. Away from the ridiculous smile I couldn’t coax my jaw into releasing. My piping hot tea branded a mug-shaped imprint into my hand until the pain finally jolted me back to reality.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one wondering if that really just happened. Jaycee blinked from the table as though transmitting her question through Morse code.
I slipped into my seat, wound my teabag string around my cup handle, and stared at the distressed wooden tabletop. With any luck, maybe only Jaycee had noticed my little encounter with Riley. Even if this wasn’t a date, I’d hate to hurt A. J.’s feelings.
He pushed off the back of his chair and hunched over the table onto his arms, forming a triangle with his coffee cup at the peak. I glanced at him without turning my head. His chair faced the opposite direction from the counter. Surely, he hadn’t seen Riley buy my drink. My shoulders eased against my seat’s wooden slats with relief.
A. J. rocked the bottom of his half-emptied mug on the table. “Maybe Rico Suave will let you have a turn on the stage after all.” His arm grazed mine as slightly as his tone grazed jealousy.
He had seen, and must’ve thought this was a date, from the sound of it.
The steam searing the inside of my cheeks rushed up my forehead while a streak of tea seeped down my chin. Arms flailing, I reached for the nearest napkin and the quickest way to extinguish my escalating level of embarrassment.
Should’ve expected Trevor would make that impossible.
In a comic-induced reflex, he swiped the napkin from the table before it cleared my fingertips. He tilted his chair onto its back two legs and dabbed the napkin over the dry corners of a simpering smirk. “So, what do you say, Em? Up for a little guitar showdown?”
I dragged my sleeve over my chin and thoroughly contemplated lunging across the table to dump the rest of my tea into his lap.
A. J. chuckled. He pried my whitened fingers off my mug handle, rested my hand in his palm, and met my gaze. “I bet this guy isn’t half as good a player as Emma is.”
“Think we’re about to find out.” Trevor dipped his head toward the stage in the corner.
The young shop owner jumped onto the platform. Dwindling conversations followed chair legs screeching across the floor. “All right, everybody, think we might top last Friday’s performance. You ready for another local artist to bring down the house? Give it up for Mr. Riley Preston.”
The packed café lit up in sound. The claps and whistles of the crowd joined the noisy coffee grinders and steamers in a melody of applause.
Riley adjusted the microphone in the stand. “Thanks, guys. I don’t usually perform in public arenas. So, if I run off the stage in a panic, don’t worry. It was all planned.” The crowd laughed on cue. Riley rubbed the overgrown stubble along his cheekbone. “No, seriously, I write my own music and don’t often get the chance to share it. So, I hope you enjoy it.”
His golden-bronze hair, short around the sides with a longer, messy layer on top, glowed under the lights. In worn jeans, navy blue flip-flops, and a solid tan, long-sleeved T-shirt, he could’ve been any other college student in the room. Yet even though he’d just announced he rarely performed in public, it was clear he was made to be on stage.
His acoustic guitar’s melancholy tenor set off a level of emotion in his song that mended places I hadn’t realized ached until that moment.
With his feet propped on the stool’s bottom bar, he kept his eyes closed as he sang.
“Where do you turn, where do you run, when the war for your heart’s already won?
“When rules hedge you inside a colorless page, while notes and strings beg for an open stage?”
Passion clung to his voice, his fingers to the strings. “How do you stay when everything feels wrong? How do you escape into this song where you belong?
“If this is a lie, then someone tell me why I can’t stop wishing dreams won’t fade with daylight.”
The longer I watched and listened, the further the music transported me into a world of beauty completely outside the borders of the coffee shop’s stone walls. Past the obvious
fact that I didn’t know anything about him. To a place of connection that warmed and terrified me at the same time.
I twisted my necklace over my chin, too captivated to look away from him. Minutes blended into the notes. Each song he played caused everything else to disappear until the hum of conversations gradually drew me back to my surroundings. People swayed while they talked, treating his set like background music. Didn’t they sense the complexity branded in each chord?
Riley’s fingers slowed over the strings. He lifted his head, eyes on me. “Over doesn’t mean over when your heart’s afraid. But how long can I chase this song, this song of a runaway?”
Several minutes passed before he lowered his gaze from me to his guitar, but not before I caught a note of sadness—one I would’ve done anything to take away.
Whoops and hollers rang from the back wall all the way to the stage as he gave a short bow with his final strum. Aside from the commotion of a group of girls prancing across the wooden floor in their heels to reach him, the increasing buzz of conversations confiscated the momentary limelight Riley’s music had held. Something inside me constricted.
“Now that we’ve all had our shot of caffeine for the night,” Trevor said, “how about we take the long route home and hit up Portland first? See what street bands are out tonight?”
Becky wiggled the ends of her glasses behind her ears, sending the front bobbing up and down on her face in an enthusiastic, Yes!
Ashlea ran her hands over her bare arms. “I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on going out. I didn’t bring a jacket.”
“Don’t worry, Ash. I’ve got some extra coats in the car.” Trevor rocked onto the back two legs of his chair again and laced his fingers behind his head. “It’ll be fun.”
Jaycee tossed her crumpled-up napkin at his face. “Just because you’re always up for an escapade, doesn’t mean everyone else is.”
The clamor of my friends’ discussion grew faint in the shadow of the only thing drawing my attention. A tall brunette, who looked like she spent more time in a tanning booth than in classes, propped one stiletto heel on the stage next to Riley’s knelt body. She twirled her Pantene-commercial-worthy hair around her finger, rhinestones on her nails catching the overhead light.
I polished off the last quarter of my tea to keep from gagging.
A. J. peered into my emptied mug. “Easy, girl. It’s a cup of tea, not a shot glass.”
Might’ve preferred the shot right about then.
I turned in time to see Miss Can I Be Any More Obvious sending two dramatized hair tosses over her shoulders while huffing toward the cluster of friends ready to help her blow off Riley’s apparent disinterest. With her out of the way, the spotlight gleamed across the grains of the stage and spread onto Riley’s back. I rose, not saying a word.
A. J. set his hand over mine. “What do you think, Emma? You game for a Portland run?”
“Um, probably not. Don’t think I’m up for a night on the town.” Or any scenario that would extend our, it’s-not-really-a-date-but-sorta-feels-like-it night. I didn’t want to offend him, but I didn’t want to risk giving him the wrong impression either. I slid my hand out from under his and grabbed my cup. “I’m going to go say hi to someone before we take off.”
The intensity in Riley’s music still had a hold over me, drawing me across the room with a knot in my throat. The clan of offended sorority girls sat perched on their bar stools. With glares sharper than their four-inched heels, they laser beamed a message into my skin. You’re nowhere in his league.
My gaze trailed down the length of my solid, navy blue shirt, tripped over the holes in my jeans, and landed on my five-year-old Converse sneakers. They were right.
Wait, what did it matter? I just wanted to pay the guy a compliment. It wasn’t like I was falling over myself to get his autograph or something. Squaring my shoulders, I smoothed out my shirt and shoved the knot in my chest back down.
Riley raised his head while fastening the brackets on his guitar case. His boyish grin stopped me a few feet away. “Did you enjoy your tea?”
“It was perfect.” I swung my empty cup as corroborating evidence and braved another step closer. “Thanks again. You really didn’t have to buy it for me.”
“Let’s just consider it a conversation starter.”
His smile carried far more effect than any one person should be allowed to have. I stabilized my cup on the table beside me and tucked my hands in my back jean pockets—safe from drawing any more attention to my ridiculous nerves. “I’m Emma, by the way.” The girl who’s usually far more sensible and sophisticated than this.
He hung his head for a suspended moment. Standing up with his guitar case in one hand, he extended the other. “Riley Preston.”
Maybe he didn’t notice the tremor in my handshake. Either that or he was as good an actor as he was a musician. Something gave me the impression it was the latter.
I scuffed my sneaker along the floor panel, scrambling to remember why I came over to begin with. “I wanted to let you know I think your music is really beautiful.” Beautiful? “Um, sorry, beautiful sounds inadequate.” Along with every other word leaving my mouth. “What I mean is, there are layers underneath it that I imagine few people understand.”
He stilled.
What was I doing? If my sudden words-turned-leaky-faucet syndrome didn’t make him question my competency, my presumption of understanding his music probably did. I snagged a napkin from the table, wishing I could hide behind it.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come off sounding like I know you or anything.” Way to make it worse, Em. “It’s just that the level of emotion I sensed in your music really gripped my heart. And I thought, as an artist, you might want to know you’re connecting with people on a deeper level than entertainment. That’s a special gift, and I wanted to tell you I hope you keep pursuing it.”
By the time I’d finished sputtering, I’d folded all four corners of the napkin enough times to pass it off as an origami masterpiece. Nice. I crumbled it into a ball and shoved it in my pocket. Okay, you said what you wanted to say. See, simple as that. Done. Now, walk away.
Riley rubbed the back of his neck.
“Em, you coming?” Jaycee called across the room.
“Guess we’re leaving. I’ll . . . um . . . see you around.” Or maybe go crawl in a dark hole and pretend this never happened.
No response.
Now would be the time to move, Em, not stand here like you’re dying for him to say something—anything.
The silence followed me in an awkward about-face and drove me into the near-jog I should’ve made to begin with.
A screech from behind brought me to a stop and drew me back around.
Mid-stride, Riley shoved the rogue chair he’d bumped into out of his path to catch up to me. “Emma, can I give you a ride home?”
I turned from Riley to Jaycee and back again. A rush of adrenaline slowly gave way to rehearsed practicality. I pointed over my shoulder. “I should probably go with my friends.” Friends. The safe kind. The ones who don’t smell like Nautica and play ballads capable of undoing my heart.
Riley nodded. “Right. Yeah, sorry, of course.”
Trailing another hesitation, he walked alongside me toward the exit, neither of us saying a word. I skidded in my tracks and almost stretched my arm in front of Riley the way Mom did when she hit the car brakes too hard. Trevor’s ornery grin greeted us from the doorway, where he, A. J., and Jaycee were waiting. There was no telling what he was about to do.
“Hey, what’s up, man? I’m Trevor Andrews.”
That’s it? I exhaled.
Riley cocked his head, evidently trying to place Trevor’s face. “Don’t we have Marketing Research together? Mondays at nine, right?”
Of course they did. Trev was so going to enjoy this.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” The red exit light zeroed in on the grin hiking up the corners of his mouth. “Great show tonight, bro.
Think the crowd really got into it.”
I almost elbowed him, but A. J. slid beside me. “A. J. Bowers.” He gave a short chin flick toward Riley. “You’re not half bad up there.”
His complimenting skills must be limited to ladies only.
Riley balanced his guitar case on the floor and leaned on his hands. “Thanks. I think.”
Jaycee rocked onto the balls of her feet. “We should probably get going. Ashlea and Becky are outside waiting for us.”
A. J. held up my sweater for me to slip my arms through. “I’ll get the car for you,” he said with his gaze on Riley instead of me.
There went avoiding date territory. In front of Riley, no less.
His face drooped slightly with his shoulders as A. J. left, but then he clasped Trevor’s hand again. “Guess I’ll see you Monday. Good to meet you guys.”
Another exhale seeped through my nose the second Riley passed the threshold.
Trevor bent over with amusement. “What’s wrong, Em? You look a little . . . riled up.”
“Don’t even think about saying anything to him, Trev.”
Flashes of white teeth beamed back at me. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
My punch to his arm shoved him all the way through the door.
Jaycee handed me my purse. “Now aren’t you glad I made you change before going out?”
Between the two of them, there was no point in trying to conceal my humiliation. Still, I waited for the heat to drain from my face before I ventured to the parking lot. I slipped into A. J.’s car and met a sideways smile from the driver’s seat. Yet, rather than propelling me from one mortifying moment to the next, he turned on the car stereo instead of saying anything.
The soft music ransomed the tension trekking across my shoulder blades. With my elbow on the door panel, I watched the evergreens pass along the side of the road and pulled the pearl charm along the delicate silver chain around my neck.
“That’s a pretty necklace.”
“Hmm? Oh. My father gave it to me when I turned sixteen.” I stared out the window again. “It’s the last present he ever gave me.”
Eyes Unveiled Page 3
