Following Me

by K. A. Linde

  GARRETT DROPPED DEVON at Jenn’s Restaurant to wait for Hadley to get off work. He was working the night shift and needed to get ready, but he felt bad about leaving Devon alone in the apartment on such a nice day. He had given her his spare key in case she decided to go to the apartment. She didn’t intend to though. Devon figured she would wait until Hadley got off work, and then they could head back together. She didn’t feel comfortable being at their apartment all by herself. She was just a guest.

  Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she had only eaten a piece of toast and a Popsicle all day. She and Garrett had walked for hours. He was a great tour guide, giving her more information about buildings and events than she likely ever needed to know. Garrett had lived in Chicago nearly his whole life, and he had only left for the four years of college. Devon hadn’t been surprised to find out he had gone to George Washington in D.C. Although he had money written all over him, surprisingly, he seemed down-to-earth. She wished that combination happened more often.

  Jenn’s wasn’t as busy as it had been the last time Devon had walked inside. Everyone must have still been working at this early hour. She suspected it would start to get crowded closer to five o’clock.

  Hadley had a pretty sweet set-up at her job. She always got off work early on Fridays. Plus, she didn’t have to go in at all on the weekends. Hadley had said she would be happy to show Devon around the parts of the city that Garrett had missed during the morning shift. Devon hadn’t decided what she wanted to do, but she knew she would think of something in the meantime.

  Sitting down in the same stool as she had the day before, Devon leaned her elbows heavily on the countertop and waited for someone to materialize. She noticed a waitress helping a customer in a booth against the wall. The woman looked like she had been working there since the place had opened forty years earlier. Yet, she still wore the same uniform as the younger waitresses—a short black skirt, a white top unbuttoned to reveal cleavage, white tube socks, and tennis shoes. She couldn’t be the only one working, right?

  The woman scooped up the menus from the other customers and then walked toward the back door. Looking over at Devon, she smiled with a sincerity she likely didn’t feel. “Someone will be right with you, hon.”

  She walked through the swinging door into the kitchen. Devon wondered if she was now yelling at someone to do his job. It was what she probably would have done when she had worked at a restaurant. At least, she would have grumbled to herself about how she was the only one working.

  During the previous summers, Devon had worked part-time as a waitress to earn a little extra cash. She always had something she wanted to spend her money on, and she felt bad asking her parents for anything more than they had given her. They were already paying for her education and room and board, so she didn’t feel like she could ask for more.

  A minute later, a disgruntled man walked out of the back room, yelling something at the waitress behind him. Devon had been right. When he turned around, Devon smiled, realizing it was Brennan. She was happy to see a familiar face in a sea of the unfamiliar. Chicago was a huge step for her, and she had a lot of adjusting to do.

  “You been helped?” Brennan moved bottles around, barely glancing up at her.

  “No, I haven’t,” Devon told him, waiting for him to recognize her.

  “What’ll you have?” He ran a towel under the faucet and then mopped under the drip mat.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen a menu.” She pulled out her pen from her back pocket and absentmindedly flipped it between her fingers.

  He grabbed a menu for her and slapped it down on the counter. He walked away without even asking her for her drink order. Hadley had been right; getting Brennan’s attention was hard even when the restaurant was empty.

  She watched him for a second, knowing that he wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was bobbing his head, his dark hair moving effortlessly. It wasn’t styled like it had been yesterday. Today, it looked more like he had just rolled out of bed, but in a good way. He was humming something to his own tune, but Devon couldn’t make out the song.

  She knew that she shouldn’t be watching him like this. It was rude, and surely he would notice, which would be truly embarrassing. She was just having a hard time pulling her eyes away.

  It was strange to say the least. He was the kind of guy her sister, Dani, would fall all over herself for. She would flaunt herself in front of him until he noticed her, and in Dani’s case, it didn’t take very much time for guys to notice her. Her mother had joked about Devon being the difficult one, but that was only because she had boycotted cowboy boots and her Dixie nickname, but Dani was the one her mother needed to worry about. Dani still traipsed about in too short sundresses, and she had earned the name Pearl from half the guys in school for good reason. It was slightly disturbing since she was only seventeen and a senior in high school. Devon was terrified of her going off to college, especially since she had chosen a big state school.

  Devon wasn’t the one to get caught up in a guy’s appearance, especially with Reid back in St. Louis. No, she didn’t even want to think about St. Louis right now. Brennan was nice to look at, that was all.

  Brennan turned around then and looked right at her. Her cheeks instantly colored when he caught her staring. He didn’t do anything more than smirk before she buried herself in the menu she hadn’t yet touched.

  Devon felt his eyes linger on her, and the feeling wouldn’t leave. She wasn’t used to being under scrutiny. She pondered whether he had felt her eyes staring so heavily, if it had been that obvious. She glanced back up when her cheeks weren’t flaming hot.

  Brennan smiled at her, walked back over, and leaned both of his elbows on the bar like he had done yesterday. “You want something to drink?”

  “Just water, please,” Devon said, averting her eyes.

  Brennan poured her drink and handed it over. “Were you here yesterday?” he asked, returning to his position.

  “Yeah.” Devon nodded. She folded her menu, removing her diversion. “I was here with Hadley.”

  “I knew you looked familiar. You’re the little Southern belle.”

  “Devon,” she corrected.

  “Right. How’d you end up with a friend like Hadley?” he asked.

  “What does that mean?” Was he insulting her roommate of two-and-a-half years?

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a square, and she colors outside of the lines.”

  Incredulously, Devon looked up at him. “How could I not take that the wrong way?”

  “Because I told you in advance not to,” Brennan said, shrugging.

  “Telling me in advance implies that I’m going to take it the wrong way. It totally negates everything you say after that,” she told him, narrowing her eyes.

  “It’s too early to be negating this and implying that. I’m a bartender. Order a shot,” Brennan said.

  He didn’t back away as she glared at him.

  “I think you can imply and negate with the rest of us.” Devon flipped her pen between her fingers faster.

  “Can and will are different things,” he said, stepping back. He walked over to the bar, pulled out two shot glasses, and filled them with tequila. After he passed one over to her, he set a napkin on the countertop and placed two limes on it. “You keep flipping your pen like that, you’re going to cause a nervous breakdown. Now, drink up.”

  Devon sighed. This was a bad idea, especially after last night. But the shot didn’t feel like it came with a choice. Rather, it felt like a challenge.

  “Salt?” she asked. If she was going to do it, she was going to do it right.

  Brennan placed the salt on the counter. She licked the skin in between her thumb and forefinger and held her hand out to him. He smirked at her, and then without any further prompting, he poured some salt onto the spot. He did the same to himself.

  “Are we toasting to anything?” Devon asked because she couldn’t help herself.


  “Nope,” Brennan said, picking up his shot.

  She did the same, clinked her glass against his, and then tipped back the tequila. Devon gagged as the burning liquid rushed down her throat. She reached for the lime and sucked on it until the fire cooled.

  Brennan chuckled softly as he tossed his lime and cleaned up the shots. “Now, what do you want to eat?”

  Devon flipped her pen around. When she realized she was doing it again, she placed the pen on the counter. “I’m not picky. Anything without mayo. Whatever you like.”

  “Huh,” he said, taking her menu.

  “What?” She licked her lips and eyed him apprehensively.

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay.”

  What was his angle? She couldn’t figure it out. That was the second time he had seemed to assess her in some way that she couldn’t figure out.

  Brennan walked back into the kitchen. When he didn’t reappear, she wondered what he was doing back there. Was he goofing off with the waitress? It didn’t seem likely. It wasn’t that she expected him to stay out here and talk to her or anything. She had hated forced conversations with her customers, but she hadn’t thought their conversation was forced.

  Shrugging, she pulled out her notebook and flipped it open to the page she had been working on when she’d been at The Bean with Garrett. It had flowed so easily then. She wished writing was always like that. Sometimes, it felt like she was trying to force her way out of quicksand.

  As much as writing was a release, she kind of hated it. She felt like she relied on it to express herself. When she thought about it, she figured it kept her voice subdued. She didn’t need to yell or scream or cry out at anyone when she could do all that on paper. She could pour every emotion onto paper until she felt like she was bleeding. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough, but it helped. It helped keep her walls up.

  More than anything, she wished she didn’t have the same skill as her parents. Because when the words flowed out of her, they weren’t a perfect flowing script, a well-crafted novel, or even something as simple as a journal. They were lyrics. All of her writing came out in the form of a song. What made it even worse was that she could never, would never sing. She didn’t like other people to hear her voice because she felt like it was just too personal, so she would never sing her own stuff.

  How could she sing between the tears?

  Mulling over the words in her notebook, she rearranged the lines that formed the chorus. She could imagine someone great singing her songs with smooth perfect vocals that rose and fell in time with the music, but she didn’t think she could ever follow through. Hearing her pain all over the radio wasn’t exactly her style.

  A few minutes later, Brennan walked out and placed her food in front of her. It was just a burger. She was surprised. She had thought he would have come out with something creative.

  “Best thing on the menu,” he told her, refilling her water.

  She hadn’t even noticed that she had drained it. She guessed the hangover had dehydrated her more than she knew.

  “Thanks.” Devon added ketchup to the burger and then dug in. “Wow! This is great!” She had never been a burger fan, but this was outstanding.

  Brennan nodded his head, like he knew she would like it, as he leaned back against the bar. “How long are you in town for?”

  “Just the week,” she said before taking another bite of her burger.

  “Gonna be hanging out at my bar while you’re here?”

  Devon looked up at him, trying to figure him out. Did he want her there or was he hoping she wouldn’t be there? Or was he simply making conversation? “Probably,” she answered.

  “Alright.”

  “Why?” she asked curiously.

  “Didn’t know how much tequila I should keep in stock,” he said without even cracking a smile.

  Devon, however, laughed at him. She preferred his humor to him assessing her. “I’d keep it handy.”

  “I’m thinking I’m going to have to.”

  “You think you’re going to have to do what?” Hadley walked up behind them, intercepting the end of the conversation.

  “Hadley!” Devon turned around to greet her friend with a smile.

  “Hey, good to see Brennan is taking care of you for me. I see he’s feeding you the burger,” she said with a shake of her head. “He thinks it’s the best thing on the menu. He’s wrong. It’s the chicken.”

  “Hadley, always so opinionated,” Brennan said, straightening as she approached. He started pouring her a drink.

  “Is it really opinion when it’s obviously fact?” Hadley asked, taking the seat next to Devon.

  “She thinks all of her opinions are facts,” Brennan told Devon, pushing the drink toward Hadley.

  “Aren’t they?” Devon asked with a smirk.

  “Oh, so you’re on her side then?”

  “Was there ever a doubt?” Hadley asked.

  “I tend to doubt everything.”

  “And I tend to disagree with everything you doubt,” Hadley told him with a shrug.

  “Just drink up and stop disagreeing with me,” he said with a smile.

  Hadley shrugged again, sipped on her drink, and turned to face Devon. “So, how was your day? Did Garrett show you around the city?”

  “Yeah. We had a great time before he had to go to work. The city is beautiful. Why haven’t I been here before?” Devon asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s not like I haven’t asked you to visit.”

  “Just had that little thing called school,” Devon told her.

  “School. Psh! Who needs that?” Hadley’s lips quirked up. She glanced down at Devon’s notebook and tapped it twice. “You still writing?”

  “I haven’t changed that much since you left,” Devon said.

  “Can I read your latest?” Hadley reached for the notebook with a knowing smile.

  “No,” Devon responded quickly, pulling the notebook off the bar and stuffing it back into her bag. She picked up the pen again and began flipping it between her fingers absentmindedly.

  Hadley laughed and shook her head. “You really haven’t changed. You should let more people read your songs. They’re really good, Dev.”

  Devon blushed and looked back down at her food. She didn’t want to have this conversation, especially not in public. She had too many emotions locked in her notebook. There was no way she was just going to open it up.

  “Brennan could even play guitar for your lyrics,” Hadley offered without Brennan’s approval.

  “What’s that?” he asked, leaning forward.

  Hadley glanced at Devon as if asking for permission to continue. Devon rolled her eyes, knowing she didn’t have much choice now that Hadley had already started.

  “You play guitar?” Devon asked, being quicker on the draw.

  Brennan seemed artsy enough, but she wasn’t sure if he actually fit the bill. She had grown up around musicians, and while he seemed to have the whole desperate bartending routine down, there seemed to be something more to him. Her distaste for her own lyrics bled over to people who thought they could play instruments. She was too accustomed to how musicians acted and how they thought they ruled the world. They weren’t exactly her speed.

  “Devon writes lyrics,” Hadley interrupted.

  “Yeah, I play,” he said, locking eyes with Devon. “You write? I wouldn’t have pegged you.”

  “A little,” she said with a shrug. She liked proving his judgments wrong. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a musician.”

  “I’m a struggling musician.”

  “What are you doing in Chicago if you’re a musician?”

  “I said I was struggling.”

  “And by struggling, you mean you have no talent?” Devon asked arching an eyebrow.

  “I have talent,” he said, off hand like it didn’t matter what she thought. It likely didn’t. “I just find I should spend more time on my bartending talent while I continue to fail the entrance exams to ge
t into med school.”

  Devon swallowed, her mind immediately going to Reid. She felt really bad that she hadn’t told him the truth. He was going through such a hard time, applying to medical school himself, and she had just left him to go through it alone.

  Maybe she should call him.

  No.

  She couldn’t do that without telling him that she had lied, without telling him that she wasn’t in Paris for the summer. Then, she would have to go back to St. Louis, and she just wasn’t ready for that.

  “He has talent,” Hadley said as if it were the most painful thing for her to admit. “I’ve heard him play. Do you have an open mic gig this week? We could stop by.”

  “Nah,” Brennan said, shaking his head as a large group walked into the bar. “I don’t have anything for a couple weeks.”

  “Bummer,” Hadley muttered. “They’re so much fun. We’ll have to take you up to the bar at the John Hancock building before you leave. That will be fun. I was up there once. It was snowing on the ninety-ninth floor, but it wasn’t even raining on the bottom floor. When are you off, Brennan? You could come with?”

  “You want me to go to an overpriced bar over a thousand feet off the ground when I work at a bar?” he asked.

  “Yep!” Hadley said with a big smile.

  “I have Monday off, but I’m busy. What about next Sunday?”

  “Are you going to be here next Sunday?” Hadley asked Devon.

  “Uh…yeah. Next Sunday works for me.”

  “Great! Next Sunday it is then,” Hadley said. “It can be Devon’s going-away party.”

  “Yeah,” Devon said dejectedly.

  She didn’t want to spend only one week in the city. She would need to find a place to stay for the rest of the summer or else she would have to fess up to Reid and her family sooner rather than later.

  And that was something she just couldn’t do.

  DEVON WALKED ACROSS Brookings Quad in the early summer air mingled with the scent of blooming flowers. The Quad at Wash U was surrounded on all sides by Gothic-style buildings. The one directly in front of her was Brookings Hall, and it served as the face of the campus. It primarily housed high-ranking university officials as well as the big colleges, so she rarely visited the building, but the walkways surrounding it were pretty. Devon much preferred the openness of the area to the other parts of campus. She was probably biased though because the social work building, Brown Hall, was right next door to Brookings.