by Lori L. Otto
“If you take me in public, I’ll kiss you however I want to, and you’ll like it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a chuckle, moving my lips to her neck as her ankles latch behind my back. “I would never stop you. If you wanted to do this in public, I wouldn’t stop you.”
“Will?” she asks quietly, releasing me.
“Yeah?” I back out from between her legs and push her knees together before taking her hands in mine.
“Do you think we’ll ever get a chance to go out in public together?”
“Are you opening today?” I ask her, knowing this is my last day in town.
“What’s the point?”
“I don’t know… your customers depend on you? There are probably a lot of stir crazy people wandering the streets today. It’d probably be good business…”
“You’re right,” she says, then sighs. She hops off the counter and heads back into the dining area. I didn’t think she was.
I follow her and put my hand on her waist, standing behind her. “I hope we do, Shea. I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.” She turns around to face me, and holds up two fingers. “A two-night stand, sorry.”
“Technically, it wouldn’t be. It’s kind of like our fourth date tonight.”
“Kind of, yeah. That’s a lot of dates in my world.” I grab her hand again and pull her through the restaurant, unlocking the door and taking her outside.
“Hold on.” She sticks her head back inside. “Scarlett, we’ll be back in a few minutes. Lock the door for me, okay?”
“Yes, boss.”
“So she’s a waitress…” I say, putting two and two together.
“I conveniently forgot to tell my friendliest waitress that we weren’t opening this morning. She can’t let a customer leave the place without a smile on their face, so… I knew she’d be good for Peron.”
“Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
We both look up and down the street. “Where’s a popular place to go on a Saturday morning?”
“The Maubry actually shows cartoons and serves pancakes on Saturdays.”
“Shut up. Really?”
“Yeah. My pancakes are better, but–”
“We’re not going for the pancakes.”
“Okay,” she says, looking at me, confused. The sidewalks are almost clear the whole way there, just a wet mess with white ice and snow caked in the corners at this point. Shea weaves her fingers with mine. I pick up our connected hands, inspecting them, realizing I have never in my life held a woman’s hand. I held a girl’s hand when I was a teenager, but after Laila, this romantic gesture had no place in my life.
I know this is significant, and even though she made this move to link our hands together, I would have done it. It feels like the most natural way to be with her; to walk down the street with her. We make our way to the venue easily, and the guy selling tickets recognizes me from our show.
“Will Rosser.” He shakes my hand. “Hope you’ve enjoyed your extended stay in Minneapolis.”
“It’s been quite memorable. We’d like two tickets.”
“Just go on in.”
“Thanks, man. Hope to come back again someday.”
“Anytime.”
I hold the door to the main room, and am surprised to see how crowded it is inside. There are only a few tables in the back with vacant seats. Shea starts to move toward one of them, but I put my arm around her and guide her to the stage, urging her up the stairs when she shows her reluctance.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, smiling, showing the dimple.
“Please come up here with me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“But everyone’s gonna be looking at us.”
“I know. I’m about to make sure of that.”
“What are you…? Will…” she whines.
“Please?” I kiss her once on the stairs. “Look, there’s commercials… or something. What is this?” I ask her.
“They show vintage commercials.”
I tug on her hand gently and she comes with me. “Uh… hey everyone!” I yell, just now remembering that I really don’t like talking to crowds. Bad time to remember that. There’s a reason I’m not the front man of our band.
“Hey!” I get a response from quite a few people, likely either hung over or still drunk from last night.
“Just want to say that I really like this girl, Shea, and uh… I’m gonna kiss her. Right now. If that’s okay with you. And her. Is that okay?”
The crowd lets me know it’s okay, and when I look at Shea, she does, too.
“Don’t make me pass out up here. I’m already nervous as fuck,” I whisper in her ear.
“You’re so cute,” she says, putting her hands on my cheeks and pulling my face to hers. I get a nice, public kiss from her, except she releases the hand closest to the audience to run it down my chest and around me to grab my ass.
That gets the audience cheering, and our laughing breaks up the kiss. Shea’s clapping for her brazenness. I have to applaud her, too. She’s so amazing and charming and lovely and God bless Mother Nature for this mother fucking blizzard.
“So, no pancakes?” I ask her after helping her off the stage.
“I need to get back. You’re right. I need to call in some staff and open up the place.”
“I hate being right.”
We’re both deliberately slow as we walk back.
“So, uh… have you ever dated a black girl before?” she asks me.
“Dated? No, but I’ve been with a few,” I tell her, being careful with the information I reveal because I don’t know what she does and doesn’t want to know. More than a few would be a more accurate count, but that’s definitely TMI.
“We’re not good enough to date?” she asks. I can’t tell if she’s kidding or truly offended.
I release her hand. “I’ve dated one girl.” I stress the word with air quotes, then take her hand back in mine. “She broke my fucking heart. I’ve never given anyone else the opportunity again, Shea. I don’t date. I fucking hate this.”
“Hate what?” she asks.
“The fact that you keep asking questions that will eventually make you hate me, because I’m this close to giving you that opportunity. I mean, I already like you more than I’ve ever allowed myself to like a woman, so the damage is already done, but I can’t stand myself for the things I’ve done in the past, and I don’t blame you for needing to know–”
“I’ll take it.”
“Take what?”
“The opportunity. If you give me the opportunity to date you, Will, I’ll take it.”
We’re mid-conversation when we get back to her restaurant, and I’m not ready to stop talking about this. Shea knocks on the door, waiting for Scarlett to unlock it for us. Once we’re inside, she walks with purpose to the kitchen with me fast on her heels. I wave briefly to Peron on the way.
“Will, there is something genuinely good about you. On paper, you don’t look so great, but when you stand in front of me, and just exist as the man that you are, you’re extraordinary. I’ve never met anyone like you. And I wouldn’t pass up this chance to get to know you better. You aren’t your past. You aren’t the things you’ve done. You’re the decisions you’ll make moving forward. The things you do. The man you are now and the man you’ll become.”
“I think your opinion of me is inflated.”
“And I think you’re too hard on yourself,” she says, matter of fact. “So, uh… when do you think you’ll decide?”
“Decide…”
“If I can have the opportunity? You said you were close to…”
“That was just a little self-preservation, in case you didn’t want it. It’s yours to take, but Shea, it’s not gonna be easy–on you, or me. I’m on the road until mid-March, and then I’m going back to New York.”
“Details,” she says.
“Wow. How can you be so nonchalant
about it?”
“Because I want to try. No point in focusing on the obstacles we’ll face.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding my head. “Sounds reasonable. Hey…”
“Yeah?”
“You ever date a white guy?”
“Daddy was white,” she tells me. “This is the norm for me. I’ve dated all kinds of guys.”
“Never an astrophysicist, though.”
“First time for everything,” she says.
“Feeling better?” I ask Peron on the way back to the hotel.
“Kind of, yeah,” he says. “I think I’m just fat and happy from the food, but whatever it takes.”
“Shea’s a good cook.”
“She is,” he agrees. “So this is where you’ve been all week?”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s going on?”
“I don’t know… I guess I’m gonna, like, date her.”
“What do you mean, you’re gonna date her?”
“Go out with her and stuff.”
“How’s that going to work while we’re on tour?”
“Details,” I say, quoting Shea.
“So you’re exclusively dating her, you mean?”
“I think so,” I tell him, not exactly sure.
“That’s never gonna work. It’s a nice gesture, Will, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but no. Sorry.”
“Well, don’t just fucking write me off like that.”
“I’ve known you for years, Will. The only time fidelity and Will Rosser will ever intersect in the universe is in this very sentence. Never again.”
“Fuck you, Peron.”
“I don’t know what happened over the past few days, but it sounds to me like you finally got some, she’s apparently good enough for a few return trips, and you’re on some natural high, making rash decisions and ridiculous statements.”
I adjust the guitar on my shoulder and scratch my chin, wishing I’d shaved, trying to brush off Peron’s estimation of my status with Shea.
“What’s going on with Brooke? Why the breakdown this morning?”
“I got an email from her best friend. She said Brooke met this guy months ago and was talking to him behind my back… and that they started dating the night we left town.”
“Some best friend. Why’d she tell you that?”
“Because she thought I had a right to know the truth, and she hoped it would help me to move on from her. That bitch was just waiting for me to leave… I can’t believe it. And now he’s probably sleeping with her in my bed, in my apartment that she moved into with me.”
“You co-signed the lease last time. It’s as much her place as it is yours.”
“After three years together, I thought it was safe to do that. It’s still my damn bed. Hey, what movers did you guys use when you put your shit in storage?”
“We didn’t,” I remind him.
“Damn it. Well, I’m calling movers today to pick up my bed. Can I have them put it in your storage place?”
“You should pay extra to have them do it in the middle of the night,” I suggest. “And yes. My brother has a key. I’m sure we can make arrangements to have someone go unlock it for them.”
“Thanks.”
When we get back to the hotel, the rest of the guys are gone. “I think they were going to check on the bus and then to see a movie,” Peron tells me.
“In the mood to write?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Take this.” I hand him my other acoustic. “I’ve been working on this song, and I need your help with the bridge. You’re good with those.” I give him the lyrics to Done Away, the song I wrote yesterday while Shea was working.
The lines cascaded
as if drawn with a brush
the fluidity of them sustained
until perishing in a hush
Feel away; steal away from me my fear
Done away; run away with me, my dear
The silence was a kiss
a breath consuming mine
words vanished in the ether
my vision in decline
Feel away; steal away from me my fear
Done away; run away with me, my dear
Two seconds free from her, a gasp of bracing wind
her smile played a song for me, from the beginning to the end
wrong of me to think she’d taken from me the best
saw what I was missing and she gave to me the rest
Feel away; steal away from me my fear
Done away; run away with me, my dear
Inspiration at hand
closer than she’s ever been
ideas I never had before
she feeds me from deep within
Feel away; steal away from me my fear
Done away; run away with me, my dear
Feel away; steal away from me my fear
Done away; run away with me, my dear
I point out the part I need help with.
“Yes, Will, I can recognize a bridge,” he says sarcastically. “Where’s the first song you wrote for her?”
“What?” I ask.
“This is a song about writing a song for her. So where’s the other one?”
I grin. “I’m not done with it yet.”
“That’s not what it sounds like.”
“It’s not perfect yet. Can you just help me with this?” I ask him, kicking his foot from the bed opposite his.
“I just wonder how many times Damon’s going to mess up and sing ‘a gasp of breaking wind’ instead of ‘a gasp of bracing wind.’ I think we need to change that adjective before he sees that and gets it stuck in his head.”
I start laughing, having not thought of that. “Fuck. You’re right.” I think for a second. “How about: Two seconds free from her, gasp the reviving wind?”
“Perfect.” I grab the page from him and make the change. “I like this, Will. It’s really good. Let me hear what you’ve got so far.”
Three hours later, we have the song finished–just in time for the other guys to hear it. Tavo grabs his sticks and practice pad to keep rhythm for us while Damon follows along with me. Ben stands in the doorway, arms crossed, grinning the whole time.
“We’re recording that on the bus the next stop after we get it cleaned up. Or maybe we’ll do it live! We’ll get some more CDs and do another EP to sell at some shows. It’s great. Who did this? Did you do this?” Ben asks me.
“Peron helped me with the bridge and fine tuned some of the melodies.”
“Will wrote it, yes,” Peron says.
“You’re on a roll. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
“I’ll try.”
“You’re in for dinner with us tonight, right?” Damon asks.
“What time?”
“Nine.”
I shake my head.
“That wasn’t really a question,” Damon says. “Sorry. You’re coming to dinner with us tonight at nine.”
“Damon, it’s our last night here.”
“Thank God for that. We need to get back to cohesion.”
“Can’t cohesion start tomorrow?”
“No, it starts tonight.”
“I have plans,” I admit to him.
“Break them.”
“With a woman.”
“She can wait. Booty calls happen later anyway, Will,” he says flippantly.
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure thing,” he says, blowing me off.
“While we’re on the subject,” Tavo says, “can you share the love?”
I raise an eyebrow at him, hoping he’ll explain what he means. He just nods with a disgustingly goofy look on his face. “No.”
“That wasn’t really a question,” our drummer says, using Damon’s line.
“That doesn’t work for you, man. When have I ever been known to share a woman anyway?”
“Do any of your girls in town have friends? That’s all he’s suggesting,” Damon says. I find it surprising that they think I�
��ve been messing around with multiple women over the past few days, but of course they would. It’s all I’ve ever done.
“For the record, I’ve only been talking to one woman, and we’ve been alone for the majority of our time together, so I don’t know if she has friends. I’m not asking, either.”
“There’s Scarlett,” Peron says. “She’s single.”
“Scarlett…” Damon says. “Love that name.”
“You know more about her than I do, but I’d never offer up a friend of hers like that. I’m not a pimp. I want this girl to know I respect her.”
Tavo laughs.
“Scarlett is one of Shea’s employee’s,” Peron explains to the rest of them. I shoot him a death stare at the mention of her name.
“Shea? Oh, look at Will’s face…” Ben says, taunting me as my cheeks burn hot.
“Shea’s the restaurant owner, huh?” Damon asks.
“Yeah,” I answer tersely. “And I promised her I’d see her tonight.”
“You can go after we eat, man. We’re saving you from obligatory conversations and shit,” Tavo says.
But I want that time to talk to her. When else will I get this time again?
All through dinner, I have trouble focusing on anything going on around me, and every time I check my watch, I get a piece of a dinner roll thrown at me. At ten-thirty, I toss some cash on the table and make my exit. “I’ll see you assholes in the morning.”
“Bus leaves at seven on the dot,” Ben says.
“I’ll be on it.”
The OPEN sign is dim, but the lights are still on at Mrs. Livingston’s Kitchen. Shea’s sitting at the counter with her back to the door. I knock on it quietly, ready to beg for forgiveness. I know she expected me when the restaurant closed at nine.
She slips off of the stool and walks toward the door wearing a knee-length skirt with leggings underneath it and a matching long-sleeved shirt. The sides of her hair are pulled back into a clip, exposing her ears. I’d never noticed that they stick out a little bit. When her hair is down, I don’t notice, but now, I can see this detail. It actually makes her appear more distinctive; different, in a cute way. It’s a whole other look; another facet to her that I’m immediately attracted to.
