Neverlost (Melodies and Memories)

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  Beartrap shoots me this look, raising one eyebrow as he turns, like what are you waiting for, idiot? and then the two of them are out the door. Panic, followed by a rush of giddy excitement, sears through me as I look down at the buttercream rose. He likes me. That’s the thought that causes my heart to jackhammer in my chest, causes my blood to race at breakneck speed through my little blue veins.

  Then, before I can talk myself out of it, because I’m oh so great at that, I grab the first pen I see, yank off my apron, and vault around from behind the counter. The bells chime their merry song as I burst out of Infiniti’s and run to the curb. “Eli, wait!”

  Slowly he turns around and he looks sick to his stomach—he looks as nervous as I feel, our hearts probably beating in erratic unison—and he starts to apologize again but I’m not listening. I can barely hear over the rush of blood in my head. “Give me your hand,” I tell him. He looks at me, baffled and incredulous all at once, so I say it again.

  This time, he reaches out to me and I turn his hand over so the back of his wrist is facing me, and despite the anxiety churning up a storm in my stomach, I write my cell number on his skin in bold blue ink. “Text me sometime?” I pause. “What’s your name?” Even though I know it, I want to hear it again and again

  “Eli,” he replies, a little bolder.

  “Not your nickname.” I quirk a brow. “Your real name.”

  There’s no hesitation this time, and when he smiles it’s like the sun peeking out from behind black clouds. God, just looking at him is refreshing, like raindrops on your skin after a hot summer day. “Elias Allan St. James.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, Elias. Now if you’ll excuse me.” I motion to Infiniti’s, to the line of people no doubt growing just inside those double doors, impatiently waiting for me to take their orders, but for once I don’t give a fuck about them. “The show must go on.” I give a mock-bow, offer a smile, and head back inside—but not before I hear the smirk in Beartrap’s voice as he says, “You’re welcome.”

  And I’m positively floating.

  Seven

  Elias

  God, when she smiles, truly smiles like she means it, it’s like a wildfire in those blue eyes, making them shine brighter than sapphires, but more than that? That smile lit up her very soul—radiant, spellbinding, she’s so beautiful it almost hurts and all I can do is stand there, buzzing lightly with the shock of the situation, staring down at the number scrawled on the back of my hand. I look back up quickly, to watch her disappear into the coffeeshop.

  Jake snickers and slaps me on the back. “Take a picture, it lasts longer,” he says with a knowing smirk and I’m torn between wanting to punch that stupid, cocky look off his face and wanting to thank him. He shouldn’t have put his nose where it didn’t belong, but it got me somewhere, right? I’ve never been the boldest when it comes to girls. Would I have ever spoken up on my own, or would I have just continued to show up day after day until she finally asked me out?

  Come to think of it, all the girls I’ve dated have come to me, not vice-versa, so I’m pretty much an ask-out-virgin. Maybe Jake did me a favor. I’m just too proud to thank him right now, my ego scuffed.

  When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Uh, not trying to rush you, but class? Remember that place? I’m already doing bad enough, I don’t need to fail. Mum would shit.” He huffs, impatient as always, and I’m dropped back down into reality despite the way my mind is reeling.

  “Oh. Yeah, shit. Come on.” We pile into my truck and I get us there in record time. We go our separate ways and I head to my first class but the whole time I’m like a zombie, doped up on this euphoric high, and every time I look down at my hand I’m given another shot of the drug until I’m grinning from ear to ear. I don’t know how I manage to get through the day. All it can think is: Teagan, Teagan, Teagan.

  I write her number down in my notebook, on the same page that bears the scribbled black ink lyrics and notes and bars of Baker’s Dozen, because I’ve been working on that song every chance I get. I want to make it great, better than great, I want to practice it again and again until the words are engrained into my very soul, so that when the day comes to sing it to her, I’ll know it by heart and won’t make a fool of myself.

  I want it to be perfect.

  By the time classes are over and I’m headed home, I’ve got a dilemma, one that’s twisting my guts into the shape of a hot pretzel, complete with nerve-sauce for dipping. The ball is now in my court. I have to text her. I have to make first contact and I honestly have no idea what I should say.

  Should I send just an informal, “Hey, how are you doing?” or should I ask her out to coffee or something? Not that she’d want to go back to her workplace to hang out. I could always take her to my Before-Teagan digs, but it’s not as classy, so maybe not coffee after all. Dinner seems too much like a date when we don’t even know each other.

  I’m greeted by Mr. Beefy the minute I walk in the door. I grab a bag of tortilla chips and pour myself a bowl of salsa and the two of us stretch out on the couch and turn on the TV, but I’m so out of it that I can’t even enjoy my snack. My head’s just not in the game.

  I type out the beginnings of text after text, thinking it’s great as I’m writing it but then when I read it, I have second thoughts. I deem it too charming, too silly, too persistent, and delete it before I can send it. Every single one of them. I groan out loud and Mr. Beefy licks his slobbery tongue across my cheek in reassurance.

  Finally I settle with: Hey there, Teagan. It’s Eli. And leave it at that. “There. Sent,” I say, tossing my phone down on the couch, hoping that I can quit fucking obsessing over it now, but no such luck. Now I’m nervous that she won’t get it, or if she gets it, she won’t read it, or if she reads it then she won’t text back, but then she does and all my worries are for nothing. Story of my life. Breathe, Eli. Don’t give yourself a heart attack.

  Our conversation goes like this.

  Me: Was just wondering what you were doing this evening?

  Her: I don’t have anything exceptionally outstanding planned, if that’s what you’re asking.

  Me: Would you wanna hang out? We could maybe get some ice cream and take a walk on the beach while wishing it was warm enough to swim?

  There’s a long pause between our texts and I chew on the inside of my cheek and quickly type out: You don’t have to say yes.

  Her: I know.

  Me: Just making sure—no pressure.

  Her: Sounds like a plan then. Should we meet there, or?

  Me: Sure. We could meet at the Dairy Sweet, park our cars and walk from there?

  Her: Okay, sounds cool.

  Me: Do you like dogs?

  Her: Don’t all girls love dogs? Do you have one?

  I grin and look down at the snoring, lazy ball of fur that is my canine companion. He loves everyone and I have no doubt in my mind that given a chance, he could get even the saddest and loneliest of people to smile. I text back: You’ll have to wait and see :) 7 sound good?

  Her: See you then, Eli.

  My palms are sweaty and my stomach’s a little shaky, but I’m giddy and grinning like a fool. I call Jake and wait the two rings for him to pick up and when he does, I thank him. “Guess who has a not-date tonight with a certain coffeeshop girl?”

  Jake just laughs. “You’re welcome, dude. One of us deserves to be happy at least.”

  “Aw man, I’m—”

  “Sorry. Yeah, I know. Don’t be. It’s my choice, always been my choice. I don’t want a chick in my life. I’m busy enough with school and work. I don’t have time for a cling-on.” His voice is sharp and it makes me wonder just how untrue that statement really is. Everyone craves a certain degree of companionship. Jake’s as human as the rest of us, despite what he wants you to believe, and I feel bad.

  Still, I bite back another apology. “I’ll text you later. Let you know how it goes.”

  “Good luck. And Eli? Don’t be afraid to let loose a
little—she likes you, otherwise she wouldn’t have given you her number. Just…” A sigh hisses across the line. “Have fun. Don’t overanalyze it. Alright?”

  “Got it,” I tell him. “See ya, man.”

  I stick my phone back into my pocket and stand up. I press the off button on the remote control and bend down to ruffle Beefcake’s floppy ears. He looks up at me, tail wag-thumping against the back of the couch. “You want some dinner, pal? You want food?”

  That one word has his sixty-pound body lunging off that couch like a bolt of lightning, paws skittering across the floor to take him to his empty food bowl. I scoop him out his dinner, the kibbles clacking into the plastic dish like little marbles, and he chows down like he hasn’t been fed in weeks.

  “I’ll be back.” While he’s busy eating, I go take a shower and get ready for tonight. I think I will take Mr. Beefy. Best case scenario, it’ll be like a scene out of a cheesy romance movie, where the girl falls in love with the boy because of his dog, but if anything else, Beefcake will be the icebreaker and I think we could both use one of those.

  Eight

  Teagan

  I have no fucking idea what to expect and it’s stressing me out. I go through my meager closet of clothes three times, trying to decide what look I’m aiming for. About all I have are casual outfits, but what sub-genre of casual do I want? Casual but cute, do my hair but not my nails sort of date? Casual and lazy, tie my hair up in a messy bun sort of date? No, not a date. A non-date, I tell myself over and over, so many times that it’s like a mantra, a chant in my head.

  I’m not the dating type. Sure I’ve had boyfriends in the past, but it seems that no matter who you date or what their personality is, at their core all men want is one thing: Sex. And sex is the one thing I’m not going to give them, so as soon as they start getting pushy, suggestive, or otherwise whiny, I drop them like a sack of kittens into a river. Male kittens. Okay, I’m not that heartless. Guys just spook me, rattling my nerves with their seductive smiles and double meanings and I hate feeling weak and not in control of the situation.

  But Eli… Somehow, he’s different. This whole situation has a different vibe, even though we’ve never really had a sit-down-and-get-to-know-you conversation. It’s not a ‘get in your pants’ vibe but more of a ‘hold your hand and kiss you silly’ vibe, which is something I’ve never encountered in my short-lived experience of dating. And it’s something I’m not sure I trust myself with and part of me, a big part of me, wants to back out, tuck my tail, and take off running.

  So I call Dakota and of course she talks me right back into it—what did I expect? “It’ll be fun,” she says. “Please trust me on this one. This guy, he sounds awesome and adorable and super nice. You have to go.”

  Which is how I end up dressed in a nice pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved button up blouse, half of my dark hair pulled into a little twist with the rest left to frame my face. Nothing fancy, no makeup, just a hint of clear lip gloss and I’m ready to go. My stomach has the nervous rumbles but I don’t dare eat, for fear I might puke it all right back up. Taking in a deep breath—you can do this, you like this boy, remember?—I get in my car and head for the little frozen yogurt shop just west of the lake.

  The wind has picked up and the minute I step out of my car, a gust of chilly air skirts through my denim pants. I shiver and regret not bringing a jacket. Ah well, live and learn. I look around to see Eli leaning against the side of his big truck and I raise a hand in a wave, my stomach flip-flopping. His resulting grin is huge as he waves back, then makes his way over, and sure enough, at his side is a large black mutt, his tail wagging so fast it’s just a blur. “Hey,” Eli says.

  “Hi,” I reply, suddenly feeling shy and a little exposed, so I bend down to greet his dog, who’s grizzled gray around the muzzle but his eyes are still bright. I scratch him behind his soft ears for a moment before meeting Eli’s gaze. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” I ask, teasing.

  He laughs. “Ah, yes, right. Meet my man, Beefcake. He’s a great roommate besides the fact that he farts in his sleep and hogs most the covers.”

  “Beefcake?” I deadpan. “Seriously, of all the things you could name a dog, like Bingo or Rufus or Jolly Rogers, you named this poor soul Beefcake?”

  “Hey now, I got him when I was fourteen and going through a major phase where all I ate was steak. Don’t judge,” he scoffs. “And besides, his name usually gets shortened to Mr. Beefy. Ain’t that right, Mr. Beefy?” He bends down and roughs the dog up and Beefcake keeps wagging and wiggling and panting. Eli straightens up and looks at me, a smile toying at the corners of his lips and god, he’s handsome. “You ready for that ice cream?”

  “Lead the way.”

  The Dairy Sweet is just a little mom-and-pop stand, but they’ve always had the best desserts in town. Eli orders a chocolate ice cream cone and I splurge a little and get my favorite strawberry frozen yogurt and slap my money down on the counter before Eli can offer to pay, because I have the feeling that that’s the kind of person he is. He raises an eyebrow at me so I stick my tongue out at him and we both end up smiling. The lady manning the counter grins as she gives us our cones. “You two are too cute!”

  “Thanks?” I say, uncertain. Eli thanks her as well, though he sounds a little more genuine than me, and then, walking side-by-side, we’re on our way. Beefcake trots between us, big pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he begs me with those chocolate-y brown eyes, hoping I’ll give him some of my ice cream. My tongue snakes out to lick a melty drip before it can slide down the cone. “You’re outta luck, buddy,” I tell the dog, petting him on the head. He remains hopeful.

  The sand is damp from all the rain we’ve had lately and our shoes leave behind perfect footprints as we walk down the length of the beach. Soaring above us, a lone gull shrills, a long way from the ocean where it belongs. The lake gently laps at the sand and the resulting sound is soft and soothing and we just walk in silence for a little while, eating our ice cream. It should be nice—but the whole time, thoughts are bombarding me like a machine gun, making it impossible to think in a straight line.

  I finish my ice cream and unable to resist, I give the butt-end of the cone to Beefcake, who devours it in point three seconds flat. Unable to stop thinking, my smile slowly slips away. I stop walking and turn to Eli. “Can I ask you a question?” He lifts an eyebrow, in the middle of chewing a big bite of cone, and he motions for me to continue so I ask the one thing that’s been troubling me since I met him.

  “Why me?” Just two little words, but they hurt.

  He looks at me, looks into my eyes and somehow, right into my soul. “Why not you?” and I feel myself frowning, unsure of what he means when he continues, gesturing to me. “Look at you, Teagan, you’re just so…”

  A sudden anger flashes through me like a lightning strike and I stiffen, fisting my hands at my sides. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, and try as I might to reason with myself, there’s no stopping it and I’m left feeling sharp and edgy. “So, what, you want my body?”

  His eyes widen. “What—No! That’s not what I meant!” he says, running a hand through his wind-tousled blond hair. “Not what I meant at all.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and level him a look. “Then what did you mean?”

  “I just, I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like…” He tries but he keeps tripping over his words, awkward and bumbling, backtracking and saying “um” a lot, before he hunches his shoulders and shakes his head. He blows out a sharp breath, as if gathering himself.

  “Okay. Bear with me. There’s just something about you, and I’m not talking physically. The first time I saw you, I felt something. Something real, a spark deep inside of me, like strumming a new chord. You’ve haunted my every thought since that day and Teagan, that’s not something I can just toss aside. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I parrot, trying my hardest to believe him. I want to believe him. I bend down and pick up a large stick with rough bark
. Beefcake jerks his head to look at me, suddenly intent on the stick, and Eli catches on and unclips the dog’s leash.

  I wind back and chuck the branch across the beach and Beefcake takes off after it like a rocket to the moon. We keep walking, but neither of us says anything for a little while. I don’t know why I can’t just accept what he said, why I can’t be normal for once in my goddamned life and thank the gods that such a gorgeous guy sees me like that.

  But apparently I can’t. “You don’t know me,” I say without looking at him. I don’t know what I want.

  “No, you’re right. I don’t know you—but I want to. Okay? I want to know you, but I want you to want me to? Does that even make sense?” He sounds exasperated, but the puzzled look on his face is priceless and I can’t help but laugh, but his expression stays solemn. I quickly sober, highly aware of the way my heart is pounding, rat-a-tat-tat against my ribcage. He just keeps looking at me, earnest.

  I duck my head and mumble, “And what if you don’t like what you find?”

  He seems surprised, like he hadn’t thought that about that. Then he shrugs. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see. Still, I’d like that chance? If you’re willing to give me one.” His resulting smile is small and sweet, but it’s enough to make my stomach flutter, just the way he looks at me. Like he puts me up on a pedestal, like I’m some sort of goddess in his eyes.

  “All right. Just know that I’m not the most…open person.”

  “And you should know that I’m a very patient guy. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s play a question game. What do you want to know? Ask me anything, anything at all.” He tucks his hands into his pockets about the same time Beefcake returns with the stick. It’s slobbery when I try to remove it from his vice-grip jaws so I can throw it again.