by Maisey Yates
This moment, sure. And right now, this moment was all there was.
“Are you going to play?”
“Yeah. I am.” She tapped the clipboard. “In a couple of songs.”
“Do we get a country song?”
“No. Irish folk, though. Which, people seem to think pairs nicely with beer anyway.”
“I didn’t know you played folk music.”
“I can play anything,” she said.
His gaze held hers for a minute, and his lips curved into a smile. But she didn’t let memories invade, because the past didn’t matter. The future didn’t matter. The thought filled her with a sense of power. Adrenaline. She knew people lived like this, it was just she wasn’t one of them.
“Do you want a shot?”
“Sure,” he said.
“I’m buying.”
“Well, since you asked me, I figured you were,” he said. “I’m equal opportunity. I’m happy to let you buy the alcohol.”
“Great.”
She ordered two more shots, then handed one to him, and held hers aloft. “Cheers.”
“What are we toasting?”
“Tonight. Because it can be absolutely anything we want.”
She knocked it back, and as the alcohol burned down the back of her throat, his eyes burned into hers. And she realized that the open-ended toast sounded a whole lot like an offer. The idea... The idea only added fuel to the adrenaline fire sparking through her veins.
It would be a very bad idea. Doing anything with an ex. But then, that would require acknowledging the past. And worrying about the future. And that just wasn’t what was happening tonight.
“Is this what you always do on a Friday night?” she asked.
“Not every Friday, no.”
“Tonight.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“What do you usually do?”
“Go to dinner at my mom’s. Hang out with my niece and nephew.”
“So, you’re single.”
A slow smile spread over his face. “I did wonder when you were going to ask that.”
“Why would you think that I would?”
“Because,” he said, his grin way too tempting for her to deal with, “you wanted to know.”
“You don’t know that I wanted to know.”
“No. I do.”
“You really don’t.”
“But you asked.”
She made a scoffing sound. “But I waited a very long time. Which means I really was not curious.”
“I think you are.”
She looked around the bar, full of people laughing and having a good time. It was...nicer than she’d imagined it would be. The whole place was. “Fine. I was a little bit curious. You’re single. Have you... Have you been married?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“The same reason you haven’t been I imagine.”
“You’re in a committed relationship with a musical instrument?”
“Haven’t found the right person.”
There was something about that statement that cut into her, and she didn’t know why it should.
“That is not why I’m single. I’ve never looked. I don’t think there’s a right person for me.”
That was far too true, and it echoed weirdly inside of her.
“I think that’s pretty sad, Hannah.”
“Why? Not everybody wants to be in a relationship. I figured out a long time ago that there was no way for me to put everything that I needed to put into violin and into a relationship.”
“Did you decide that around the time we broke up?”
She shrugged off those memories. No past. She was just talking to him like two people who might meet in a bar. And given the amount of sparks that were going up between them, him being single was absolutely a relevant point of conversation. Because she wasn’t going to let anything happen with a man who was married, engaged, or otherwise committed.
“Here’s an idea,” she said. “Why don’t we pretend we just met each other. I’m just a girl in a bar. And you... You’re just a guy in a bar. Nothing happened when we were teenagers. And everything that’s happened since... Well, what would you want to know if you just met me?”
“What’s your favorite thing about playing the violin?”
It was a strange question, and it cut right to the very heart of who she was. He might not realize it, but it wasn’t a casual question that a stranger could just ask her. It felt deep and intimate, like he was searching beneath her skin.
“It’s when I feel like me,” she said, and she left it at that, because there was more. There was a way to explain that. A way that it felt. But... She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to say it out loud. Not right now, not to him. Really, not ever.
“And all the other times?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s hard to explain.”
It wasn’t. Not really. She just didn’t want to explain it to him.
“I’m not in a hurry.”
“I am,” she said. “I’m on in about a minute.”
“Then give me the one minute version.”
She shouldn’t find that dogged persistence of his charming.
“I could never figure out how to explain myself to my family. What I wanted. What I felt. And when I first picked up the violin, I found a way to do that. It’s everything I want, it gives me a way to express what I feel. It gives me the way to earn a living. It’s everything that I am. So that’s... That’s what that means.”
He didn’t say anything, he just stared at her, those blue eyes different than she remembered them. Because when he’d been a boy, they’d been beautiful, and they’d made her stomach flutter, but she hadn’t felt like he’d seen something in her that she’d never shown anyone before. And he’d been the first person to see her naked.
“It’s my turn,” she said.
“Good. I can’t wait to hear.”
She swallowed, and walked up to the stage, positioning herself in front of the microphone as best she could, and angling. And then she started to play. Slow at first, building, until it was fierce and fast, the rhythm of her heart. The song itself was joyful, a celebration song, and nothing inside of her felt joyful or celebratory. But it was like the music created it within her. Carved out a space for something new, something different, and allowed her to experience something that she didn’t have in her. It was magic, and it was wonderful.
She stomped her foot in rhythm as she played, spinning and turning and not caring about the microphone anymore, because she knew that the sound was carrying without it. And people in the room got up and danced with her. Her hair fell out of its bun, vivid red in her face and sticking to her forehead as sweat beaded there, heat from her movements, and adrenaline from the performance building through her, and when her song was done, the whole bar erupted, and asked for more. So she played. And she kept on playing.
And somewhere in the middle of that, she realized that she hadn’t played in her own town before.
Her own town.
When had she started thinking of Bear Creek as anything other than an old home that she had outgrown?
It wasn’t her town. Boston was her town. But Bear Creek was something, and she couldn’t deny it. And she had never done recitals or talent shows or anything like that, because it had never felt like something she could share here. She had played at home, she had played for her teachers.
When she was finished, she was breathless, and she was smiling.
And Josh was waiting for her just off the stage.
“You are amazing,” he said, his voice low.
“Yeah,” she said, grinning wide. “I am.”
He shook his head. “You’re something else, Hannah.”
&nb
sp; “That’s the point.” She nodded in affirmation of herself. “I mean, that was always the point. To be something else.”
“It’s pretty impressive,” he said. “But you know, I liked you just fine back then too.”
“I didn’t. So.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m going to kiss you,” she said. Then she got up on her toes and did just that.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she gave herself up to it. Absolutely. Completely. And she wasn’t really sure if this was something Lark would do or not, but Hannah didn’t feel like that was a binding agreement that she’d made with her sister. And this was a moment that she wanted to live in.
This was a moment she wanted to extend.
“I hope you have room for one redheaded violinist at your place.”
“I’m sure I can find a spot for you,” he said, his voice rough.
“Then let’s go home.”
This wasn’t the memory lane she had intended to walk down tonight. In fact, nostalgia hadn’t been the reason she’d gone out at all. But somehow, right now, the chance to be with the first man she’d ever been with seemed... Right. Like it might be the exact thing she needed. She didn’t know why.
Or maybe this was just a classic case of arousal making you act a little bit stupid.
Either way. She was okay with it.
“All right, Hannah,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
18
I have agreed to be sent away for the remainder of the pregnancy. I told Mama I got a job. It was a lie. I know why his mother wants me to go. I have time to make up my mind. I could just never come home.
Dot’s diary, August 1944
Lark
Lark was in the process of turning the Closed sign when Ben started up the sidewalk. She stopped what she was doing and just kind of froze. She had picked her car up from the garage, but they had only exchanged a few words, and they’d had the counter between them. It had been a cordial conversation, and there had been none of the tension that had been present in the previous interaction. At least, that’s what she told herself.
In reality, she hadn’t been able to breathe. But she had done her best to ignore that.
And to make sure that he didn’t realize it.
But now, the air was sucked right out of her.
He pushed the door open to the Craft Café, and she was still standing there with her hand on the Closed sign.
“Am I too late?”
For some reason, it felt like that question had deeper implications, and she did her best not to do that. Not to make more out of this than need be. Because she really didn’t need to make anything out of it at all.
“Taylor isn’t here,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “She just left the garage. She walked home.”
“Oh. I figured... I just figured maybe that was why you were here.”
“No. I came to see you.”
“Why?”
He paused, for just a second. And she felt like that meant he either had no idea why he’d come to see her, or he did, and he didn’t want to say it.
“Well, last time we talked, we didn’t actually talk. And I kind of found that I preferred fighting with you to just exchanging pleasantries.”
“Is a fight required?”
“No.”
“That’s good.”
He stepped inside, the door closing firmly behind him, and she felt like the place had gotten two times smaller. He looked at her, his gaze assessing. And her heart rate increased twofold. Great. She was not doing a good job of remembering what she had decided about him.
She felt churned up still, about the whole thing with Keira. She had been going through a list of what ifs in her head, and trying not to. But it was there, in the back of her mind. Because what if.
You know you can’t do that. It just makes you insane. You can’t go back. You can’t change what is.
No. She couldn’t, but he was standing in front of her right now, and that felt like something. Even if it shouldn’t.
“Are you okay?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You just look... You don’t look okay.”
“How would you know? We haven’t spent significant time together in over sixteen years.”
“But we spent a lot of time together before that. And I remember.” He got closer to her, and she took a step back, but she hit the bar, and it stopped her progress. And he kept on coming. He smelled good. Or maybe he didn’t. But she interpreted it as good. Because it was him. And yeah, maybe a lot of years had passed, but she still recognized that. She still recognized him.
She ached then. Because she had loved him in so many ways. Because knowing him, caring for him, had made her and broken her several times over.
But he was still Ben. And when she looked at him she felt...all those things. Heartbreak and caring and trust. And right now, it was that trust she needed.
“Avery’s husband has been hitting her.”
He straightened up. “What?”
“It’s been going on for a while, and she didn’t want anyone to know. We just got her moved out. It’s been... Awful.”
“Hell. Does she need anything? Does anyone need to go handle that bastard husband of hers?”
“While I’m sure my dad would lead the angry mob, the police are involved. She went to the police.” Her heart squeezed tight. Avery’s humiliation had been clear, the fact that it wasn’t a pure victory for her hitting Lark in a way that reality never had before. She was risking her life, but in ways that she had never considered. Her livelihood. The way people saw her in the community.
“I’m just sorry,” he said.
“Me too.”
He moved to her, and her heart jumped. Her breathing became labored.
“Ben...”
“I thought about us. I did. Maybe I was a bad husband, Lark, because I wondered if I did the right thing. I wondered if I should have married her. I thought about what it would have been like if I would’ve chosen you. If I would have gone after you. I thought about you... I thought about that night. And you know when I would think back on what it was like to be young, and to not be burdened by how heavy life is, I thought about you. I thought about your smile. Thought about the way you... The way you saw things. You were so enthusiastic about everything. About the world. You wanted things. You dreamed about things. You didn’t just look around you and see the way things are and accept them. You think about how you could make it more beautiful. I remember... I remember when we were like... Fourteen. And you thought it would be the best idea to take sidewalk chalk into town and color the squares in front of all of the businesses, and Mrs. Wilson got mad at you and said it was basically graffiti. And I remember you were so mad after, and you were lying underneath that ivy canopy at your grandfather’s house and talking about how you were being persecuted for your art. And I just... I remember so many things like that.”
He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she shivered.
It was the first time Ben Thompson had touched her in sixteen years. And she felt even more now than she had been.
“What else do you remember?” she whispered.
Because she wanted to hear it. He had memories of the girl she’d been before. The girl who had never been hurt. And she wanted to hear him say them out loud.
“That for a year when you were eleven you wore a gymnastics outfit everywhere.”
“No.”
“You did. And you never took gymnastics.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It was silver, if I remember right.”
“No. I want more flattering memories about how I was fighting the establishment with nothing but my creativity and chalk.”
“Okay, how about the time you protested th
e dress code at school by having a visible bra strap day.”
“Dress codes are a tool of the patriarchy, Benjamin.”
“That’s what you said then.”
“I stand by it.”
“You were unexpected. You always were. I went for the expected. I regretted it.”
“Keira was fun.”
“I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m not rewriting this, I promise. It would be easy to do that. But I’m not. I just wanted you to know that I wondered if it should’ve been you.”
“You can’t rearrange life. You can’t... You don’t get a do-over.”
“I know. You can’t do anything over. I’m well aware. But we’re both standing here right now.”
“Ben...”
And then he touched her face. His hand, callused and rough, brushed over her cheek, and her heart beat an unsteady rhythm. His blue eyes were intense on hers as he leaned down, kissing her. Deep and hard. And it was like fire. Like magic. Like a deep bliss. She had told herself stories about his mouth. About his kisses. She had one night of them. One night of them and years of fantasy about them before, and a whole lot of weaving together dreams out of memory and wishful thinking in the years since.
It wasn’t as good as she remembered.
It was better.
His lips were firm and warm, and most of all, he was still Ben. Years hadn’t changed it. Time and pain hadn’t changed it.
She was a before and after, but this wasn’t.
It was everything it had always been. And then some. Because the first time he’d kissed her she’d been a virgin who hadn’t understood exactly what she wanted.
But she was a woman now, with a lot of experience in her rearview mirror, and she knew.
Oh, now she knew.
But there was more than physical desire here, and the memories of that first time made her pull away. Made her think twice as she fought to catch her breath.
“Ben... I...”
“It’s okay,” he said. “We don’t need to jump into anything.”
She wanted to. She wanted to drag him back to her Gram’s bed, and she didn’t even care how weird that was. But it was the memory of the consequences that stopped her. Of the fallout.