by Gina Sturino
“Piling up? Is she on vacation?” Holly eyed the paper.
“Well, she moved out.”
“She did?” She stepped back and turned toward the desk behind her. “I just got her rent check a few days ago. Funny, it was late too; she’s always been as punctual as you.”
“A few days ago?” Dane had been in the apartment for at least a week.
My stomach sunk as another wave of doubt crept up my spine.
Why would he lie?
“She must be on vacation,” I said weakly. “Sorry, again, for being so late with my rent.”
As I exited the leasing office, questions bounced in my head. Why wouldn’t Dane tell me he was subletting? Was he lying? Or, there could be a simple, logical explanation. Maybe Mirabel moved for a job and her employer facilitated the sublet?
I didn’t want to think something sinister was going on, but things weren’t adding up and the possibilities had my stomach twisting in knots. The tense phone call I overheard, the odd conversation with Liam, and now this. I needed to clear my thoughts, so instead of retracing my steps home, I took the front walkway to the corner of Ogden and Cass Street, then crossed the road to the opposite side where the park lay.
Following the crisscrossing pathway, I stopped at the center of the park, skimming my fingers along the smooth, stone surface of the fountain’s basin. Water cascaded from the sculpture in the center—an angelic woman, face angled toward the sky. She held a bundle of grapes in one hand and a flower in the other. It reminded me of Neal’s song lyrics I’d just uncovered.
When the sea goes still, you’ll find me here
Singing under a half moon bay
When the stars lose their shine, you’ll find me here
Singing under a half moon bay
Singing a song so sweet, as sweet as the fruit, the fruit of the land
Singing a song so bright, as bright as the light, the light of the sky
“When the sea goes still, you’ll find me here, singing under a half moon bay.” I sang the remainder of the song out loud.
“What’d you say?” Dane called from behind me.
“Oh! You scared me!” I exclaimed, clutching my chest. Avoiding him seemed impossible.
“What was that you just said?” he asked again.
“I don’t know…song lyrics.” I was already on edge and not feeling particularly chatty to offer a further explanation. “What’re you doing here?”
“I saw you from up there.” His chin nodded toward his balcony.
“Okay? You following me or something?” Before he could respond, I spit out, “Fun night with Lori?”
Dane’s eyes widened then narrowed again. “Lori? Barely know that chick. She’s annoying as hell. I need to talk to you.”
“Actually, I need to talk to you.” I wasn’t planning on bringing up the newspaper, but he had me on guard. “Who’s Mirabel Merano?”
Taking a step back, Dane sighed and rubbed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“The newspapers. They’re addressed to Mirabel Merano, and according to the leasing office, she just paid this months’ rent. She’s still on the lease.”
“Maybe I should be the one asking. Are you checking up on me?”
Now it was me taking a flustered step back. I hugged myself and looked to the fountain. “No, I was just in the office, and I asked them to—never mind, Dane. I have to go.”
I couldn’t explain myself further. None of it made sense. Besides, confronting Dane meant one thing—he’d been lying to me. I couldn’t face that truth.
Rushing past him, I’d almost made it to the entrance of the park when his arm snaked around my waist. He pulled me against the solid wall of his chest. Within his hold, he twisted me around so my body was flush against his. Breathing heavily, either from distress or the nearness of him, I lifted my eyes to meet his. They sparkled and darkened. My chest heaved, and his gaze wandered down, settling on the trio of freckles near my collarbone.
“I don’t care anymore; I don’t have it in me to fight this.” With his odd proclamation, he leaned down and captured my trembling lips with his own. His strong hands pulled me closer as he deepened the kiss.
As if sipping from my soul, his mouth drank from me, taking more and more until I was breathless. All my reservations and doubts slipped away, yet Dane’s hand splayed heavily across my back, pressing me into him as if he were afraid I’d try to escape.
Finally, his grip loosened. Now it was me leaning into him, holding him tighter. My hands moved up his back and settled in his hair. Our lips no longer hungry and frantic, they began a slow, synchronized exploration. I no longer cared about a neighbor named Mirabel Merano or piled-up newspapers. I didn’t care about Liam or agents. No, my only concern was the man who was kissing me and how his kiss made me feel.
Like heaven. Kissing him felt like heaven.
And like the gates guarding the kingdom above, my soul opened up to him, letting him in as I fully offered myself.
Just as I did, Dane pulled back. My eyes fluttered to meet his bewildered face.
“What are you doing to me?” he whispered into my still-parted lips.
What am I doing to him? The better question was, what in the world was he doing?
Neither of us had an opportunity to speak. A vibrating noise and pinging came from Dane’s pocket, breaking the connection. He shook his head as if shaking himself back to reality, then stepped back and removed his phone from his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he slid a steady finger over the glass, then held it to his ear.
I looked down to my own hands, still shaking.
The person on the other end of the line was too quiet for my ears, but Dane’s expression turned serious. His eyes narrowed, and his lips flattened into a firm line. My pulse quickened, now anxious from his somber vibe. He muttered a quick “got it” before ending the call.
“I have to go.” His eyes lingered on mine as he searched my face. “We’ll talk later.”
Turning around, he walked away without further explanation, leaving me on the sidewalk wondering, once again, what the hell had happened.
Sixteen
Every time I closed my eyes, I relived our kiss. The memory pounded at my head like the migraine that hammered my skull following the accident. Once again, Dane reeled me in only to push me away.
The day stretched ahead, seeming long and heavy, and thoughts of Dane only added to the muddle. The confines of my small studio apartment suffocated me. Questions pinged off the walls, hitting me with a force that made me wince with each revelation. I could no longer deny it. Dane was lying to me. Something was up.
Tequila distribution. Agents. Mirabel Merano. Big bad Liam. Cami.
Slapping my palms against my bare thighs, I popped up from the white leather couch and grabbed my laptop from my desk upstairs before I lost the nerve. Punching the name Dane Killbane in the search bar, I waited impatiently for Google to run its detective magic. A page of results filled the screen, but none of the corresponding information fit Dane’s description.
Dane Killbane Army
Dane Killbane Monterey
Dane Killbane tequila
Nothing. Each search result came up empty. There was no trace of Dane Killbane.
As if he didn’t exist.
Holding my breath, I punched in Mirabel Merano. My finger lingered over the “enter” key before I released a sigh and clicked.
This time, a link for a Facebook account populated. My heart pounded with urgent caution as if I were about to discover something profound. I closed my eyes and waited a full minute before opening them again, blinking rapidly as the profile loaded. Two familiar faces grinned back at me from the screen.
Mother and child. Inky black hair. Giggles and flowers.
Similar to my memories of Lu, the thoughts of Mirabel and her daughter were too foggy to decipher, too far out of reach to bring to the forefront of my mind. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but a deep sense of calm intimacy settled in m
y gut.
Although the memories were vague, I knew one thing was certain—Mirabel wasn’t simply a random neighbor I’d run into in the hallway.
The rest of her profile was secure, but the profile picture was enough to pique my curiosity. I recognized the face that went with the mysterious name.
My thoughts switched back to Dane. Another mystery. An internet search should reveal at least one or two tidbits of the man. There had to be some digital footprint of him. I understood why I couldn’t find anything on Neal—he’d lived the vagabond lifestyle since moving away at age nineteen—but Dane was a professional. There should be something.
Desperately wishing for more information, a small morsel to ease the confusion in my damaged mind, I returned to the living room to resume my internet sleuthing. Just as I lowered myself onto the couch, my cell phone ignited with a text from Pete.
Pete: I am so sorry for last night. I’ll call you later to explain.
Instead of the much-anticipated apology from Dane, Pete was proving to be the more considerate man.
But he doesn’t make your heart race. Not like Dane.
Hushing my inner voice of reason, I shot off a reply to Pete.
A few seconds later, the phone buzzed again. I assumed it was Pete, but instead, Dane’s name flashed on the screen.
Dane: Sorry about earlier. Explain tonight. Dinner at my place.
No niceties, no asking if I was free for dinner. Did he just assume I’d come at his beck and call?
The difference between the two men vying for my attention grew glaringly obvious. Pete, eager and kind, versus Dane, who kept pulling me in only to cast me out. Again and again.
I wasn’t giving in so easily this time. A simple sorry wouldn’t suffice.
Me: No thanks. Busy tonight.
Dane: I’ll have cake.
Me: Busy. Sorry.
Dane: Tomorrow?
Me: Busy then too.
My cell buzzed with a phone call from Dane, which I promptly sent to voicemail. A few seconds later, an indication for a new message pinged, and I chucked my phone to the sofa. My head hit the back cushion of the couch, and I winced.
Adding insult to injury, the migraine was back.
Tension bubbled in my stomach; the mission at hand feeling strangely perilous. All I had to do was make the short walk to the Metro Mart, buy Tylenol for my pounding head, and make it back without allowing my nerves get the best of me.
The automatic double doors opened as I neared the entrance. Not bothering with a cart, I perused the produce department, stopping short at the bakery.
Unbelievable. Even with his back to me, I recognized Dane’s formidable frame. It was as if the universe wanted to push us together. I shook my head, resolving to get this next encounter done and over with.
Dane looked up just as I approached.
“Well, well, now who’s following who? I do believe I was here first.” He grinned, nodding toward his basket which held a mishmash of groceries, including a six-pack of beer and a miniature frosted birthday cake.
“It’s your birthday?” I asked, pointedly ignoring his obstinate question.
“Mm-hm. I told you there’d be cake. You didn’t give me the chance to explain it’s a birthday party.” His tone was jovial, as if he’d completely forgotten about the scene on the sidewalk earlier in the day when he’d ditched me after kissing me breathless.
“A party?”
“Mm-hm.” He picked up the cake and tilted it toward me. “Offer still stands. My place at seven—I’ll be grilling too.”
“That’s an awfully small cake for a party.” I looked at the bakery box. Yellow and red globs of frosting created a bouquet of balloons, and a swirled Happy Birthday message was written along the bottom. The tiny cake could feed two to three people at most.
“It’s an awfully small party. I’m new in town, Nov. I don’t know that many people.” His eyes were bright and mischievous. He set the box back into his cart and jabbed a finger at it. “That’s buttercream frosting.” His eyebrows wiggled.
“Let me guess, it’s a party of one?” I did love buttercream frosting, but I wasn’t about to admit it.
“Well, hopefully a party of two?” The smile that spread across his face was so sweet and sexy, I found the corners of my lips lifting as he reeled me in. Again.
“Okay. Fine. But only because it’s your birthday,” I relented. Again. “And you and I will talk.”
“I’ll even let you have the piece with the balloons. I can taste the frosting already.” Dane smacked his lips and closed his eyes, making soft “yum yum” sounds. His eyes popped back open. “Do you have a lot of shopping to do? I’ll wait and walk with you, although maybe I shouldn’t… I’d hate to somehow put my foot in my mouth and end up losing my only friend again.”
“More like put your mouth on my mouth.” The words tumbled from my lips, and my fingers flew to cover my mouth. Based on the slight blush creeping along Dane’s face, he wasn’t expecting my call-out either. Finding his reaction oddly satisfying, I replied with a syrupy grin, “Actually, I’m just grabbing Tylenol for the whiplash you keep giving me.”
Dane’s eyes softened with concern. “Headache’s back?”
“Yep.” Thanks to you.
We continued walking, each looking ahead. When I stopped at the medicine aisle, I sensed his eyes on me.
“I am sorry for earlier,” he said softly. “Not for kissing you, but for leaving. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes… at work.”
“Tequila distribution?” I watched his face intently for a reaction. As I suspected, the glint in his eyes faded, replaced by a guilty, sad smile. He’d lied.
If he lied about that, what else was he holding back? Who, exactly, was his co-worker Liam? And what about Mirabel? Things weren’t adding up.
Suspicion and doubt traveled up my spine. He’d warned me over and over, yet here we were. I studied Dane’s face, my heart sinking as I faced the truth. “Dane, is this a good idea?”
He peered down with solemn eyes. One of his hands gently brushed a loose curl off my shoulder. It then swept down my shoulder blade. “I’ll explain tonight. Please, at least let me explain."
I found myself nodding in agreement. Just as he’d declared earlier, I also didn’t have it in me to fight this.
Seventeen
With the remainder of the afternoon to burn before dinner at Dane’s, I busied myself with music and sunshine. The patio not only offered an escape from the confines of my apartment, but I hoped the fresh air would sweep away the fog of doubt in my mind.
Plopping onto the lawn chair with ice water and a notebook in hand, I started doodling along the edges of a blank sheet of paper. Light murmurs of the picnickers floated from the park below, making me feel less alone as I stared at my scribbles.
A Jarhead Junction album played from my phone, and I soon found myself humming along. My pen tapped against the paper. The next song began, and different lyrics sang in my head in tune with the slow ballad on my phone.
When the sea goes still, you’ll find me here
Singing under a half moon bay
When the stars lose their shine,
you’ll find me here
Singing under a half moon bay
Singing a song so sweet, as sweet as the fruit,
the fruit of the land
Singing a song so bright, as bright as the light,
the light of the sky
The song Neal had written long ago was one of his favorites to strum on the guitar and sing to me. The poignant words were a glimpse into his sensitive mind. I wished I would have enquired more about his passion, shown more interest in what drove the poetry he put to music.
Back when we were still close, I had asked about this song. His sad, soulful eyes darted to the crumpled piece of paper in his balled-up hands. Tossing it into the trash, he had explained, “There are many stories that need to be told, but I have to be careful with my words, Novalee. This one, I wrote
for you. It’s part of your story. When it’s perfect, I’ll write it down again. Always remember, this one’s for you.”
I didn’t understand then, and I certainly didn’t understand now.
The Jarhead Junction song ended just as my phone vibrated, scattering the memory of Neal.
I glanced at the screen. The promised call from Pete.
“Hey there,” I greeted softly.
“Hey. Glad I caught you. I’m really sorry about last night—I’d like to make up for it. You free tonight?”
“Sorry, Pete. It’s my neighbor’s birthday today. I’m heading over there in a bit.”
“Neighbor Dane?” he asked, then continued without giving me an opportunity to reply. “Do you and him have something going on?”
“I don’t know.” It was the most honest reply I could give.
“I don’t want to pry, but how well do you know that guy?” Concern softened his voice, and my stomach dropped. Was Pete jealous… or did he sense something off about Dane?
Reigning in my thoughts, I replied in an almost defensive tone, “Well, I only met him recently, I mean, he just moved here from California. He doesn’t know anyone else, and it’s his birthday today.”
“From California? What’s he doing out here?”
“Yeah, Monterey. New job in tequila distribution. Think he just got out of the Army or something.” Pete’s line of questions had me doubting Dane further and further.
Pete hesitated, sighing before speaking. “You’ve been through a lot lately, and I don’t want to see you hurt. You’re a great girl, and he’s lucky to get a chance with you. I hope he doesn’t screw it up.”
I smiled sadly, wishing in a way I felt differently about Pete. He was a sure thing—intelligent, considerate, honest, and straight forward. We had similar careers and mutual colleagues, commonalities which made us an ideal match.
Pete should have had me swooning, while Dane should have had me running.
But sometimes we have no control over who our soul seeks.