by Rachael Wade
And finally, I saw his face the day he’d run into me and Kate at Pike Place Market. The day Kate had agreed to see him again, after he cheated on her with Amy Mercer, the blonde. I remembered the look on his face then, the haunted look, like the one I wore right now. The one that said he didn’t want to live without her, that he’d never be the same man again if she didn’t take him back. I watched him then, as he pleaded with Kate, not wanting to admit that I saw that look. In fact, I hated admitting it to myself. That deep down, I knew he was a good guy who made a bad choice.
My position right now didn’t really compare to Ryan’s. But the longer I stared at my reflection, the more I saw his features. The more I felt his pain. I connected with something there, almost feeling empathetic. I’d come so close to hurting the girl I love. She’d come so close to hurting me. Even if her intention wasn’t to hook up with Ruben the night she left my place for his, she turned to him for consolation. He could have taken advantage of her when she was most vulnerable. It was all too easy to cross that line, to run in the wrong direction when circumstances grew scary.
In an odd way, I was really no different from Ryan.
Emma was no different from Jackson, and Whitney no different from me. We’d all been hurt, like everyone in this world, and when hurt people are so close to love, to something good, they suddenly get cold feet. Like a bride with second thoughts on her wedding day, she takes off running, willing to risk it all for whatever consequences await her. Sometimes those consequences are more bearable than what she would’ve had to face had she gone through with the commitment.
A strange sense of unity settled over me, an understanding for my friends and all they had gone through, all I’d witnessed them endure. The loss of love, life, dreams—it all impaired them in some way, but it didn’t stop them. It didn’t keep them from going after what they wanted all along.
To not be afraid anymore.
I leaned over the sink, bringing my face close to the mirror. The edges were still fogged up with steam, creating an uneven, distorted ring around my features. I didn’t want to let that fear we were all so familiar with eat away at my chance to be happy. I had to face the hard facts. Whitney had turned to Ruben, a guy she had history with and feelings for. Instead of talking things out with her, I’d bolted and wound up in bed—thankfully fully clothed—with a stranger. We’d both sought out different comforts in different ways when the going got rough. But we couldn’t run away from each other. We had to run toward each other. That was the only way we’d ever break the cycle.
Pushing off the sink, I rushed to the dresser for a change of clothes and filled my pockets with my cell, a pack of smokes, and a lighter. Before I dashed out the door, I stopped and fished my cell out and edged myself onto the sofa. My fingers worked fast as I wrote Kate a text.
Bringing Whitney to the wedding.
Will see if Jackson and Emma can come.
I forgive Ryan.
I’m happy for you two. Love you, K. Peace.
***
The scent of cinnamon brought my senses to life when I walked up to the window of the truck, prompting an instant craving. There were only a couple food trucks on the island, unlike back in Seattle, where they lined the busiest streets day and night.
“What can I get you?” a guy at the window asked, wiping his hands on a towel. His green apron was worn and snug around his waist, his floppy blonde hair combed to the side. His glasses looked like mine, only brown.
“Yeah, can I get a cinnamon soy latte, please?”
“Sure thing. Whip cream on that?”
“Nah, thanks.” I pulled at my lip, wincing when I remembered how tender it was from last night’s scuffle. Even though I was showered, shaved, and freshly clothed, I probably looked like a first-class ragamuffin. I worked to push that thought aside, though, and instead focus on the task at hand. “Hey, are you the owner?”
“I am, yup. Is there something I can help you with?”
I paused, eyeing this guy up. He looked close to my age, maybe a few years older. He was the owner of this mobile coffee shop, Joe on the Go. Young and successful. I wondered if he bought the truck on his own or had financial help from family. I wondered if he was secretly loaded and just wanted to run a food truck for kicks. I wondered if that even mattered. A million questions pinged back and forth as I stood there staring at him, but only one thought lodged itself in my brain, sticking like glue.
I wanted to be like him.
Okay, maybe not him, per se. I liked my glasses better, and I was pretty sure music was more exciting than coffee. But he owned something, a business that was his. Somewhere, probably during his twenties, he made a conscious choice to do something. To be something. And now he was here, doing whatever it was he set out to do.
I wanted to be that guy.
The one who turned a passion into reality. The guy who took control over his life and told the whole world what he wanted, not just for the hell of it, or to make money or impress others, but because he was so confident in his desire that the decision to act on it was natural, like breathing. I was done with being passive.
Completely fucking over it.
I was done letting my circumstances send me drifting into a tide of uncertainty, leaving me feeling misplaced, like I didn’t know where I belonged. I’d come to Florida in a whirlwind of confusion, thinking the cure could be found in randomness, in surrendering to that unpredictable current. Maybe it could.
Maybe it was.
But like everything else in life, there’s a time for action. You can’t surrender so fucking much that you yield and yield and keep yielding, until you’ve been swallowed up by indecision. Meeting Whitney woke me up to that reality. She’d turned me into a man of action. But what I had with Whitney—or what I might not have after what went down the night before—was only a push in the right direction.
If I wanted to be that guy, it was time to take the training wheels off.
I cleared my throat and straightened up, looking straight at the owner. “Actually, there is. I see your sign in the window. I’d like to buy this place from you.”
The guy’s polite, relaxed expression changed. He was curious now. Excited. Like me. “Oh, really? Okay, well we should talk, then.” He moved to finish making my latte and pointed to a nearby picnic table. There were a few other people milling around outside, sipping drinks and tinkering with their phones and e-readers. Mumford and Sons filtered through an outdoor speaker with that soothing yet epic sound of theirs, like the hand of God.
I sat down across from Joe on the Go Guy and took a sip of my latte. “I’m Carter,” I said, reaching out for a shake.
“Liam,” he said, sitting back casually. “So, you’re in the market for a food truck?”
“Yeah, something like that. Been looking to start my own business.” I surveyed the truck, giving a satisfied nod. “Only I won’t be selling coffee, though.”
“No? What do you sell?”
“Music. Well, lessons, that is. I want to have a studio, somewhere I can teach. Maybe eventually use it as a small recording space. But I can’t afford that kind of space right now. So I thought it would be cool to have the island’s first mobile music school.”
Liam let out a low whistle. “Wow. We sure don’t have anything like that around here. Most people drive to the mainland for music lessons. You’re a musician?”
“Yeah, I play a little of this, a little of that. Mostly guitar. That’s what I was thinking. I figured something like that might do really well around here. I’ve had my eye on this truck.”
And I had. For weeks.
But the thought to do anything about it was buried deeply somewhere in the back of my skull. I’d come to this food truck before, often when I was feeling nostalgic for the West Coast, always on the search for that perfect Seattle-style cup of coffee. This place stuck out like a sore thumb, standing all alone in the parking lot of a strip mall, but that’s why I liked it. It didn’t belong here on this stretch
of sand, but it did. Its funky cobalt blue exterior and pop-art style décor made it distinctly different from all the other pastel-colored, seashell-themed businesses on this island.
Somewhere, between being completely absorbed with Whitney and struggling to find closure with Kate, I’d gotten distracted. But my time spent with Tia and Tony planted a seed, and I hadn’t been able to shake the idea since I’d first spotted the For Sale sign hanging in the truck’s window.
I sipped at my latte again, tasting the cinnamon on my lips. Wasn’t perfect, like the French-press coffee from Street Treats back home, but it was pretty damn close.
“I’ll be honest with you,” I continued, “I can only afford a modest down payment. I’ll need to look into financing, but I want this truck. I like the idea of being mobile, and I think I can offer this island something they don’t realize they need. Can you give me a week to see what I can do and get back to you?”
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully, clicking his pen and scribbling some numbers down on the back of a receipt. “I can do that. Really, no one but you has shown any interest in this place. I’ve had it up for sale for a long time. Eventually, I took the sign down because no one was biting, but the itch to sell it kept nagging at me, so I said to hell with it and threw the sign back up, hoping for the best. I’ll work with you on the numbers. It’s super reliable and gets decent gas mileage, too.”
“Sounds good. What’s next for you? You opening up a brick and mortar shop somewhere?”
Liam’s gaze wandered past me and across the parking lot, a secret smile tugging at his lips. Faint creases formed around his eyes, behind his glasses. There was a fondness there, for what I didn’t know. “Nah, I’m done with the coffee business. I’m not sure what I’m going to do when I sell Joe on the Go. All I know is I wanna get off this island and do something different.”
“I know how that goes,” I said, with all the honesty in the world. “You lived here long?”
“A few years now, yeah. I wasn’t born here or anything. Just wound up on the island one day.” He laughed, bringing his gaze down to his hands. He was wringing them on the table. “There was a girl, you know. Anyway, I liked it here and wanted to stay. I loved coffee and freedom, and that’s what I had here. For a while. I don’t regret any of it. I wanted it all—her, this truck, this life. Everything. But it’s time to go.” He straightened up, letting his hands fall to his knees. “Simple as that.”
“I hope I can take Joe off your hands, then.” I smiled, moving to stand up.
“Me, too. I’m glad you came by. Enjoy that latte.” He stood and tapped the table, then turned and waltzed back to the truck, where a customer stood patiently at the window.
I didn’t know how I was going to pull it off just yet, but I was going to buy this truck.
Simple as that.
Chapter 14
Fingerprints
I spent the evening giving Tia her lesson and catching up with Tony about the turn of events after he and Tia left for the evening, filling him in on how our surprise performance had indeed won Whitney over, and how, sadly, that magic was lost the second her good friend Ruben decided to show up. I left out the part about me wandering to Pete’s, meeting Eva, and making a fool out of myself. I felt comfortable with Tony, but I didn’t want to make things awkward. After all, I was banking on him being my first real reference when I opened up my new studio.
The reality was, I still had no idea how I was going to pay for that truck. I’d made a point to save some of the money my dad had sent me since I moved here, stashing away as much as I could for emergencies, and being as how my bills were slim and I was making extra cash teaching Tia, I’d managed to save up a bit. The amount was still nowhere near what I’d need for a down payment, though.
Liz was packed up and I was on my way out Tony’s door when he stopped me.
“Carter, my boy, hold up!” He caught the front door and rushed Tia off to her bedroom, insisting she go with Hilda to get ready for her bath. She stomped her feet and whined, but eventually complied, running off down the hall with the housekeeper/nanny while humming Queen Whitney’s song.
“What’s up, Tony?”
He waved me back inside and shut the door, clearing his throat. I scanned his face, watching as the wheels in his head churned. He rubbed at his chin, and his eyes grew watery. Holy shit, was the dude about to cry on me?
“I want you to know what a positive force you’ve been in Tia’s life,” he began, walking to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. He offered me one but I declined, still hurting from the night before. “Sit.” He pointed to the sofa and I sat, letting Liz’s case slide down my arm. My gaze was fixed on his face, completely stunned that this jolly, friendly man suddenly looked so melancholy.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“More than okay, more than okay. Listen, to hear Tia laugh and sing along with you…to see her joy when she says she’s learning to play guitar to sing to Mommy in heaven—” he inhaled a strangled breath, his jaw tightening, “well, it overwhelms me, Carter. You know what she says?” He laughed, shaking his head and taking a sip of his drink. “She says she wants to be good enough to play with the angels some day. So her mommy will be proud.” He choked on the last sentence. This big, teddy bear of a dude was falling apart right in front of me, and all I could think about was my dad. How fucking lucky I was to have someone who cared about me the way Tony clearly cared for Tia. It made me thankful for the heart-to-heart phone convo we’d had just last weekend.
I looked down at my shoes.
“It’s been…” I searched for the words, feeling my chest expand with a deep breath, “a real honor to teach your daughter, Tony. She’s a good kid.”
“She is,” he moved his glass back and forth, rolling it between his hands, “she is.”
“I know our arrangement is up, but if you decide you’d like me to continue teaching her, I’d be more than happy to, you know. In fact,” I leaned forward, resting my arms on my knees, “I’m looking at opening up a mobile music school. You know, for teaching private lessons, small groups, that sort of thing. I’d like to make this a full-time gig, eventually. I’m working on figuring out the details, but it’s going to happen.”
Tony’s entire countenance lightened, that merry gleam I’d come to know so well flickering in his teary-eyed gaze. “I’m so happy to hear that, my boy. Truly. That’s fantastic news, yes?”
“I hope so.” I smiled, rubbing my hands together. “It’s a risk, but I’d like to see what happens.”
“Well, I’m really glad to hear that news, because I hope you will accept this.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a check, quickly handing it to me. “Consider it down payment for the next twelve months. I’d like Tia to continue taking lessons with you. I’d like to make the investment, want to give her a full year’s worth. It’s a long-term commitment for a child her age, I know, but she shows such interest, such passion in learning this instrument. I just know she’ll love it. She was really crushed before you showed up tonight, knowing this was her last lesson.”
“Yeah, she was a little touchy tonight,” I laughed.
“A little?” He threw his head back, chuckling. “My boy, she would have given Aphrodite a run for her money tonight!”
My lips twisted upwards. He was right. My gaze fell to the check in my hand and a weight dropped, settling on my shoulders. “Tony…this is a lot of money. I can’t take this.”
“You can, and you will!”
“She’s just a kid. What if she gets bored of this a month from now? I can’t take such a large advance like this. Please, you should just pay me as we go.”
“She might want to give it up, who knows? She’s only 6, and kids change their minds all the time. I see that it makes her happy, and that’s all that counts. When she’s done, she’s done. You will take money. Even if she doesn’t continue, check is yours. You gave us something invaluable, here. You…how do you say…moved my fam
ily. This is the least I can do. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes, of course.”
My eyes flitted back down to the check. It was sticking to my fingers with sweat. Everything in me begged to continue arguing with him. To insist he take no for an answer. It was too much money. I needed him to take the check back and rip it up, because the gesture, no matter how thoughtful and sincere, was way, way too much. My fingertips twitched over the paper, a lump forming in my throat.
The pressure bombarded me, but my mouth formed no objections.
I quickly folded the check and nodded, slipping it into my pocket. “Thank you, Tony. You have no idea what this means to me.”
He swiftly stood, leaning over to clap me on the back. “Get moving, now, my boy. Go open that school you speak of, yes?”
My shaky knees rose and I lifted myself from the sofa, slinging Liz back over my shoulder in a daze. “I will,” I said. “You can count on it.”
Tony walked me to the door and I was off, an extra bounce in my step as I strode through Orpheus’ bustling kitchen.
***
The next few days were quiet, with no word from Jack, Emma, or Whitney. I assumed Jack and Emma were still going through their roller coaster wars, and when it came to Whitney, I figured it was just better to give her some space. The truth was, I needed some, too. I had business to take care of, and in between working down at the shop and catching up on some long, much-needed phone convos with Kate and Dean, I was planning new lessons for Tia.