by Mia Josephs
She snatched her laptop while Van scrolled through movies, settling on something with Jason Statham’s dirt-streaked face on the front.
Typical.
But there were worse things than spending an evening eating popcorn and watching Statham’s abs, biceps, and crooked smile on screen.
“Okay.” Van patted the spot on the couch between him and Chuck. “Stop working. Come sit. Movie time.”
She bit her lip, grasping the edges of her laptop. Writing up their night and her thoughts on popcorn recipes felt a lot easier than joining in.
“Do you guys want something to drink? Or a refill?”
“I’m stuffed.” Chuck patted his stomach, his plate of food already scraped clean.
“Sit. Down.” Donovan smirked and she finally relented, finding her spot between the guys on the couch.
Van hit play and Chuck brought everyone a cup of water, and by the time Statham let the “package” in the back of his car out for a pee break, they were passing the popcorns back and forth.
“How many times have you guys seen this movie?” Sierra asked after the fifth time one of them had said something about the next bit being the best part.
Chuck tapped his chin. “One or two, or…”
“Close to twenty.” Donovan smiled. “And should I ask how many times you’ve seen Pride and Prejudice?”
She felt her cheeks warm. “Nope.”
“That’s what I thought.’
“Shhh!” Chuck pointed at the screen. “This is so good.”
Sierra glanced at Donovan whose blue eyes still rested on her. The same tingling in her stomach and chest skittered inside her as she scooted lower in the couch, her long day slowly catching up to her.
Sometime between the guys shifting and talking and the blasts from the TV screen, Sierra dozed off.
“Dude,” Chuck started the second the movie rolled to credits. “You’re so sunk.”
Donovan held a finger to his lips. Sierra’s head rested on his shoulder, and she was fast asleep. The last thing he needed was her waking up in the middle of a Chuck truth-telling session.
Instead of answering he flipped his friend off. “Use your key and lock the door behind you,” he whispered.
Chuck didn’t move. “You like her,” he whispered back. “And I can see why. She’s hot. She can cook. And from what I’ve seen, she’s a pretty cool chick.”
“But…” Donovan concentrated to keep his whisper soft. “It’s not like I can casually date her to see if it works out. We have too much history. On top of which, I really need to talk to Hanson if I’m even entertaining the idea, which I don’t think I am.”
“She’s asleep on you. You’re past entertaining. You’re teetering on the ledge, man. And I think it’s great.” Chuck backed up a step.
Donovan shook his head. “Hanson is just the first block. Her dad is next.” His mouth dried out at the thought of even suggesting to Hanson that he might like Sierra, but to Clark? His stomach clenched up at the thought of it.
“Just know that I’m not stupid and totally see where this is leading.” Chuck smiled wide. “Good luck with the denial phase you’re trying to hang out in. Night.”
Donovan breathed in—the smell of cinnamon sticking to Sierra from one of the popcorns.
Was he teetering right on the edge? How was he even supposed to know? They lived together. Maybe the way he felt was simply a bi-product of that?
“See?” he whispered. “Time to crash.”
She pulled in a quick breath through her small nose before relaxing again.
Donovan grasped her knee. “Sierra?”
“Hmm?” She tipped her head up, her lids heavy from sleep and stretched her arms above her head as she sat up, pulling her tank up to expose a sliver of smooth stomach. “Did I miss the end?”
“Kind of the second half.” He stood up quickly trying not to replay her stretch in his mind.
“Sorry.” She frowned and ran her hands over her smooth hair. “And I made a mess.”
“Go to bed. I’ll help you with it tomorrow.” He should also go to bed, but instead he stood at the edge of the hallway watching her.
“I’m way too tired to argue.” She picked up her phone from the coffee table and followed him into the hallway.
“Hey, Sierra?” he asked.
“Yeah?” She leaned against the wall next to the door of her room, her eyes still half-closed.
Everything in his body knotted up in confusion again. “Have I been weird since you got here?”
She let her head fall to one side. “Maybe a little. I keep wondering if it’s a hazard of growing up, or if it’s me, or if maybe you’re wishing I wasn’t here. A lot of things.” She yawned again. “I miss your music.”
He squeezed his eyes tight for a moment. “I’m used to living with a guy I’ve lived with for years. Someone I don’t even have to think about being in the same house, you know?”
She blinked. “Should I not be here?”
“No, no, no…” He shook his head. “I just wanted to apologize. Part of me still sees you as that very loud thirteen year old, who was so big and fun at home and so quiet at school, and now you’re…” He found himself gesturing to her perfect body instead of just saying the words, which would have been far too telling of how he felt. “You’re grown up, and I guess that’s… I guess that’s weird for me, but it shouldn’t be.”
“Well…” She grasped her doorknob. “Thanks?”
It was a stupid thing to do, and he knew it was stupid before he did it. Still, he found himself stepping forward and putting his arms around her. “I’ll try to be less weird.”
Only with the way her body felt pressed against his, the chances were slim.
Sierra grasped him tightly, hugging him with everything she had—like always. “I’ll try to act more like an annoying thirteen-year old.”
He found himself laughing a little as he let her go, but when he stepped back, his hands didn’t quite come with him. They rested on her upper arms. His eyes floated over her petite features, soft face, smooth lips.
“Well, goodnight!” He dropped his arms, spun toward his door and rested his back against it the second it was closed behind him. He had to sort out what he was feeling. And fast. Like, before Hanson called him back.
Ten
Sierra’s craft cabinet was open, and she was perched on a chair she’d found at a yard sale a year or so ago, typing away and finishing her popcorn post. All she could think about was the hug in the hallway. His hands resting on her arms. His eyes, so completely sincere. After being so tired she missed Statham’s gorgeous jaw line tensed in fake anger for half the movie, she was up all night thinking about Donovan’s hands on her arms.
Donovan lounged on the couch in a t-shirt and sweats, a sliver of pale stomach showing, making Sierra desperate to keep her eyes on her work. But he kept laughing, and when he did, his shirt would move just slightly…
What she needed to do was finish the inside of her cabinet and make the living room look less like a cheap apartment with a good furniture arrangement, and more like a house or something “Sierra-like” or maybe she should just keep working in her bedroom, which is where should have been in that moment. But Donovan was almost never home, and she didn’t want to miss any of it.
She cringed as she checked her email inbox, just waiting for another rejection on her book. Scanning quickly, she saw nothing from editors or agents. She let out a long breath and her eyes flitted from her computer screen to the TV screen.
“Isn’t it way early in the year for Christmas Vacation?” she asked staring at the TV.
“The fall term starts so early here. That’s not my fault,” he said seriously. “You start fall term, and just after that you get to start watching stupid Christmas movies.”
“Fair enough.” She went back to her computer for a moment.
“You get my note about my marketing class helping with the sale at the store?” she asked.
“O
h, yeah.” Donovan turned toward her. “Yeah. I keep meaning to say something about that, and I keep forgetting. That sounds fantastic. Really. I love the idea of helping them finish what I remember was a really crappy class, and I’d love the help. Marketing is not my forte.”
Sierra paused her typing, very careful to keep her eyes on his face instead of his lower abs. “Your forte is your music.”
Donovan shrugged. “It’s a nice hobby.”
“You played a ton when you were in college, didn’t you?” she asked, knowing he had.
“I did. Paid the bills, and left me without student loans.” He glanced back to the TV, smiling again. “I recorded two mediocre albums. And when you stuck an old video of me on your face-twitter-whatever, I sold a few more than normal, but nothing spectacular.”
Sierra released a breath, wondering if she should be even asking him about his music. “Does the store keep you too busy with Hanson gone? Is that why you don’t play so much anymore? Or is the store what you really want to do?”
Donovan very pointedly watched the screen, making Sierra wonder what was behind his answer that he might not want her to see. “The store is enough of a risk for me. And the more work I put into that, the more steady the income is. We get older, we grow up, and we start choosing the smart thing.”
“Is that…okay with you?” she asked.
His eyes caught hers, his face unreadable.
“My dream of dreams is much simpler and has very little to do with the store or my guitar.” His eyes flashed back to the TV. “The money helps.”
That was cryptic.
“I just miss your playing is all.” She began frantically typing again. Nonsense on the page just to make him think her mind wasn’t on him.
“Says the girl who threatens to withhold meals if I don’t sing her a song?” he teased.
“That’s the one.”
She headed for Facebook, and began scrolling down her Newsfeed, stopping at a video that looked familiar…
The video began to play. Donovan. At the bar from the other night. “Someone videoed you at the bar.” She glanced at the views. Five digits. Already. She hit share before Donovan could tell her no.
“How’d you figure that out?” he asked.
Sierra turned her computer around. “Twenty-five thousand hits, Van. In just a few days. This is big.”
He sat up and walked over. “Who the hell even did this?”
She shrugged. “I can find out if you like…” But before he could give an answer she followed the link to Facebook to check if it was a re-post on there or an original upload.
“You know a Mike Williams?” she asked.
“Bastard,” Donovan mumbled. “I can’t believe he did that.”
“Well, I’m sharing the crap out of this because it’s awesome. Maybe you’ll play more.” She smiled as she looked up at him, loving that she got to see him lazy in the morning while wearing his pajamas.
“This morning is the one morning I get off for two weeks. I’m about to hire two new people, and the training is always a bitch. Alyson doesn’t have the patience for it.” He pushed a hand over his head. Sierra would have given anything to know what he was thinking about. “There’s no time to play more.”
Donovan stretched his strong arms above his head, lengthening the torso she really wanted to wrap her arms around, once again exposing the perfect strip of skin just above his pajama pants.
Damn.
“Um…” She coughed. “So it’s cool if my group from Marketing meets up near closing time at the store?”
He nodded. “Sounds fine. I’m gonna shower. Pretend Mike’s not an asshole. And I’ll make sure I stick around there until you guys show up. Sound good?”
“Thanks, Van.” In ways he’d always been nicer to her than her brother. And speaking of brother, she should probably figure out when he was due back—if there was a way to get a hold of him. She also was determined to find a way to encourage Van to play more.
Sierra hit publish on her popcorn post and started in on emails as Donovan took his shower. Naked. With hot water. And soap.
She had to bake something.
All Donovan could think about was how close to thirty thousand people had watched his random open mic at the local bar. What did that mean? Had he chosen wrong in doing the store with Hanson? It felt so much safer at the time. Still did…for the most part.
He tapped his fingers on his desk, his thoughts spinning.
Sierra was going to come near the end of the workday. Every knock on his office door made him jump half out of his skin. Every stupid text from Chuck asking if he’d found a way to nail her yet, ground his teeth together. And he still didn’t know how to approach Mike for posting the video, but Mike was in business just like Donovan was in business. If he thought Donovan would bring in more people… It’s not like Donovan signed anything, or Mike had signed anything to say that Donovan wouldn’t be recorded.
Nothing from Hanson, and he started about ten emails to Clark before giving up on finding anything to say to him. He missed talking to his surrogate dad, but he had no idea what would come out of his mouth when Clark asked about his daughter.
He was short with customers. Short with employees. He felt too young to be doing an old man’s job, so he hid in the back room and tried to sort stock, but Sierra had taken care of so much, there wasn’t a lot to do.
Five trips to his favorite coffee shop, and about a million email checks later, he gave up. He finally had to admit that he was anxious about Sierra coming in with her group, and it was stupid, but there it was.
“It’s dead in here.” Alyson paused in the doorway. “And you’re acting weird today. Can I take off early?”
Donovan nodded and gestured for her to leave. “Fine.”
She paused in the doorway for just a moment longer before wandering out.
Maybe he’d tinker around and clean in the storefront—though, with how quiet it had been, Alyson probably had it taken care of.
He moved into the store from the back room, the wall of backpacks looking a little thin with the beginning of school, but the boots were in order. Socks were hung. Wooden floor immaculate. Even his favorite area of camp stoves, water bottles, compasses and gadgets were aligned.
The familiar wood walls helped him relax a bit. Everything was in order. Every part of his body still felt amped, like he’d done nothing but drink coffee all day, which wasn’t the case--at least not entirely.
Sunlight streamed through the front windows, and he rested his hands on his head. Maybe he needed to bring an extra guitar back into the store for slow days like this. Maybe he should be playing more. The U2 song on the radio gave way to Lita James new unplugged single. Damn, the woman could sing. And still he stood there in the shop, just staring at the front window onto the street, listening to Lita James. Remembering when he used to listen to unplugged tracks and think—one day that’ll be me. Life was life, though. Once he realized that there was something he wanted more than music, he’d shifted his life to suit that goal instead. Had be been right? He thought so until… Until what? Until Mike recorded him and people liked it? Until Sierra’s incredulous look over him not playing much anymore? He wasn’t sure.
The store phone rang, and Donovan answered, “Great Outdoors.”
“I’m looking for Donovan Holmes.”
Crap.
“You got him.”
“Holy shit, man. Do you know how hard you are to find?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Gavin, from Solomon’s.”
“Oh…hey…” Donovan hadn’t answered them, and assumed the offer to play was gone.
“You ever check your Facebook?” he asked through a laugh.
“Not if I can help it.”
“We wanted you to play. Had a few people ask about you. You didn’t answer, so we filled the spot, but I saw your YouTube video, and a different night opened up. Thursday, which isn’t the best, but is far from the worst.”
“Yeah. Mike. I saw,” Gavin said. “You still interested? Because I think you can still draw a crowd Donovan, and if you wait much longer people are going to forget who you are.”
Donovan rubbed his eyelids with his fingertips. He knew this. He knew, but hearing it out loud, from someone who knew the music scene… His stomach clenched and he leaned on the counter.
“Donovan?”
“What day did you have in mind?” he asked. Was he really doing this? When was Hanson coming back? The last time he’d done a gig at Solomon’s, it had turned into a mini tour through Washington and Oregon and some college kid had stolen thousands from the shop while he was away.
One gig.
One.
He could manage one.
“Two weeks from now. Thursday night. Eight.”
“Why?” Donovan blurted. “Why me? I haven’t been around, I don’t…”
“Because a bar owner can put a random video of you online and it takes off. Because your style of music is too mellow for me, and I still wanna hear you play.”
“Shit. Yes. I’ll do it.” He just now had to find time to practice and smooth over some of his new lyrics and get ready for the sale, keep the store running smoothly, find a replacement for Alyson when she left… This was not a good idea.
“Great. I’ll send you the information to your store’s email. Does that work?”
“Yep,” Donovan croaked out. “Thanks for uh… Thanks for thinking of having me on.”
“Let’s hope we both make a fair chunk of money.” Gavin chuckled. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Donovan slowly hung up the phone, still leaning against the counter. Why him? Why now?
Sierra came into view through the glass first. Her hair shone in the dimming light, and her smile filled her face. Her short dress skimmed her legs about mid-thigh as she turned to talk to a tall guy behind her.
He knew the type immediately—more money than he’d let on. More privilege than he should have. Something in the way he walked and in the pressed shirt he wore… Just. Something. The guy’s gaze never wavered from Sierra’s face until she turned back away and then it floated down her body.