He nodded slowly. “Ahhh, okay.”
Gabe crossed over to the couch and sat down. He hit play, and the show resumed. The man fended off the zombie attack with some help from the ragtag group of survivors, and the show went on to the next catastrophe.
Gabe looked over at Grace on occasion and was amused to see her hold up the pillow near her face when certain characters were in danger. She still reacted, even though she knew what was going to happen.
When the next episode ended, he stood up and stretched. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked, needing something himself.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“Southern and Seven.”
“I’ll take the same,” she said.
“Awesome.”
He went to the kitchen and made two drinks. He set hers on the small table next to the chair.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So, how far into the series are you?” he asked.
“Far. You won’t believe what happens. I will warn you, don’t get too attached to any characters. There’s a good possibility they won’t make it.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep, you’ll see. But enough talking, put the show back on,” she said.
“Well, all right then,” Gabe said with a laugh, and clicked on the next episode.
Hours later, after many more zombie attacks, and more than a few characters lost, Gabe looked over at Grace. She was sleeping, still clutching the pillow to her chest. In the dim light from the lamp, he could see tears trickling down her cheeks. His heart constricted in his chest and he got up to kneel next to her. Gently, he stroked her hair. He bit his bottom lip to keep the words he wanted to say at bay, afraid he would wake her. Terrified he’d say too much.
When she seemed to be calm again, he grabbed one of Glinda’s blankets from the end of the sofa and covered her. He reached out and caressed her cheek, then he turned the lamp off beside the chair and clicked on another episode.
***
Grace
Grace woke with a start, eyes wide, heart beating furiously. She looked around in the dim haze of the light from the TV. Gabe was sleeping on the couch. Resting, he looked less tough rocker and more like the guy she remembered. Sitting up, she stretched out kinks that had resulted from napping upright.
Hearing her stir, Gabe roused too. He sat up on the sofa, stretched, and grabbed his phone off the guitar-shaped coffee table.
“What time is it?” Grace asked.
“Nine o’clock.”
Grace stood up and stretched again, still feeling the effects of sleeping on the chair. She walked through the cabin to the restroom. When she returned, Gabe was in the kitchen.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“A little.”
He nodded. “I’ll see what I got. Why don’t you put on some music?”
“Sounds good. Music, I can do. Cooking, not so much,” Grace said, and Gabe smiled.
“I don’t cook much either, but I’m sure I can whip up something.”
Grace crossed over to the stereo system. It was a state of the art system with the works—an iPod docking station, and surround sound speakers. An extensive vinyl record collection was housed in shelves underneath the system. A lost art, Grace thought, pulling some of the covers out and running her hands over them. Old Foreigner, ZZ Top, and even Urban Cowboy. Seeing that album, she smiled.
Gabe’s tastes were as wide as her own. Like Grace, Gabe also picked up albums for pure entertainment. Although, Grace doubted that he owned the Village People like she did. Grace had never actually listened to the album, but it was fun to have in her collection.
Grace settled on an old Van Morrison album and powered the record player on. She set the needle on the record, loving the sound of the familiar scratch as the needle hit the vinyl. The gentle, soothing sounds of the old music rang through the small cabin. Grace returned to the kitchen area and took a seat on a barstool. As she did, Gabe set a glass in front of her.
“Good choice,” he said, indicating the music.
“Thank you. It’s mellow.”
“And perfect after a stormy, zombie evening.” He smiled again. The silver lip ring flashed in the light, and Grace’s stomach fluttered just a little. His green eyes met hers, and, nervously, Grace looked down at her drink.
“I’ve always loved “Into the Mystic,”” Grace said, “but it’s a song I’ve never performed on stage or karaoke.”
“I don’t think I have either,” Gabe said. “It’s like one of those old classics you hear and think, ‘Man, what a great song!’ and then it’s gone again.”
“You’re right.”
“Maybe we’ll have to change that at Snapper’s one night.”
“Maybe so,” Grace said. Glancing down again, she saw the Urban Cowboy album she had carried over with the rest of the albums. She picked it up and showed it to Gabe.
“Look! It’s Ryder! Same black cowboy hat, black hair, everything. I never realized he looks like a young John Travolta. That chest hair though!”
Gabe laughed and reached out for the cover. “You know, you’re right!”
“Lookin’ for love in all the wrong places,” Gabe said. “That could be Ryder’s theme song.”
“Yes, it definitely could,” Grace said, smiling. Although they both knew that what Ryder was looking for wasn’t love.
“I tell you what,” Gabe said, handing her a pen and pad of paper, “why don’t you start a list of songs, and we can start a set list.”
“Awesome. I can do that. We can branch away from the eighties hair bands and bar songs I’ve been doing with the other band. Try something new, for me, anyway.”
“You do that, and I’ll start cooking. Feel free to look over the records. Or,” he said, sliding his phone over to her, “you can see what I have on my phone.”
“The first two have to be “Into the Mystic” and “Looking for Love,”” Grace said, writing the titles down on the pad. “Let me go see what else you have. To make it more fun, we have to listen to them too.”
She slid off the barstool and went back to the corner that housed the record collection. She pulled out a bright blue album. “Journey, of course,” she said, laying that album aside. “Faithfully” was a favorite of hers, and Gabe’s raspy rocker voice would give it an edgy makeover. Grace would text Carly later and ask if she wanted to schedule an ’80s night. Carly would love the big hair and neon. Grace remembered that Carly had hosted theme nights before with success. Nothing like reliving high school memories, Grace supposed, grateful her teens had been a bit more edgy. Grace thought of teasing her hair and cringed. She was more Joan Jett than Debbie Gibson.
“Oooh!” Grace said, scribbling down some Joan on the list. She was sure Gabe didn’t have the album, but Grace had it on her iPod. Grace continued going through the albums, grabbing a few and adding more to the pile, and putting some back. Some wouldn’t do.
When finished, she carried the treasures back to the bar and laid them down before taking a sip of her drink. Gabe had resumed his work in the kitchen and was busy with pots and pans.
“Whatcha cookin?” Grace asked.
“I thought some good old comfort food, after the rain and all. A little shrimp and sausage jambalaya and some potato salad. Simple enough.”
Grace took another sip of her drink. “Simple for you maybe. I’m just one step above Carly in the kitchen skills department. Boxed spaghetti or macaroni and cheese is about the best I can do.”
Gabe laughed. “You think I had a chance of growing up with Glinda and not being able to cook at least a little. She still sends me care packages in Austin! Like I’m starving or something.”
Grace smiled. “She loves you.”
“Yes, she does, and I love her,” he said, continuing to cut onions, bell peppers, and celery, the trinity of Cajun cooking. Every recipe known to Cajun man started with those three ingredients.
He nodded to the pile of records. “Yo
u found some good stuff?”
“I did.”
“Great. You keep the music going, and we can add or cross off. After we eat, I’ll grab my guitar and we can see what we’ve got.”
Grace nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
Grace watched as he looked at her, chewing on his bottom lip. She could see the questions flicker across his face. Grace stiffened. She looked away, to stare at the front door. She could leave now. Make some excuse. She was tired. It was late. It was easier than staying and awkwardly avoiding questions. She got enough of those from Joey and Ryder.
Gabe reached out and gestured to the albums in front of her. “Tell me you have some women in mind as well. It can’t just be all men. You need some time to shine.”
Grace exhaled a breath, relieved. “Of course I do.”
She pulled out a Fleetwood Mac album. “Not sure of any of these, but we can take a listen. I’m thinking more Stevie Nicks.”
“Of course.” He went back to chopping vegetables, and Grace resumed her comfortable slump on the stool. She continued flipping through the records, making notes, stopping to hum a few bars of songs to get the feel for the lyrics, the rhythm.
Gabe continued cooking, stopping occasionally to make a comment on a song, an artist, or make a recommendation to keep a song or cut it. Before Grace knew it, she was more relaxed than she had been in days. Maybe she had just needed some music therapy.
Grace leaned back on the stool and exhaled a deep breath. “Looks like we have quite a list going. We have our work cut out for us. We’ll have to run through them a few times.”
“That’s fine,” Gabe said. “I got nothing but time.” He looked up from the cutting board and Grace was struck by the look she saw in his eyes. A glint she had never noticed before from him. Attraction.
Shocked, she looked down at her drink again. It was empty. “I need a refill.”
“I’ll get it,” Gabe said when she started to get up.
“It’s okay,” Grace said.
“I haven’t seen you this relaxed since you got here, Grace,” he said, his green eyes narrowing and piercing into hers. “Let me do it. You take it easy.”
Grace smiled. She pushed the glass forward. “You win.”
“This one,” he said.
He refilled the glass and set it in front of her. He pulled up the lid on the heavy cast iron pot that sat on the gas stove. The spicy scent of Cajun cooking wafted through the kitchen.
“Almost done,” Gabe said, setting the lid back down after a quick stir to keep the rice from sticking. Satisfied all was well, Gabe set some plates and utensils out on the bar, refilled his drink, and finished readying the meal.
He hummed along with the music, filling the plates as the food finished. They spent the meal talking about music. They compared notes about bands they had seen live, which ones were on their bucket lists to see, and about music festivals they hadn’t been to yet but wanted to go to. Like the Festival Acadien in Lafayette that featured local bands, artists, and cuisine.
As the meal and conversation progressed, Grace felt herself relax even more.
“That was awesome,” she said, pushing the plate forward. “I’m stuffed.”
She took another sip of her drink and leaned back on the barstool. “Still want to try out some of those songs?”
Gabe grinned. “Yes, I would. You wanna go outside? Maybe light a fire?”
“That sounds great. You want me to help you pick up?”
“Nah, I’ll get it.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“’Kay,” Grace said, carrying a drink outside. She had left her guitar at Joey’s, but if all they were doing was running through a few songs, she really didn’t need it.
Grace sank down into one of the Adirondack chairs around the stone fire pit she suspected Gabe had made himself, as it was different from most of the pits she had seen running or walking by the other cabins.
She propped her feet up on the grey stone surrounding the fire pit and leaned back. The sky was dark, dotted with sparkling stars. Smoke grey wisps of clouds passed by a fat, full moon. Grace exhaled a breath, all tension gone for now, a blessed relief.
The screen door opened and Gabe came outside, guitar case in hand.
“You look comfortable,” he said, setting the case down on a chair before moving about the deck to gather firewood.
“I am,” Grace said. “It must be this place. And the good food. And the company.”
She caught his smile in the moonlight and smiled back, but when his eyes met hers, she looked away.
He was quiet as he got the fire going. Soon, yellow sparks drifted up and into the darkness.
“You ready?” Gabe asked. Grace noticed he had also carried his iPad out, probably to look up any songs they didn’t know.
“You bet. What are we starting with?” Grace asked.
“You pick,” he said, strumming a few bars on the guitar and humming along.
“How about we start with “Into the Mystic”?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, and started playing the first few notes, nodding his head while he sang.
Grace joined in on the chorus. Their voices joined together and floated up with the sparks from the fire and disappeared into the night sky.
Chapter Eight
Gabe
The next evening, Gabe stepped out of the shower to get ready to go to Snapper’s. He stood in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around his waist. Drying his hair, he thought about what he would wear that evening. Usually, he would just throw on any old thing. Something like an old sweatshirt or t-shirt and jeans, Saints cap, and boots. Tonight was different. Tonight, Grace would be there. He wanted to look his best for her.
His thoughts turned to the night before. Even as relaxed as she had been singing, she still had that edge of anger in her voice and eyes. It had to have something to do with the band she left. Gabe wondered what would have happened that was so bad she’d walk away from it all. Gabe had no idea. Maybe she would trust him enough to tell him eventually. Maybe? There was no maybe. Gabe would do whatever it took to make her see that she could trust him.
Gabe reached out to grab some cologne from the vanity, and when he did, he saw his reflection. He wondered if she even noticed the changes he had made. How was he going to reach her when she was so far away?
He grabbed a newer pair of jeans and a green shirt that Carly had complimented him on the last time he wore it. He spiked his short hair with a little of that gooey stuff his hair dresser had pushed on him the last time he got it cut. After a final glance in the mirror, he was out the door.
***
Grace
“Man, I don’t feel like getting dressed up tonight,” Grace said as she got in the shower. She wanted to stay in her room in her pajamas and eat junk, listen to some good music on her iPod, or stare at something on TV. She still was not feeling sociable. She had too much on her mind. She would have to go to New Orleans soon and deal with the fallout from leaving the band. She needed to pack up her things at the apartment as well. At least she had this room at Joey’s. She didn’t have to worry about finding a place any time soon, or deposits. Other than a credit card and some student loans, she didn’t have any real debt to worry about.
Grace stepped out of the bathroom and surveyed her traveling bag. Eventually, she was going to have to deal with that issue. She couldn’t live out of it forever, and she was already getting tired of wearing the same old clothes. It had only been about a week, but she hadn’t brought that many changes of clothes, and she hated doing laundry.
Finally deciding on a black baggy band shirt and jeans, she dressed quickly then paid some attention to her face. She applied a slight bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. She tied her hair back into a ponytail. After a pat to Furby’s head, she set out for Snapper’s.
When she got there, Ryder, Joey, and Gabe were already at the bar. They had taken their spot in the corner, and as usual the
re were two open spots in the middle. One for her and one for Carly, who would be joining them later.
The jukebox was playing as the karaoke deejay was setting up. A couple of the other regulars had a pool game going on. Grace said hello to the regulars she knew and went to meet the guys. Ryder had a pool stick in hand already. Either he had lost or was about to play next. She stopped and gave each guy a hug, then took the stool Ryder held out for her. One thing about her guys, they always treated her like a princess. If she was the princess, Carly was the queen. Especially considering that Joey was in love with her and had been in love with her for forever. One day, those two would figure it out. Grace wasn’t getting in the middle of that. She loved them both too much.
“Any luck finding some more gigs?” Gabe asked.
“Not really,” she said. “Everyone is booked right now. It’s the season and no one wants to be without music.” She frowned. “Maybe I can get some in a few weeks. I do have the ones coming up at the Wahoo.”
Gabe said, “Something will turn up.”
“It will.”
She turned to Ryder. “Are you working in New Orleans again next week?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Can I ride with you one day? I need to go by my apartment and get some things.”
“It’ll cost you,” he said.
Grace rolled her eyes. “What will it cost me?”
He grinned, then grabbed her hand. “You gotta dance with me.”
“Oh, all right. Jeesh,” she said, smiling, and let him twirl her out onto the dance floor.
***
Gabe
For a moment, Grace dropped her guard, her attitude, her anger, and was the Grace he remembered. As she danced, her long black hair swirled around her, her face beamed with happiness. Gabe smiled too. Maybe all she needed was to be home. Maybe she needed some distance from New Orleans.
“What’s going on with Grace?” Joey asked, coming to stand beside Gabe.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Running On Empty (Fleur de Lis Book 2) Page 6