“Yes. Good. We spoke. We talked things through, I think. It wasn’t an easy conversation, and tears were shed. I know how you’re a fan of tears.”
I chuckled, stunned. Actually, I wasn’t stunned. I was disbelieving.
“She was nice to you?” I asked.
Now she laughed. “Yes. She was nice to me.”
Huh.
For some reason, I couldn’t let it go. “Are you sure? You know, you could come out here, meet me in San Francisco. I’ll be very nice to you.”
“Yes.” I heard the shy smile in her voice, and I imagined her face wearing it. “I could, and I thought about doing that.”
My heart swelled, ballooning with hope.
“But I think, after my conversation with Lisa today, it’s important for me to stay here.”
I tried not to be jealous or resentful of Lisa. I tried and tried and tried and would likely have to try again tomorrow.
“Okay. Well, the offer is an open one.” I stretched my arm over my head, bringing my hand back to scratch my beard. “Any time you want to join me on tour, please do it.”
“You sound tired. Your voice is scratchy.”
“That’s because we did four encores.” I yawned, relaxing a little. Finally. “I’m not tired.”
“You, Abram Harris, are telling me a falsehood.”
“I would never.” I yawned again around my grin. “Are you always going to call me Abram Harris?”
“Probably. Is that a problem?”
“No. I’m not complaining either. I’m Mr. Fletcher to everyone these days, he feels more like a role I’m playing rather than really me.”
“I get that.” Her voice was low and soft in my ear, and the constant ache of our separation became something else, something warm, less painful. “People have been calling me Ms. DaVinci since I was little. Can I tell you something? I don’t even like my name.”
“Mona DaVinci? I can’t imagine why.”
She chuckled, and then exhaled. “I’ve always thought about changing it.”