went to work. This was the only place in the world I ever told the whole truth, and I needed to get the words out somewhere because I was never, ever going to say them to Miles.
An hour later, I had half-formed verses and incomplete ideas, and nothing even close to good unless, “I love you, Miles Crowe, but I don’t want you to know” was a masterpiece in embryo.
Ha.
My stomach growled, and I put the notebook away, giving up for the moment. Fifteen minutes later, dressed in shorts and a gauzy tank top as a nod to the heat, I left down the back stairs, skirting the restaurant completely. Only I ran into Miles one block up, staring into the window of a record shop.
“Ellie,” he said, surprised. “Hey. On your way to your dinner plans?”
“Hey,” I said, trying to figure out how to make my face look normal when every muscle in it suddenly felt like it was made of goo. Was I smiling? Was it a friendly, professional smile? HOW DID SMILES WORK?
“You okay there?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.
“Yeah, fine.” He nodded, then it fell quiet. “So, uh, I guess I better get to those plans.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Plans. What were they again?”
“Dinner?”
“Right. Where?”
Why was he testing me? And why couldn’t I think of a fast response? The truth was that I was going to Frady’s Grocery which was a counter joint, not the kind of place where people went when they had “plans.” “Up the street.”
“I’m always looking for good new places to eat. What is it? Maybe I’ll check it out tomorrow.” But his tone held a slight challenge, like he knew I didn’t have an answer.
“It’s Frady’s,” I confessed.
“So...you don’t have actual dinner plans.”
“I plan to stuff my face very full of poboys,” I said. “And it’s a very good plan.”
“But by yourself. Not with anyone else. Like me. Who you knew was right downstairs, probably starving around dinner time.”
“It’s not like I invited Chloe either. I need to decompress, that’s all,” I mumbled. It was embarrassing to be caught ditching someone, and it made me cranky to be called on it.
“You can say that, you know.” He said it quietly. It was the first time in a long time that he wasn’t giving me the “good vibes only” smile that he wore no matter what.
“Sorry. I needed...” I trailed off, not sure how to finish the thought. I needed to get away from you sounded rude, even if he’d figured out that was the truth of it.
“Am I driving you crazy? Too much in your space?”
YES.
He looked slightly anxious, so instead I said, “No. Sometimes I like to be by myself, but I’m with people all day, and Chloe’s there when I get home, and...”
He winced. “And you have my needy butt dragging you downstairs every night. I’m sorry. You probably regret leasing to me more with every passing day.”
I did. In many ways, he was exactly right for the Bywater. He was just all wrong for me.
But I hated seeing him look as vulnerable as I felt, so I smiled and shook my head. “You’re a great tenant. And I changed my mind about my plans. If you don’t mind a sandwich for dinner, I’d love some company.”
“Are you saying that to make me feel better?”
I smiled wider, a real smile this time. “I was when I said it, but as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized they were true. So, sandwich?”
“Sandwich,” he agreed, and we headed up the sidewalk toward Frady’s.
“How are you feeling about the Turnaround?” I asked.
“I’m not sure I’ve talked to you about anything besides the club in...weeks? And my brain needs a break from it. You probably need a break from it. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Like what?”
“You pick.”
“Okay. Music.”
He shot me a questioning look. “What about it?”
“Anything,” I said. “How’s the music center doing? Listen to anything good lately? Who are you dying to book at the club? Working on anything yourself? What’s your favorite radio station?”
He laughed. “Let’s see, Jordan and the kids are great. I like Esperanza Spalding’s new album. I’d love to get Kamasi Washington at the club. And I like W-YLD.”
“Huh.” There was a conspicuously missing answer.
“Huh what?”
“You didn’t talk about your own music.”
He shrugged and paused in front of a contemporary art gallery to study the sculpture in the window, a piece made from reclaimed cypress. It was abstract, but it made