marveled. I’ve loved him since I caught a concert of his at a hole-in-the-wall bar in LA.
“I love this song,” Desmond says, surprising me with an approving nod.
I can feel my eyes light up when I turn to him. “Me too.”
I still forget that he was born in the same city as me. But at moments like these when I catch the slight twang of country that slips off his tongue and notice his flare of Southern hospitality evidently displayed in his kitchen and recipes, I realize what attracted me to him in the first place. Desmond reminds me of home.
He starts to drive down First Avenue and shoots me a quick glance. “You going to tell me where this show is tonight? Key Arena? Showbox?”
“Paramount. I probably could have walked.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I cringe, bracing for his reaction.
He cuts me a look, and that’s the only response I need.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I said anything. I appreciate the ride.”
“Good.” It’s silent between us while we listen to the rest of the song. Then Desmond clears his throat. “How do you like working for White Water?”
I shrug. “They pay me well. The jobs are fun and easy enough for something temporary.”
Desmond’s brows pull together. “You keep using that word.”
I squint in confusion. “What word?”
He throws me another glance. “Temporary.”
“I guess I do. It’s just… weird being here. Clearly, I don’t belong. I’m not sure if I ever will.”
“Well, what are your goals while you’re here?”
His loaded question throws me off balance, and even after I think about it for a few long moments, I’m not sure how to answer. “I’m just… figuring that out, I guess.”
Silence passes between us, and a sort of anger brews inside me. “Why does everyone expect me to have all the answers right now? Why can’t I just live in the moment and figure it out as I go?”
Desmond scrunches his nose. “No one is saying you can’t.”
“Well, it feels like that’s exactly what you’re saying.”
“Maybe that’s because it’s exactly what you’re thinking. It’s definitely not what I’m saying. Live your temporary life. Live it loud. Live it proud. Doesn’t matter to me. I was just trying to make conversation.”
For some reason, his nonchalance only stirs me up more. “Haven’t you ever been through a transition in your life? When you didn’t have all your shit figured out?”
Desmond chuckles. “If you ever meet someone who does have their shit figured out, then I’d love to meet them.”
“You’re such a smart-ass.”
“I am, but I’m not trying to be right now. You’re allowed your little transition period, Maggie. I’m not judging you for it, even though I know that’s what you want to believe. You’re human. You just left a career you’ve had practically your whole life. But most people don’t just live their life in temporary mode. They live in the present. They set goals for themselves to grow and change and adapt to those changes. Maybe you should just stop calling everything in your life temporary.”
I settle back into my seat, adjusting my eyes away from the brawny, rugged man from the South, and direct my gaze out the window. I take in the night lights of Seattle as we cruise down First Ave. Traffic crowds the roads, but we are still moving at a decent pace, only stopping at the red lights while pedestrians cross the street.
Seattle is a truly fascinating place, and that was one of my first thoughts after moving here. It’s a city of blended culture, of loud and vibrant artistic types with wild-colored hair and leather platform shoes. It’s also a place where, when the sun shines, happiness bursts from the city’s pores. Boats crowd the lakes and sounds. Parks are filled with sunbathers and picnic blankets. Music takes over the Seattle Center. Life is celebrated in its most natural form, and I find it completely addicting.
Desmond pulls up to the curb and brakes a little harder than I expect, jerking me forward and back against my seat.
“Thanks for the whiplash.” I smile and bat my lashes at him so he can feel my sarcasm. “I mean, for the ride.”
His eyes aren’t on me, though. I’m not even sure if he heard me. He’s fixated on the marquee of the Paramount, with his mouth agape. It’s all lit up with white bulb lights around the name of the headliner.
“No shit,” he says. “Matt Nathanson’s playing tonight? The guy that was just on the