“Well, Kalli Thomas. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
She laughs. “That game again?”
“It’s a good game.”
“You start.”
I sigh. One day, we’ll get past that. “Fine. I’ll reveal one of my biggest secrets to you.”
“Oooh. A secret?”
“No one outside my family and my best friend Rook know this.”
She perks up on the other end, her voice raising an octave as she says, “Tell me. Tell me now.”
“You promise not to judge me?”
“I am so good at being non-judgmental.”
I leave the living room for my bedroom, and settle down on my mattress with a smile. “Okay. The secret is … I don’t really like chocolate.”
“You don’t like chocolate? Who are you?”
I chuckle, and she continues, “No, seriously. Who are you? We’ve discussed my massive sweet tooth before. I’m not sure I can trust a person who doesn’t like chocolate.”
“I mean, I can eat it. It’s not like it’s awful. But I could take it or leave it.”
She makes a noise on the other end somewhere between shock and horror.
“Is this our first fight as a couple?” I joke. “Over the merits of chocolate?”
A pause.
“Are we a couple?”
My smile stiffens and then drops completely. “We did say we were in this. Is that still the case?”
“No. It is. I just … wasn’t sure what exactly that entailed.”
I sit up in my bed, dragging a hand through my hair. “Then let me be as clear as possible. I like you, Kalli. I want to be with you and no one else. I want you to be with me and no one else. By my definition, that’s a couple.”
“Then I guess we’re a couple because I want that, too.”
The ache I always seem to feel around her flairs up again, and I wish she was here or I was there. Either way, I just want to touch her, to run my fingers over her cheek and her neck, and make her say those words again. To taste them on her lips.
“Your turn,” I say, a new rasp of want in my voice. “Tell me a secret about you.”
I count the seconds before her reply. Five. Five seconds. The longest pause so far.
“I don’t have any good secrets.” The lie is obvious in her voice: the flat tone, the carefully clipped words.
“So then tell me a bad one.”
“Wilder, I—”
“I’m not asking for your deepest and darkest here, Kalli.” Though I had told her about my dad already, and that’s not something I ever care to talk about.
“Okay. Let me think. Um … my name, my full name is actually Kalliope.”
“Kalliope.” I say it a few more times, liking the way the complicated name rolls off my tongue. It fits her exotic, striking appearance. Then it occurs to me, “That’s why you don’t like Greek mythology, right? I think I remember a goddess named that.”
She makes a barely audible noise of affirmation on the other end.
“So were your parents historians or something?”
“My parents were …” She drifts for a moment before finishing, “Complicated.”
And we’re back to dodging the questions.
“Okay. No more secrets. How about you just tell me something that makes you happy.”
She considers for a moment and then answers, “I like simple things.”
“Like?”
“I don’t know. Sunrise. Warm weather. Ice cream.” We both laugh. “Watching a movie on a couch with you and Gwen.”
My chest tightens. “That makes you happy?”
“It does. Like I said, I’ve had a whole lot of complicated in my life, and not nearly enough moments like that.”
“I think I can give you more of those moments.”
“I think you can, too.”
I can barely concentrate the next day through my work shift because I'm so damn eager to see her again. I spend the day clenching my teeth, trying to stop myself from glancing at the clock every couple of minutes. And as luck would have it, something big comes up right before end of day, and I end up having to stay over.
By the time I'm done, there's not enough time to run home and change before meeting her, not unless I push back our date. And there's no way I'm doing that. I head toward the restaurant where we made plans to meet. I'll be there a little early, but what the hell.
Caught at a red light, I take a moment to unbutton the cuffs on my gray work shirt, and roll the sleeves up a few times. I lose-the tie too, popping the first couple buttons so I feel a little more like myself.
About twenty minutes later, I pull into the small parking lot next to Chords. The restaurant is in an old brick building, one of those places that looks vintage not because someone designed it to look that way, but because it's been around forever. This was the first place I ever played my guitar and sang in front of people. The café serves home cooked country food, and instead of playing some radio station over the loudspeaker, Cordell, the owner, used to play his guitar from open until close. First time Rook and I came here was in high school because we'd heard they were a little lax about checking IDs. Both of us ended up spending more time watching Cordell pick away at his guitar than drinking beer we were too young to buy. The guy was so absorbed in the music, like no one else was even there. It wasn't until we came back again and again that we realized he was like that every night. Playing wasn't about attracting customers for him. It was love, plain as day. And it made it so fucking easy to fall in love with the place, peeling paint, creaking floors, and all.
Cordell was diagnosed with cancer about a year after it became our regular haunt. The chemo wore him out so much that he couldn't play all day like he used to. Hell, some days he was lucky to play at all. That's when Rook and I made a deal with Lori, his wife. We'd play shifts whenever we could in exchange for free food. Cordell passed about two years ago, but Lori still has the place going strong.
I've been avoiding Chords for a while now, since I quit music. It was just too hard to think about being here when I couldn't play. But when Kalli said to take her some place that I loved … well, I couldn't think of anywhere else but here. I want her to like it for reasons I can't even parse out in my head, considering me and music are no more. But it feels important all the same.
I park my car and jump out, intending to run in and say a quick hello to Lori if she's here before Kalli arrives. But there parked in the row right behind me is Kalli's sedan.
Her head droops down onto the steering wheel, and she's huddled into a little ball like she's cold. I blow out a breath, the air just barely fogging in front of my face. I wonder if maybe her heater is broken, and the stab of pain I feel at the idea of her sitting in that cold car shocks me. I take a few steps toward her, and rap my knuckles lightly against her window.
She snaps up quickly, her head whirling around toward me, and I smile at the look of shock in her eyes. For a moment, she just sits there, frozen, before fumbling for the door handle.
She pushes it open harder than I expect, and it whacks into my knees. I step back, wincing, and hear her call out, “Oh crap. I'm sorry.”
“It's fine.” I move aside, and she opens the door all the way, and a wave of heat pours out. I frown. So she definitely wasn't cold.
“You're early,” I say.
She starts to get out of the car, then remembers that she's still got it turned on, and she wrestles with the keys for a moment before pulling them free, grabbing her purse, and rising to stand in front of me.
“Yeah. I wasn't sure exactly where I was going, and I didn't want to be late.”
I bite my tongue against the suggestion that she should have let me pick her up, and instead gently close her door for her. We stand there for a moment looking at each other awkwardly. I feel so connected to her, but at the same time, we've only seen each other on a handful of occasions, and none of those have been purposeful. This is entirely new territory for us. I lift
my hands to touch her arms, running them up and down over the sweater she's wearing, and say, “Come on. Let's get you out of the cold.”
She nods, her lips pressed tightly together, and while I'm deciding whether or not it's presuming to drape my arm around her, she begins walking off toward the restaurant entrance. I jog to catch up, but I've missed my moment to hold her. She's walking too fast now for me to coolly slide my arm over her shoulders. I do get far enough ahead to open the door for her, and she gives me a brief smile before ducking inside.
Chords is a small place. Seats maybe thirty people in all. There are about ten customers now, but the limited seating makes it look more crowded than it is.
“So this is one of your favorite places?” she asks.
I try to see it through her eyes. Mismatched chairs and tables. Mason jars for glasses, but not the kind that are made with handles. Real, actual mason jars. Just like always, there's a guy playing guitar off in the corner, but he's not anyone I recognize. There are old instruments, knick knacks, and photos on the walls. Stuff from Cordell and Lori's life together. I know that it's not much. Definitely not the kind of place I've ever taken any other girl on a first date, and my stomach twists and twists with worry.
“It is,” I answer moments before I hear my name being called and Lori descends on me. She looks the same as the last time I saw her, white hair set in perfect curls.
“Wilder Bell, as I live and breathe.”
I leave Kalli's side to accept the hug Lori offers. She feels smaller and more vulnerable in my arms, but her grip on me is as tight as ever.
“It's been too long, son.”
I want to say something, offer up an excuse or an apology, but the words get stuck. Lori doesn't notice. She releases me in favor of Kalli and says, “And who is this lovely creature?”
Kalli starts to answer, but she gets folded into a hug, shocking her into silence. I shove my hands in my pockets, and her wide eyes meet mine over Lori's shoulder. Then after a moment, she returns my smile and softens in the woman's hold, hugging her back.
“Kalli, this is Lori. She owns the restaurant. And Lori, this is Kalli. We're here for a first date.”
Lori glances at me over her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow, but she doesn't comment.
“It's nice to meet you,” Kalli says, and Lori returns the sentiment. “Do you have a bathroom I could use before we sit down?”
Lori directs her toward the hallway back by the kitchens, and I watch her weave between the tables. When she's gone, Lori whistles.
“That's quite a look you're giving her for a first date, Wilder Bell.”
She's only ever called me by my full name. Ever since the first time I sat on that stool in the corner and said it over the microphone before playing my first set.
“It's not a normal first date,” I tell her.
One side of her mouth lifts high in a crooked smile, and her eyes crinkle as she looks at me. Shaking her head, she says, “No, I don't think it is. Did Cordell ever tell you about our first date?” I shake my head. “That fool took me bowling. On a first date. He very nearly didn't get a second, but he was just so damn charming.”
“Are you making fun of me for my date choice?”
“You know I love this place with everything under my skin, but when you look at a girl like you look at her, I'd think you'd try a little harder.”
I smile. “I thought about that. But she's different. She wanted me to take her some place that meant something to me. You don't get much more meaning than this.”
I'm alarmed when Lori blinks, and then stubbornly wipes away a few tears that track down her cheeks.
“I'm sorry,” I say.
She shushes me. “I just see a lot of my Cord in you.” She nods, fighting off a few more lingering tears, and says, “You could get away with taking a girl bowling, too.”
I laugh and hug her again.
She says, “Well, tell me how I can help. I'll make sure the cook is on the ball, of course. You wanna play for her? I'm sure Jimmy would welcome the break.”
“No,” I say, too fast, then sigh. “No, I'd rather not. I don't—I'm taking a step away from that at the moment. Going a different direction.”
She looks troubled by that, but she doesn't give me any grief. I'm grateful because God knows just being in here is giving me enough grief already. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kalli making her way back to us and I add, “We just want to eat and enjoy this place. That's all.”
“Eat and enjoy, I can do. She's stunning, by the way.”
“I know.”
Kalli steps in front of us with a smile. Her eyes flick back and forth between us, and I'm sure it's obvious we've been talking about her. But for all the charm Lori thinks I have (and I used to think I had), I've got nothing to say. “Well, come on,” Lori says. “Let's get you two seated.”
I lay a hand on Kalli's lower back as we move to follow, and the touch sparks heat all the way through me. Lori leads us to a booth in the corner, far enough away from the kitchens and all the other patrons that we won't be interrupted, but still close enough to the music that we've got a prime spot.
Kalli takes a seat first, and I hesitate, unsure whether I'd rather be sitting beside her where I can touch her or across from her where I can see her better. Thinking of her request that we take things slow and do this the normal way, I settle for across.
Lori lays menus in front of us, and with a final wink at Kalli, leaves us alone.
I don't need to look at the menu. I know it like the back of my hand, but she picks up hers, and I watch her eyes scan over the words.
Lori wasn't quite right. Kalli is something more than stunning. She's otherworldly. I'd told her that there wasn't any need to dress fancy for this, and she's not. She's wearing jeans and a black sweater over a plain gray shirt with a colorful scarf tied around her neck. The scarf is really the only special item she's wearing, but she still somehow manages to look like she's stepped off the pages of a magazine or a movie screen.
She drags her dark, silky hair around so that it all sits over her left shoulder, and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as her eyes dart wildly across the menu. After another minute, she finally slaps it down on the table and says plainly, “I'm nervous. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be, but—”
“I am too.”
“You are?”
“Hell yeah.” I start to open my mouth to tell her all the reasons, but I decide better on that. It's not just bringing her here that has me tied up in knots. It's the fact that I missed her so much after only days apart. Even though we barely know each other. That fucking tears me up, and as badly as I want to say something and find out if it's the same for her, I'm more concerned with not scaring her off.
She blows out a breath. “Well, that helps. I guess.”
“Why are you nervous?” I ask, which I know is unfair considering I'd just held back my own reasons, but I can't help myself.
She shrugs, her big brown eyes catching, ensnaring mine. “Lots of reasons.”
“Give me one,” I plead.
She runs a hand over her hair like she wants to pull it over her shoulder again, but it's already there.
“I don't know how to describe it, but this just feels different than dates I've been on in the past. Those were easy, and this …”
She trails off, and I try to ignore the way my stomach clenches over the thought of other dates she's been on. And the fact that she doesn't feel at ease with me. “Is it something I'm doing?” I ask. “To make things harder?”
“No.” She reaches across the table, and lays her hand over mine. “I didn't mean that this was hard. Not like that. I mean that being here with you feels … bigger than those dates felt. More important.”
I flip my hand over beneath hers and wrap my fingers around her delicate wrist. She does the same to mine, her fingers not quite long enough to reach.
“It feels that way for me, too. So maybe we should stop feeling so much pressure. We b
oth want this to work. So I don't see why it shouldn't.”
Her fingers tighten around my wrist, and an unreadable expression, almost like pain, crosses her face before she lets go and picks up her menu again.
“So what should I order here?”
I struggle to make sense of the change of pace and say, “Well, eighty-five percent of the menu is fried. Hopefully that's okay. I think they might have a salad on here somewhere.”
“No salads for me,” she says. “My only response to fried food is ‘yes please.’”
I laugh. “Thank God. Well, in that case, you can't go wrong with the chicken fried steak. The barbecue is great too, especially the brisket. The meat loaf is always popular.”
“What are you getting?”
“Chicken fried steak.”
“Then that's what I want.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. I want to know everything you love about this place. Starting with how you know Lori.”
“This was one of my old haunts in high school. Rook and I came a lot.”
“Rook. He's the guy who called you that night downtown?”
“Yeah. We've been friends for a long time, and Cordell, Lori's husband, sort of took us under his wing. We both had corporate parents who were gone a lot. We could have gotten into way more trouble than we did without this place.”
“You still got into some trouble?” she asks with a smile.
“Any teenage boys with limited parental supervision are going to do that.”
A waitress comes up then to take our orders, and we go ahead and put in our drinks and food all at once. When she's gone, the silence settles again, easier than before, but still with a touch of pressure.
She brings back the drinks pretty quickly, and then leaves again.
“So do I get to hear stories about this trouble you got into?” she asks.
“Oh, I'm sure when you meet Rook, I won't be able to stop him from telling you.”
“Tell me about him.”
I do, describing how we were with each other growing up. I tell her about his job as a tattoo artist now. “He's the one who did all this.” I gesture to the section of my sleeve that shows from where I've rolled up the fabric of my shirt.