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When they arrived at his studio, chills bloomed, tingling at the base of her neck, racing down her arms. This was Cole’s place, his home. The weathered stone steps they took were the same steps the Makers had taken when they made their first record. The door Cole opened for her was the same door he’d walked through the first time as a business owner. Mira knew that feeling well, how empowering it was to have a place that belonged to her, where she was able to share what she loved with everyone else.
“Welcome to Trax,” he said with pride, leading her into the space she’d seen so many times on his Instagram stories but never in person. There was a long table to her right she remembered seeing covered with her birthday present Glazed boxes. Windows looking into four recording booths lined the walls. One of the booths was filled with the drum set she’d watched Cole play on countless times. Posters of Bowie, the Cure, the Ramones, Patti Smith, and—
“It’s the same one I have over my bed,” Mira said, pointing at the poster of Joe Strummer smoking a cigarette hanging on a door marked CONFERENCE ROOM, the FERENCE crossed out with black duct tape. She looked closer at the poster, noticing the signature followed by a little star. “But, of course, yours is signed.”
“Mad and I saw him with the Pogues when we were on tour in the UK in the early ’90s,” Cole said, his breath soft on her neck before he kissed her there.
“That must have been an amazing show.”
“We got backstage.” He gave her a small grin. “Lifetime achievement.”
“And now they’re both gone, Joe and Shane.”
With a sigh, he said, “Far too soon.”
“They’re already here,” Benji cut in, taking Cole by the elbow, leading him away from Mira and toward theconroom.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Cole told her before he followed Benji through the door. “There are some couches upstairs, or you can hang down here. I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
Taking a seat on one of the chairs at the big table, hearing Cole’s excited voice through the door as he introduced himself to the band, feeling weirdly free and absurdly happy, Mira pulled out her phone.
Mira: I think you’re right. I have been chaining myself in place.
Jen: Oof. I said that, didn’t I? That was a bit harsh of me.
Mira: It was true, though.
Jen: How’s Seattle?
Mira: Gorgeous.
Jen: I’m proud of you.
Mira: I’m proud of me too.
“You must be the bakery goddess.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Mira shouted, nearly leaping out of her skin.
“Jumpy,” Nancy said with a wolfish grin as she plopped onto the chair next to Mira’s. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You’re”—Mira’s throat spasmed—“Nancy Hayes.” If she’d been starstruck when she’d first met Cole, it didn’t hold a candle to the wide-eyed, speechless paralysis of sitting a foot away fromtheAsyd Nancy.
When Nancy extended her hand, miraculously, Mira took and shook it. “I’m… Yes, I’m the…bakery goddess.” It was unsettling, meeting someone she’d admired so much as a teenager yet felt so wary about now because of how she’d treated Cole. Maybe that was why her brain had decided to say those words. It was confused, caught off guard, short-circuiting. “I’m Mira. Mira Harlow.”
So much pure, vibrating electricity sparked off Nancy she could have powered a small city. Her shoulder-length red hair glowed around her head, her blue-eyed stare piercing straight into Mira’s soul. “Benji didn’t tell me you were coming back with Cole today.” Her eyes narrowed. “That little shit. He’s never trusted me. Not that any of Cole’s friends ever have. Guess I can’t blame them.” When she leaned forward, the cinnamon scent of her gum hung in the air between them. “So tell me, Mira Harlow. Are you hungry?”
Telling her the truth, because Mira suspected this woman could look straight through the center of the earth and spot a lie told by someone on the other side of it, she said, “Starving.”
* * *
She’d wantedto text Cole that she was heading out with Nancy to get coffee and snacks, but she didn’t want to interrupt his meeting, especially if the guys in the band were as technophobic as Cole had made them out to be. Besides, she figured they’d be back before anyone knew they were gone. But apparently the meeting had wrapped up early, because as soon as she left the coffee shop with some horrifically sugary whipped-cream concoction Nancy practically demanded she try, her phone buzzed with,
Cole: We’re already done. We nailed it. Where are you?
When she texted back that she was out with Nancy, his dots appeared and disappeared no less than four times before he finally sent,
Cole: Blink twice if you need help.
