Page 126 of Love Felt Like This

Why am I trying to ruin that?

“Oh, Ava would love these,” I say, practically bounding over to a booth. “Tom is really talented.”

Griffin steers Ava’s stroller to catch up, apologizing when we cut through the crowd, despite everyone parting for us anyway.

Ava flexes her tiny fists toward the array of wooden bluebirds and canaries. “Bird.”

Tom sits behind the booth in a peeling camping chair. He’s an elderly man who seems one sneeze away from turning to dust. He whittles with a knife on wood.

“She can look at them if she wants,” he drawls out, voice scratchy and splintered like his wooden project.

Griffin takes the smallest bird off the stand and passes it down to Ava in the stroller. She clutches it tightly, like the bird might fly away if she doesn’t hold it within an inch of its life.

“Be careful, munchkin,” he says.

Tom waves his whittling knife. “Oh, they won’t break.”

“Bird,” Ava repeats, squeezing until a wing pops off. The little dimples in her cheeks press in, like two sweet thumbprints. Griffin rifles through his pockets and hands Tom cash.

As we leave the booth with Ava now hugging the wooden bird with one wing, I walk a bit slower.

I know that money isn’t an object to Griffin; it’s just a fact of life. It comes with the territory of being a successful musician, probably flush with profits from tours, which he’s leaving for in a month.

One month.

“How’s your album coming along?” I ask.

“Oh. Good. Yeah. Should be ready by the time I leave in March.”

“That’s amazing, Griffin.”

Griffin nods, but it seems like there’s something more there.

“That’s amazing,” I repeat, but the words ache.

March seems so close now. Pitching is so close. Leaving Griffin is so close.

“How long does the tour last?” I ask.

“Three months.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“We can hang out in LA after,” he says.

“Who?”

“You and me.” His tone is soft, almost hesitant. When has Griffin ever been hesitant?

I walk a little slower at that, chewing my bottom lip. “Oh…oh yeah?”

He nods. “You can help me pick out things for my house from time to time.”

Time to time.

So we won’t be hanging out often?

Of course not. He’s a busy man. I’ll be busy too. It only makes sense. We wouldn’t have the time.