Page 27
“Who’s Aleister Crawly?” he asked carefully.
“A spider. He was here, on the bar. Very brave. Saved my life, probably,” I said. “Except then he left. He’s shy, like me. But not as dramatic.”
There was a pause, like Drift was processing my logic, and then another of those soft, nearly silent laughs that made the inside of my ears feel nice. “You get attached easily, don’t you?”
“I’m not attached. I’m just invested in his well-being! I’m… rooting for him.” I realized I was still staring at the bar, as if Aleister might crawl back to offer moral support. “Also, I might be a little drunk. Blame the spider. He kept—Ohmagod! Are those baby bags of chips behind the bar? I wanna cheese twisties.”
There was another small laugh from Drift. Another thing I was becoming addicted to. “Yeah. Definitely on your way to three sheets.”
“He was on the bar and almost got stomped by a man with gigantic footwear!”
“I believe it,” Drift said. “I’m proud of you.”
I quickly turned my back to everyone, wiping at my eyes. Don’t you dare drunk cry in a bar. They’re just words. It doesn’t matter if it’s the first time they’re directed at you.
I tried to sober up my voice, which instead made it wobblier. “You ever feel like you’re just a bug in a bar? Like, everyone else is doing whatever, and you’re just… trying to cross the countertop without dying?”
Drift was quiet for a minute, and in those sixty seconds, my brain tried to recall if I’d said something weird, embarrassing, or much worse. Poetic. “More times than I’d care to admit,” he said finally. “But you know, sometimes the bug makes it.”
“He did. I helped.” I was proud of that, even if all I’d really done was narrate the journey. Encouragement was a form of helping.
“You seem like a good helper, Phineas.”
The guy kept lobbing praises into a place that had apparently been empty my entire life.
I was too tipsy to deal with emotional suitcases. Luggage? I wasn’t used to the praise. The quiet encouragement. Suddenly it was very important to justify myself. “I’m not usually like this,” I said, gripping my water for reassurance. “I’m not usually… public, or drinking, or talking to people, or… you know. Existing.”
“I’m glad you are. Existing, I mean.” Drift’s voice was soft, like a hand on the small of my back pushing me forward. “And I’m glad you called.”
“Me too,” I admitted, which was embarrassing but true. “You have a good voice. It’s comforting. Like an audiobook, but with less murder.”
A longer pause, and I wondered if I’d gone too far, but then he said, “If you’re in a bar alone, do you want company?”
The question undid me. It was so straightforward, so easy. Did I want company? Yes, always, if it was him. If it meant being seen in my weirdness and not being asked to apologize for it. Even if I was currently embarrassing myself in front of a bartender and a cartoon moose.
I dropped my head to the counter then realized it was sticky and regretted it immediately. “Wouldn’t you rather be doing something else?” I asked, but my heart was already pounding at the idea.
“Not really. I was going to eat leftover noodles. You’re a much better option.”
I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. “That is a low bar, Croissant Man.”
He snorted. “Maybe. But I stand by it.”
I cupped one hand around the phone and whispered loudly, “Yes.”
“Stay put, kitten. I’m on my way.”
“Okey-dokey.” I gave a thumbs-up.
The call ended before I could ask whether kitten was legally binding.
Chapter Nine
Drift
The drive to Jawbones took roughly fifteen minutes, my truck tires the only thing breaking the silence. Cracking the window allowed the cool spring air to drift inside. It carried the clean scent of rich soil and budding leaves, a fragrance no city could ever match.
The farther I drove, the fewer headlights I passed until there weren't any at all. Just an endless stretch of road. Crickets filled the darkness with their steady chorus, loud enough to remind me I wasn't alone, quiet enough to leave room for every thought I would've rather ignored.
