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He says exactly the way I’ve been thinking, but something about him saying it aloud makes it hurt more like he’s confirming that we don’t have that anymore.
It always tells me he might miss it just as much as I do.
But where does that leave us?
Where could it leave us?
My mind refuses to start to calculate the equations of possibility and what could be.
“See you tomorrow?” I ask, walking towards the door. He smiles wide.
“Tomorrow, little star.”
When I come back to clean up Riggs’ table, I find another photo, a more recent one.
Gracie, 5 years old.
All my love, Riggs.
17 COME OVER
NOW
RIGGINS
“Hey, Riggs,” she smiles when I walk in the next day.
It sounds stupid, but seeing her, hearing her, makes my entire day better, makes my steps lighter, my smile wider. It’s raining today and when I heard it on the roof of my childhood home, for a moment, I felt at peace. My hatred for the rain and the bad memories it usually brings wasn’t there this time, instead just an excitement to see Stella again, to keep making headway in fixing our broken relationship.
For the first time in years, I feel hopeful. Hopeful we can make this work, hopeful that I’ll get my star back.
I move to the corner booth that used to be the band and mine, everyone in town somehow knowing not to sit there and wait for her to come over. I get a weird joy each time I see the scuffed and stained table hasn’t changed, my mind able to sync each scratch and spill to a memory. In the furthest corner, hidden beneath a napkin dispenser, SH+RG is still carved.
It’s like our history still stands strong, a small comfort.
“How are you?” she asks as she moves over to my table with a glass of water and an orange juice, then puts her hands on her hips. I’ve been careful to come in later in the day, just like when we were younger, knowing the few times Rhonda Hart comes in is early in the morning to collect money. I’d like to avoid as much of the drama as I can before Stell and I are secure.
“Better than ever,” I say, reaching to grab her hand. A small smile tips her lips, and again, my heart flips in my chest. It’s just like those early days when she would blush at any flirting I’d do, and just like then, I have chords and melodies drifting through my mind. My hands itch to write them down, my soul yearning to lay under the stars with my girl and turn our story into art.
“You’re so weird,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “You’re normal?” I nod. “Got it, I’ll give the order to Frank.”
“And then you’ll sit with me for a bit?” I ask, sounding like a child wanting some attention, but that’s fine. She looks around the restaurant; there are a few tables toward the end of their meal, but it's not too busy. Her lips are still tipped in an echo of a smile when she turns back to me.
“Yeah. I can do that,” she says.
There’s a lull in our conversation nearly an hour later, an empty plate pushed away from me as Stella still sits across the table. We’ve laughed and talked about everything under the sun, from stupid stories from tours to updates on Evie’s job as a music journalist. It’s just like it used to be, where time would barely exist for us.
It’s easy. It’s familiar. It’s perfect.
I should have known it wouldn’t last long, though.
“Why did you come home?” Stella asks out of the blue.
“What?”
“Why did you come home? Why did you come back to Ashford? I know you have a real house somewhere nice. Why come back to this town with so many memories?”
“Why do you think?” I ask instead of answering, trying to balance my answer accordingly.
