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ChapterTwenty-Six
Gideon
The second loanofficer gives me the loan I need to buy out Wamba. The guy who did the appraisal on the property and the building loved the place. I got my first thrill of ownership right there, and I haven’t even signed the paperwork.
Chloe went back home when that weekend was over, of course. She didn’t call me for a few days, so I finally called her. We talked some, but she gave me a bit of a cold shoulder. She wouldn’t say a word about Skye. We talked about a guy she met last winter who recently started calling her. Sounds like she might decide to go out with him. Maybe if that works out, she’ll be able to give Mom and Dad a grandbaby someday.
Maybe if I make a success of this business purchase my dad will be proud of me someday. According to Chloe, he froze Mom out with the silent treatment for a week or two after he found out I plan to use my money from my grandpa to help with the purchase. Mom tried to smooth that over for me, promised me he was just a little frustrated and things would be fine in a day or two.
Wamba was going to put his house up for sale, but when he found out I was homeless again, he suggested I live there. I told him everything one night after too much scotch in the practice room upstairs. Not about that night Skye and I were together there. I won’t share that night with anyone. It’ll never be a story like Susi the college freshman and I doing it under a grand piano.
But I told him Skye and I got a little tangled up and things didn’t end on a good note. That I had stayed a few nights at the store. I glossed over that because a few nights had rolled into a few weeks. Showers at truck stops. Laundry mats. I’ve lived it before, but it’s not a pretty life.
Wamba’s house is a two-story, three-bedroom brick bungalow in Soulard. A lot of it is outdated, but it’s nice. Clarice and Wamba took care of it. I’m paying him rent for now. It’s too low for the house, for the neighborhood, for the hot showers, and the laundry room. But I’m grateful for his gift, and I’ll repay him when I can.
I miss Skye. I take out my phone often and think about calling her. Spend way too much time getting lost in memories of those few weeks we had together. But I figure by now, she’s probably seeing someone else. Maybe even that Mel guy she works with.
I just want her to be happy.
I pause in the middle of ringing up a sale. My customer doesn’t seem to notice. He’s tapping his fingers on the glass counter and humming along with the Breaking Benjamin song playing from my Bluetooth speaker on the counter at my back. Yesterday was a jazz day. Tomorrow might be classical. No country for a while, because that stuff just makes me miss Skye even more.
I’m lying to myself. I don’t just want her to be happy.
I want Skye to want me. I want her to be happy with me.
Hell, who knows? Maybe once the place is officially mine, things could be different. Maybe if I get involved in some community stuff, if I can continue bringing in class acts for shows here and there the way Wamba did, maybe she wouldn’t be averse to spending time with me. I don’t plan to sell myself out and wear a suit to work. But I’m putting down roots, and I have a respectable, full-time job now.
Not enough to impress my dad, but Skye might be happy for me.
I finish the sale on the acoustic guitar and talk a little longer with the guy. He’s getting the guitar for his eleven-year-old twins. And he’s interested in lessons for them—a boy and a girl. He says they’ve been picking at his dad’s banjo, so he wants to see how the guitar goes for them. I give him a business card for the store, with a little jolt of excitement. Soon my name will be listed as the owner instead of Samuel Wamba.
The guy leaves with a promise that once he gives the guitar to his kids, they’ll be contacting me to set something up.
“Sounds good,” I tell him. I watch him until he pulls the door open and then I go to the backroom to turn the lights off. It’s one minute until five, and I’m ready to lock up for the night. No need to hide in the practice room anymore; Wamba has an upright piano in his living room. No more late nights here, trying to find the music in my head, only to be stuck on Skye Stafford.
I hear the muted bell alerting me that someone came into the store.
“We close at five!” I call, but there’s no answer. Frustrated because it’s probably neighborhood kids, I go back out to tell them to come back tomorrow.
Skye’s halfway up the middle aisle of the store waiting for me.
“Skye—”
She shakes her head and takes another step toward me. I stand at the front of the aisle, wondering what she’s doing here. She looks beautiful. But not happy. She’s pale; her cheeks look like porcelain. Her eyes are cool, her lips covered in pretty pink lipstick. Today she wears a dress. Loose and flowy with a flower print. Sandals with a wedge heel rather than the stilettos she usually wears to work. She looks sweet and feminine.
I wait as she slowly makes her way down the aisle toward me. The fleeting thought that this feels like a wedding aisle as I watch her come closer comes and goes. Leaves me a little weak in the knees.
“Before we slept together.” She licks her lips and takes a quick breath. She’s looking at my chest, but now she lifts her gaze to meet my eyes. “After you kissed me the first night and before we had sex the first time.”
I want to correct her. I want to argue. Sex is never sex to me. It’s making love. Even though I have never loved a woman other than Skye, the act itself is special to me. It’s passionate and intimate in a way nothing else is. She eyes me silently, as if she’s daring me to speak.
I don’t.
“I wanted to be one of your women.” Her whisper is thick with emotion. “Even before you told me about your sophisticated women, I knew there would be a lot.”
“Skylar—”
She silences me with another headshake.
