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He smiles, and it’s the nicest smile I’ve seen from him so far. He’s enjoying my enjoyment, and I allow myself to love being here with him. We’re not talking about my dad. Or my failed attempt at becoming a performer. Or anything show business at all. We demolish the pudding, both of us eating straight from the bowl. He continues saying the most random but humorous things while we wait for the taquitos to warm up, and when they’re ready, I swear they’re the best comfort food I’ve ever had.
“Cheap cheese and questionable chicken.” I grab another one.
“Not Thai, but not too bad.” Blackmore cracks open a bottle of Powerade and takes a long swig.
“Not too bad at all. Kind of like you.” I cringe on the inside. Something fried my verbal filters for good. Words are tumbling out without any kind of barriers or caution. “Don’t worry about the Thai food. The pudding was much better.”
He sets his drink down. “I really am sorry for ruining your outings twice in a row.”
“For what it’s worth, I feel like I’ve ruined yours. We can call it even.”
“Not yet.” He looks straight at me, scheming and contemplating and everything in between.
I still have his car keys in my pocket. “Not yet?” Please don’t make me regret this.
“You ruined nothing. I ruined two of your evenings. I still have a ton to make up for.”
“Enough with the guilt.” I throw a piece of apple at him and, lifting my foot, point at my heel. “These are your socks. Underneath are your Band-Aids. You saved me—”
“I wouldn’t have to if we didn’t get ambushed bymyfans.”
“Stop it!” I toss another chunk of apple at his face, but he catches it with his mouth. “Stop that too!”
He laughs, clearly relishing my frustration, and yet again, I laugh with him. “I’m leaving now.”
He waves me goodbye. “Go ahead.”
I stare at him, he stares at me, both of us challenging each other. He acts like he doesn’t care, but I get the strongest impression that he wants me to stay. I wish he’d just say that instead of playing around or throwing witty quips back at me.
I’m too easy yet again. The excitement of the evening must be getting to my head.
Blackmore slides off his stool. “Wash your hands.”
“Wash my hands?”
“Yes. You can’t touch any of my guitars until you wash your hands.” He flips open the faucet over the kitchen sink. “You still owe me a lesson.”
“You really won’t let go of me correcting you, will you?” I stay where I am.
“I want to play music with you. That’s all. It’s not that often that I get a—” He averts his eyes to the gushing water.
“—a Halifax to play with?” My heart drops to my feet.
Blackmore huffs. “Yes. Thank you. A Halifax to play with.”
The way he keeps his eyes downcast suggests that’s not what he was thinking. The desire to know his true thoughts explodes my mind to the point where I want to grab him and shake him.Tell me what’s really on your mind!
“I don’t want to play,” I say, ordering my impulses to pipe down. “It…”
“It what?” Blackmore turns the water off, and the silence is thunderous. There’s nothing for me to hide behind.
“If I’m not ready for your secrets, then you’re not ready for mine.”
“You don’t have secrets.” Blackmore’s tone grows somber and darker than the night outside. “You have pain. Say it out loud. It’ll stay right here, and no one else will ever know how you feel.”
I twirl my fingers into my hair. A bad, telling habit, I know, but I can’t stop myself. “And you’re invested in me resolving my hurts because…?”
“I’m not invested.” He holds my gaze, his relaxed expression showing me nothing.
