Heturned to look up at me, completely irritated and incredulous. “Ijustsat down,” he said angrily. “You can't give me a few minutes before asking meto move?”
“Fine,”I grumbled, huffing an angry sigh as I stuffed the snow globes back into theirbox.
“Youcan't keep that shit within a baby's reach anyway, you know,” he went on, histone condescending and snarky.
Turningto face him, I narrowed my annoyed gaze. “There isn't a baby here yet. We'llworry about that when we get there.”
“Oryou could get used to it now.”
Hiscomments served as irritating little pinpricks, like tiny paper cuts on mymood, but the more he spoke, the more they stung. I turned away from him,desperate for some space, and grabbed my messenger bag.
AsI headed for the door, Brendan asked where I was going, and I replied, “If Ican't decorate, I'm going to work.”
Hesnickered and shook his head, so I asked, “What was that for?”
“Nothing,”he said, laughing. “I mean, it's just that, you write stories, Kendo; that'snot exactlywork.”
Myheart and stomach lurched toward each other, colliding somewhere beneath myribs. Inall ofthe years we had been together, he hadnever once undermined my work as an author. So, now that he had, I wanted toscream and cry and break the snow globes over his head. But I didn't. I didn'tdo a damn thing. Instead, I rushed for the door and slammed it behind me.
Communicationhad never been our thing, and sometimes, a slammed door speaks far louder thanwords.
***
“Youknow there are over a thousand songs on that thing, right?!”
Despitethe irritation I'd carried with me from the apartment, I still laughed at thesound of Goose's voice, bellowing over the sound of the familiar guitar intro.He stood at the bar, arms crossed and head shaking, as he stared in thedirection of the jukebox.
“Whydon't you just get rid of it?” I asked, approaching the bar. “Get yourself oneof those fancy Bose sound systems and play your own music.”
Heturned at the sound of my voice, and while I couldn't say for sure, his shouldersseemed to relax just a little at the knowledge of my presence.
“Becauseif that song isn't here, the people won't come,” he replied, speaking in a low,hushed tone, as if it was a secret.
“Okay,this is just a guess, but hear me out,” I said, hoisting myself onto a stool.“I think they probably show up for the booze, but I mean, don't take my wordfor it. I could be wrong.”
“Ormaybe,” he said, hunching over and bringing his face closer to mine,“this is the only bar in the entire city with a jukebox that playsthisfuckin’ song.”
Istudied his wide, serious eyes and the firm set of his jaw and mouth. Hisfeatures were pieced together so perfectly, I could've believed an artistthought him up and carved him from stone. And it wasn't an observation madefrom attraction, although there was certainly that, too. It was simply fact, astrue as the sky being blue or the grass being green, and I wondered how it wasI'd describe him in a book, if I were ever to write it.
AGirl Named Kenny Walks into a Bar and Meets a Guy Named Goose.
“Youknow what I think?” I asked, ignoring the strings of description swirlingthrough my mind.
“What?”he asked, his gaze softening and his jaw loosening.
“Ithink you secretly love this song.”
Hestood up, throwing his head back and barking with a resounding laugh. “And Ithink you're fuckin’ crazy. But I think I'll keep you around anyway,‘causeyou don't use me for myjukebox.”
“Nah,I just use you for your mocktails,” I quipped, waggling mybrowsand nudging my chin toward the blender.
Hesmiled and bent to open the fridge door. “There are worse things.”
Iwatched him expertly concoct a frosty drink, a white one this time. When Iasked what he was making, he replied, “Well, I figured you’d be tired ofdrinkin’ the same thing, so I did a little experimentingand came up with a couple I thought you might like.”
Theidea of this man, one I barely knew, thinking of me when he didn't need topushed thoughts of Brendan's attitude and disregard from my mind.Insteadthey were replaced by the warm comfort of beingconsidered, and maybe it was the hormones talking, but I was overwhelmed withan urge to hug him. But I didn't. I only watched as he poured the frosty mixtureinto a tall glass and slid it over. Then, he watched me, as I flamboyantly madea show of sipping through the straw and smacking my lips at the burst offlavor.
“Ooh!It's so tropical! And minty!”
