And it isn’t like I was able to keep her out of my head for more than ten minutes at a time anyway. I was already slipping on the slick concrete at the edge of the relationship pool, might as well dive in and see what the water’s like.
We drive to the diner in silence, but not an uncomfortable one. We both just seem to need some time to process the events of the evening. But as soon as we’re seated in a shiny red diner booth, two cups of coffee steaming on the table between us, the conversation comes easier than I expected.
We talk about Melody’s time in culinary school and my apprenticeship with an Atlanta tattoo artist. Melody confesses that she’s surprised by how much she loves my work, and that she never expected a tattoo to affect her as strongly as my phoenix.
I’m about to confess I was just as affected by her singing—I really was excited when I thought I’d have the chance to hear her sing tonight—when her cell rings.
She glances at the display and frowns.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “But I guess I should answer, in case it’s someone at the police department.”
She taps the screen and brings the phone to her ear, but after her initial “Hello,” she falls silent, her lips parting in surprise as the person on the other end of the line speaks rapidly in a distressed tone. I can’t make out the other person’s words, but the fact that he or she is upset comes through loud and clear in the thin whine issuing from the speaker.
“No, please, Lila,” Melody says after several minutes. “No, really, I— Please, I—” She breaks off, obviously having difficulty getting a word in. “It isn’t your fault. Really. Please don’t blame yourself.” She pauses, nodding at something the other woman is saying, “Yes. Okay. Absolutely. I appreciate your call.”
She meets my gaze, shooting me a reassuring smile. I relax my fisted hands, laying them flat on the table, not realizing I’d tensed up until that moment. But something about Melody stirs up protective instincts in me, things I usually only feel around my nieces and nephews.
It’s strange, but not in a bad way.
Not a bad way at all.
“Oh, really?” Melody’s smile widens. “Well, thank you so much, I—” She nods for a few beats before adding, “All right. I’ll definitely think about it. Thanks again, Lila. Have a good night.”
She hangs up, blinking at the phone before looking up at me. “That was the bass player for Ghost Town Double Wide. The police called her to see if she had any information on Seth’s whereabouts. They told her he’d tried to attack a girl at the bar, and she called to apologize. Seth’s out of the band for good, and she plans to talk to the manager of The Horse and Rider about getting him banned from the bar, too.”
“That’s great.” I frown as an uncomfortable thought drifts through my head. “But how did she know you were the girl the police were talking about? I thought Nash was keeping that confidential.”
“She heard what Seth had done and put two and two together,” she says, slipping her phone into her purse. “Apparently, he was talking about me the other night in a way that made Lila and the others uncomfortable.”
“Asshole,” I growl, wanting to smash his face all over again.
She sighs. “Yeah. Lila said she thought he was just gross, not dangerous, or she would have called to warn me. Anyway, whatever he said was the last straw for them. Lila and the other band members kicked him out yesterday and started looking for a replacement. She said they were just waiting to make sure they had a drummer lined up before they asked me to take the job as the new lead singer.”
My brows lift. “What do you think about that? Would you be uncomfortable in the bar after what happened?”
“I don’t know… As long as Seth isn’t allowed in, I don’t think so,” she says, her expression firming with determination. “I don’t want to let what he did make me afraid. If I do, then he wins.”
I nod, proud of her. And surprised. She keeps doing that—surprising me, impressing me.
“What?” she asks.
“I knew you were tough, but this is next level.” I nudge her foot affectionately under the table. “I’m proud of you. Hope that doesn’t sound condescending.”
“It doesn’t, though you have done condescending pretty well in the past.” She narrows her eyes at me as our waitress set our plates down and promises to be back to refill our coffees as soon as she’s typed in another order.
“Sorry,” I say with a sheepish grin as the server hustles away. “Treating you like a kid helped me keep my mind off how much I wanted to kiss you.”