“Thanks, Iggy,” I say, and for some reason, her praise makes me a little bashful.
“Can I ask you a few more questions?”
“Sure.”
“How old were you when you started playing guitar?” she asks, leaning over the counter and propping herself up on her elbows.
“Fifteen.”
Her mouth falls open. “You’re only what, now? Twenty-six?”
I nod.
“You haven’t been playing that long.”
“Over a decade isn’t enough for you?”
“No, uh—that’s not what I meant. Most guitarists at your level have been playing since they could hold a guitar up.”
I smile. I think Lola just complimented me for a second time. “So, you some kind of music geek?”
She purses her lips, thinking. “Why do you say that?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I tease. “Maybe it’s the ‘Marquee Moon’ t-shirt or the fact that you understood the Iggy peanut butter reference.”
She smiles, damn pleased with herself. “Oh, that. Yeah. I love music. I swear I was born in the wrong decade. There was a cosmic fluke, and I was really supposed to be Richard Hell’s wife.”
I laugh at her silliness. “Lola Hell does have a nice ring to it,” I say.
“Doesn’t it?” she says with a soft giggle. “Anyway, I’ll stop fangirling and annoying you.”
“Don’t forget your pay.” I slide the envelope across the kitchen counter. “Here. For today. There’s a little extra. I didn’t think you’d get everything done, so consider it a bonus.”
“Oh, that’s unnecessary,” she protests even as she opens the envelope. She takes the bills out to count, and her eyes grow to saucers. “Karl, I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”
She tries to shove half the bills back my way, and I cross my arms, not accepting them. I narrow my eyes at her. “How much do you have, Lola? In all the world?”
Her gaze drops to the countertop, and she twists her fingers nervously. “With this, about eighteen grand.”
I perk up in my seat. “Why are you saving so much?”
She swallows hard. Whatever it is, it’s a source of sadness. Her eyes dim and turn lifeless again. “My aunt owns this restaurant in Mexico. I’m moving there to help her run it.”
“And you need so much money for that?” I arch an eyebrow.
“No, I, um, I want to buy a house when I get there. So I’m saving my down payment.”
Something isn’t adding up here. “Lola, you sound like you’re ready to settle down. You should use that money to travel, live a little. There’s time for the rest later.”
Her smile is sad when she speaks again. “I was going to go to college in California. But it fell through—”
“Why?”
She throws me a funny look. Guess I am being nosy. But I don’t care. I want to know what her goals are . . . maybe help her reach them.
“That’s a long story. And there are—um, secrets that aren’t mine to share. But yeah, the restaurant is my plan B. Besides, the only family I have left is there. I thought being near them would be nice.”
“What about Sofia?” I ask.