Brando

Taking orders while holding conversations is another useless skill I’ve picked up since working here. I sidle up beside Je

“Well, you didn’t miss much. I was pretty much last on a bill that included a guy singing songs in what I think was German, and a comedian who – if anyone could hear him – would have probably offended every minority in the crowd. And then Lexi Dark decided to show up just before I started my set and get everybody’s attention. I played to the back of about fifty heads, so all in all I guess it wasn’t a total bust. I mean, nobody booed me, right?”

Je

“She of the perfect boobs and come-hither looks, yes. I don’t know if I should be glad she did, because it meant nobody could be bothered to hear me play the worst set of my life, not least because I broke a string halfway through.”

“Oh, Haley…”

“Just to top it all off, a guy who looked like someone breathed life into a Greek statue and dressed it in Tom Ford tried to pick me up by pretending to be interested in signing me.”

“Jesus…”

“After all that, even the fact that my roommates were having a drunk kung-fu movie marathon until five am wasn’t enough to stop me from crashing out.”

Je

“Oh, Haley. I’m so sorry. That sounds awful. I wish there was something I could do.”

“I know. I’ve got nobody to blame but myself, you know? It was my damned idea to come to this city. My stupidity that made me think I could make it. My decision to go to that open mic last night and stick it out, even though all the signs were wrong.” I allow myself a few self-indulgent sniffles and then rapidly blink back the tears stinging my eyes until they go away. I refuse to cry at work.

Je

“Listen to me, Haley, you’re following your dreams because you know you have to. I don’t know anybody as talented as you. The problem isn’t with you, it’s the rest of the world. They don’t see talent until it smacks them in the face. You’ve just got to keep smacking them with it until they see it.”

I let out a gentle laugh.

“That’s…a hell of an analogy.”

Je

“I’m no songwriter, that’s for sure!”

We relax and smile, and at the same time realize there are about a dozen pissed commuters sulking on the other side of the counter as they watch us have a moment.

“I guess we’d better get back to ‘following our dreams,’” I say, before turning back to the espresso machine. Je

About an hour of furious coffee-pressing and register-banging later the rush ends and Je

“Yowzer,” she whispers to herself.

“What?” I say, without looking up.

“Crap, he’s coming in!”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. But he’s beautiful.” Je

“Does a girl named Haley Grace Cooke work here?”

Every cell in my body goes cold. My head jerks up from the notepad and freezes. It’s him. Unmistakably him. Voice like melted chocolate, the strong, bitter kind. From where I’m sitting, down low behind the cash register, he can’t see me – and I’d like to keep it that way.

“Um…” Je

“You sure about that?” he says, low and sensual, as if trying to hypnotize Je

“Well…yeah, sort of…I mean, if there was a girl called that working here—ouch!—I would probably tell you because…there’s, like, no way I think she would not wa

I drop my head into my hands and groan deeply before standing upright. Je

“For a singer you sure do hide yourself away a lot,” the guy offers smoothly.

I’m not to be smoothed. “How did you find me?”

“It’s kind of my job to find aspiring musicians.”

“By stalking them?” I blurt.

He laughs. It’s so charming my blood boils. “I just visited your website to get more info and noticed your work uniform in one of your Instagram photos.”

“Sounds a lot like stalking,” I say.

“It’s not stalking if you agree to have coffee with me.”

“Look, Brian.”

“Brando.”

“Whatever. Last night I was tired, depressed, and lonely – and I still didn’t fall for your record label shtick. What makes you think I’m going to fall for it now?”

“You know what? You’re right.” He leans back and folds his arms.

I shake my head in confusion.

“Forget about record labels, music, all of that,” he continues. “I’m here talking to you simply as a guy who likes your music. A guy who wants to take you out for coffee and talk about the Angela Carter references in your lyrics.”

For the first time I’m stu

“Nobody ever really picked up on that…”

“Really? Seemed pretty obvious to me. That and the alternate tunings. You like Nick Drake, right?”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I don’t know why you use a pick on that song Forgotten, though – your fingerstyle would go so much better with it.”

“I burnt my finger on the coffee machine the day before I recorded that on—” I stop mid-sentence and snort a little laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “This is insane!”

“No it’s not,” he says, his New York drawl slowing down into a hard, persuasive drumbeat. “What would have been insane would be giving up on a girl who has the kind of talent you have. Not just talent, but the passion and drive that kept her singing til the end of the night, despite every reason not to.”

I shake my head and look at the floor, hoping he’s not perceptive enough to see the redness in my cheeks.

“So how ‘bout that coffee?” he presses. “Or a drink? Whatever you want.”

“What if I had a boyfriend?” I say, folding my arms defensively. “He would have something to say about me ‘having coffee’ with some…strange man who seems way too into my music.”

“He probably would. So it’s a good thing you don’t have one.”

I narrow my eyes. “How do you know?”

“If you did, then he abandoned you last night. Either way, you don’t have the kind of guy who would care about coffee with a ‘strange man’ who is deeply interested in your music.”

I grin and laugh. Whatever I think of this guy, he’s definitely got some balls on him. I look to the side and see Je

“So?” he says, leaning forward, his palms on the table, the muscles in his neck tense and irresistible. “What do you say?”

I suddenly feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt before. But Je

“Okay.”