Sitting up, I pop the aspirin in my mouth and swig the water in hopes of calming the storm riveting in my head. As I set the bottle and paper down, I notice something written on the Post-it.
Beautiful girl . . . In case you’re not feeling so great.
Stretching and grinning at his note, I glance around the room. Sheets are tacked over the glass doors. He must have done that so I could sleep. How sweet. How could he be so nice to me after I was such a bitch last night? Shit, last night. I remember every minute of the horrible evening, every minute of our painful conversation, but I don’t remember getting into bed.
Glancing down, I notice I’m only wearing one of River’s t-shirts and my panties. I must have passed out in the car. Did he bring me inside, up all those stairs, and change my clothes? The last thing I remember saying after leaving the parking garage was that I still wanted him to take me home, to my home, not his, but I’d wait until morning.
Deciding I need to find River and talk about last night, I stand on shaky legs and see my clothes lying on the floor beside the bed. Making my way to the bathroom, I look in the mirror. That was not a good decision. Makeup smears my face and my hair is a tangle of knots from all the hairspray. I really need a shower but settle for washing my face, brushing my teeth, and throwing my hair into a ponytail before going to search for him.
I don’t have to look far. As I walk down the hallway I hear soft music being played on a guitar. I stop at the entranceway to the living room to take him in. He’s sitting on the couch in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, barefoot, and his hair is a little more disheveled than usual. His fingers are holding a guitar pick and he’s strumming a beautiful melody while quietly singing an unfamiliar song that I can’t really hear the words to. He has a notebook and pen beside him and he’s deep in thought. I stand there awhile just listening, looking, thinking how unbelievably gorgeous he is both inside and out and how sad I am that I’m leaving. I decide to quietly go get my camera out of my bag in the bedroom. I want to capture his perfect image at this moment. As I tiptoe back and stand just inside the living room, watching him through my lens, I snap a few photos while he’s playing. He’s so involved in his work that he doesn’t even notice me or hear the click of the camera. When he finishes the song, he adjusts his guitar on his leg and leans over to his notebook.
Standing there leaning against the wall I say, “That was beautiful.”
He glances at me, but the happy grin I usually receive from him when entering a room is absent. “What song was that? I didn’t recognize it.”
Leaning his guitar against the couch, he nonchalantly says, “It’s just something I’m working on.”
Taken aback by his cavalier attitude and obvious disinterest in discussing the song, I ask, “You got your guitar back?”
Standing up, he shoves his hands in his front pockets and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, Xander brought it by this morning.” Then he asks, “How about coffee?”
I enter the room and head for the kitchen while I say, “Yes, I can get it though.”
“I’ve already made it, I’ll grab you a cup.”
“Thanks,” I say, putting my camera down and sitting on the couch, hoping my queasy stomach can hold down the coffee.
“How do you feel?”
“Fine. I took your remedy. I think it’s working.”
I watch him walk into the kitchen, but he doesn’t turn around to catch me like he usually does. Once he’s in the kitchen, he pulls out the paper cups we bought at Whole Foods yesterday and pours two cups. He adds cream to mine and I smile. He walks back into the room and hands me the cup. “Do you want me to go get you something to eat?” he asks as I take the cup, staring at him. For the first time since I met him, I can’t read him at all.
“Shit no,” I answer grasping my stomach. “I hope I can keep the coffee down.”
He chuckles and I can tell the River I’ve come to know is in there somewhere.
He walks back over to where he was playing his guitar and sits down.