He moans as he chews the burger, and the raw sensuality of the sound sends a heated shiver through my body. I cross my legs and focus on the dog lapping up his water.
“Mmm… this is so fuckin’ good.” He takes another bite with his eyes closed and moans again. “Thank you for this.” He holds the burger out to me. “You want some? It’s delicious.”
“No, thank you.” I lean away from him. Germs scare the heck out of me. I never share drinks with other people or use soap at people’s houses unless it’s in a liquid dispenser. I keep tissues in my purse in case I have to use a public restroom. Who knows who touched the toilet paper in there? Or if it rolled across the filthy floor before it was put in the dispenser?
“I already ate my lunch. I just wanted to give you something to say thank you for your music. I look forward to hearing it every day now.”
“So you took the fast track to my heart by giving me food when I’m starving. Nice move, slayer.”
My cheeks burn as he takes a sip of his iced tea, the rim of the bottle pressing against his full lips. Damn. He’s way too good-looking and talented to be homeless and playing in a park in this small New England town.
After devouring the hot dog and water, his dog nudges my hand, wanting to be petted. Smiling, I stroke his soft, floppy ears, hoping he doesn’t have fleas and that my hand doesn’t end up smelling like dog. Archie the cat will probably bite me if he smells another animal on me. He’s very possessive and territorial.
“What’s his name?” I ask.
Guitar guy finishes off the hamburger and puts the wrapper in the plastic bag. “You want to know his name, but not mine?” he teases with a tone of mock offense.
“You can tell me your name, too.”
“His name is Acorn. He’s been my best friend and traveling buddy for two years.”
I smile at the unique name. “It fits him. He’s adorable.”
He nods and places his hand on the dog’s back. “He’s loyal. And smart. Only took me a few hours to teach him how to wave when people give us money.”
As I pet Acorn’s ears, I catch his owner staring at me. He doesn’t look away, but I do. “And your name?” I ask, focusing on the dog between us.
“Evan. But my friends call me Blue.”
I summon the courage to look at him as I smile shyly. “It’s nice to meet you, Evan.”
He squints, almost as if he’s wincing from a sharp pain, and the left side of his mouth pulls to the side into a frown. “You didn’t call me Blue.”
“Well… I’m not sure we’re friends yet.”
He nods slowly. “You’re right. We could end up being much more. Or less.” He pushes strands of his long hair away from his face, revealing a five o’clock shadow of stubble on his cheeks. I haven’t seen him with this much facial hair before, so he must shave pretty regularly. Or at least does sometimes. I’m envious of his defined cheekbones. “Time will tell.”
I can’t imagine us ever being anything other than a girl who eats lunch in the park and a homeless street musician, but I let him have his faith in time and what it might someday tell.
He leans back against the edge of the table top and stretches his long legs out. The soles of his black motorcycle boots are worn thin. “You’re supposed to tell me your name now.”
“Oh. It’s Piper.”
He repeats my name, and on his lips, it sounds different than I’ve ever heard the word sound before, as if I’m a special and mystical being.
I wish I was special and mystical, but I’m just… not.
“That’s different. Does it mean something? To your parents?”
I shake my head. “No, my mother just liked how it sounded. Apparently, she bought a bunch of baby name books when she was pregnant, and Piper was her favorite. My father doesn’t like it. He thinks it’s a stripper name.”
He lets out a deep laugh. “I’ve never met a stripper named Piper, and I’ve met my fair share.”
I laugh along with him. “I’ve often wondered why my father was thinking of strippers, but that’s probably something that’s better left alone.”
“Agreed.”
A glance at my watch shows I’m five minutes late for work, but I don’t want to leave the park to go back to the stuffy office and answer phones for the rest of the afternoon. Time drags there, as though the moment I walk through the door, the clock comes to a screeching halt, every minute an eternity. Yet somehow, my hour lunch flies by in the blink of an eye.
“Sucks to be on a schedule, huh?” Evan asks.
I sigh, but don’t move. “Yeah, it really does.”
“So don’t go back to work. Spend the day how you want to. Go shopping. Go home and nap. Go for a long drive to nowhere. Sit here with me and people-watch.”
How awesome any of that would be. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll probably get fired. That’s why.”
“Would that really be so bad?”
I frown. “Of course it would. I can’t not work. I’d be broke in a month. I’d lose my car. I wouldn’t be able to buy clothes or pay rent….”
I want to eat my words immediately. I may have just insulted the only guy I’ve actually felt any sort of connection with or had any real conversation with in months. “I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
He shrugs casually. “Don’t apologize. I’m okay with what I am and what I do. I chose to live this way.”
I narrow my eyes at him, thinking that I must have heard him incorrectly. “You chose to be homeless?”
“Yup. One day I grabbed my guitar and a bag of clothes and started walking. And I kept on walking.” His eyes meet mine, all blue and serene with a splash of wild. “I still haven’t stopped.”
My imagination soars with visions of Evan walking non-stop, from one town to the next with Acorn. Sleeping under bushes and huddling under freeway bridges during downpours while cars race past them. I’m fascinated and also a little skeeved out over the concept of choosing to live on the streets. Just thinking about how he must live—not having a clean bed to sleep in—makes me feel itchy.
“Don’t you worry about being able to eat… or where you’re going to sleep…? Or—I don’t know—where you’re going to shower and all that?”
He shakes his head, the feather earring swinging against his mane of hair. “Nah. It all just works out. Like it did today. The girl I’ve had my eye on for days bought me and my dog the best lunch I’ve had in a long time, and now she’s talking to me.”
A blush heats my face, and now I wish I could blow off work and sit here and talk to him. But I really do have to get back to the office, so I stand and brush off the back of my pants.
Before I walk away, he grabs my hand and pulls it closer to inspect my tiny wrist tattoo.
“Ladybugs are supposed to mean good luck,” he says.
“I know.” That’s why I got it, actually. Because ladybugs are cute and dainty and lucky. Everything I’d like to be. But instead, I’m awkward and clumsy and not very lucky.
“Did you also know in Norway, there’s a myth that if a man and a woman see a ladybug at the same time, they’ll fall in love and are destined to be together forever?”
The warmth of his rough fingertips gliding along mine is comforting, like slipping into a pair of favorite sweatpants on a chilly day. I slowly pull my hand away from his.
“No, I didn’t know that.” How does he even know about the myths of bugs in Norway? Is he some kind of guitar-playing bug studier?
“We just looked at yours at the same time.”
“That doesn’t count,” I throw back with a smile. “It’s a tattoo. It’s not a real ladybug. And we’re not in Norway.”