“I figured, on account of the accent when you were singing,” she said. “Been here long?”
“Just a couple days,” I said, reaching for the tip jar.
The restaurant was shutting down. Wait staff circled the tables, filling napkin holders and checking ketchup bottles.
“I’m Angie,” she said, leaning forward to extend a hand.
I hesitated, then reached down and shook it. Rather than sit around to count the money, I just shoved it all in my back pocket. I wanted out of there.
“You seem sort of antsy, cowboy,” she said. “I don’t think I caught your name when you were singing.”
“It’s Chance,” I said, trying to bring down my anxiousness to leave.
It wasn’t like I had anywhere to go. I’d been sleeping in the bus station since I got to Chesapeake. But since the weather was nice tonight, I might just hang out in a park. I didn’t require a lot of downtime.
“I think you’re just about the keenest thing I’ve seen walk into this seafood dive,” she said.
My radar went off again. I glanced around the room, looking for anybody who might be watching. Buster was probably waiting for her out in the parking lot, getting more pissed off each passing minute that she dallied.
“Thank you kindly,” I said. I set the empty jar back on the ground and picked up my case. “I’ll just be heading out.”
She jumped to her feet. “Now wait a minute! I was going to see if you wanted to get a drink or something.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to offend the girl, but my tingly sense that I was going to get in over my head tonight wouldn’t let go.
“I’m sure you’ve got some hometown boy who looks after you,” I said. “Pretty thing like you.”
“But I don’t right now,” she said. “I had one, but he left town. He’s not around anymore.”
I looked her over again. She was cute. That skirt sure was short. I didn’t have to hurry.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
She squealed. “Finally! There’s a place just a couple doors down. Beer’s cheap and the music doesn’t suck.” She glanced down at the guitar. “Though I bet you’d be a lot better.”
I shrugged. “I’m not much on drinking.”
“Seriously?” She made a pouty face. “Well, I’m not legal anyway. We can just drink sodas. They have live music, though. Ain’t much else open around here this time of night on a weekday. Thankfully they don’t really card the girls.” She fluffed her hair out from her slender neck. Her collarbone was smooth and created a little shadow, just right for burying your face in.
Seemed like maybe a place to do some forgetting.
Despite my better judgment, I said, “All right, then, let’s go. You off?”
She untied her short apron that held a pen and an order pad. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it on a table. “I am now,” she said.
Yeah, this one was trouble. But I wasn’t coming back to this place, seeing as they had a regular band the next few nights. So what the hell? I shouldered my backpack and followed her.
We passed through the tables and out into the near-perfect spring night.
I could see the place she was talking about, a big neon sign flashing the word “Woody’s.”
We crossed the parking lot and walked along the road, past a closed-up barbershop that used to be a regular house. It had a padded swing tucked in the corner of its long front porch, and I thought that might be a decent place to spend the night, depending on how it went with this girl.
Our feet crunched on the gravel as we got closer to the bar.
“So, Angie,” I said. “You just waitress or you going to school?”
“I’ve been in and out of beauty school,” she said. “I can’t seem to get the hang of it, though. I got tired of sweeping up hair, so I started waiting tables to get by until I figure out what else to try.”
“Your folks live here?” We arrived at the door and I opened it for her.
“Outside of town. My daddy’s a plumber and my mom’s just one of those busybody church ladies.”
My jaw tensed at this. “I know the type,” I said. “I’ve got one of those too.”
“Ain’t that the worst?” She beelined for a booth in the corner.
The bar was dark, but the stage was bright. A five-piece band of older guys played bluegrass. Just the quality of their sound perked my spirits. This was good stuff.
A waitress followed us to the seats. “Whatcha drinking?” she asked as I tucked my backpack and guitar under the table.
“Two sodas,” Angie said, “and don’t give me no grief about it, Kendra.”
The girl whirled around and headed for the bar.
Angie shoved her chin in her palm, bracing her elbow on the table. “I went to high school with her. She’s a piece of work.”
I sat back against the vinyl seat and watched the lead guitarist pick out a tricky line. The urge to go up there and fill in another layer of sound was fierce.