“Are you kidding?” he says. “It’s delicious, as usual. I think I’ve gained ten pounds since you started baking at Higher Grounds.” He pats his flat stomach for emphasis.
“You have not. Besides, you don’t even eat that much. Mrs. Kaminski eats her own scone and then pilfers yours when she thinks nobody’s watching.” I know he sees her and pretends he doesn’t.
We chat for a bit about Mrs. Kaminski and everyone at Higher Grounds. José Luis ended up sketching me in the cake-dress after all, except this time, Gio is in the picture, weaving around my legs. I had it framed, and now it hangs next to the bed. Jacob pulls his phone from his pocket to show me a sketch José Luis drew of him wearing a suit made of piano keys. “I hung it in my music studio.”
“It looks just like you.”
Jacob swipes through the photos to show me one more. “Last week when you were at Xavier’s, José Luis sketched Mrs. Kaminski doing a Gene Kelly Singin’ in the Rain–style dance with her cane.” He flashes me a grin that’s layered with affection. “She said it was the onions in her sandwich, but I honestly think she teared up.”
I smile back at him, and it occurs to me that I felt alone when I left my parents back at the restaurant, but I’m not. I’ve built myself this quirky little family at Higher Grounds, and they mean a lot to me. I don’t know how I didn’t see them for who they really are during my Very Bad Year. My gaze drifts to Jacob. I don’t know how I didn’t see him, either.
I hop up off the bed. “Do you want more cake?”
His smile says he does. I refill his plate and sit back on the bed. “Thanks for this, Jacob.”
“For what? Coming over and eating all your cake?”
I laugh. “Yes, actually. Thanks for coming over and eating all my cake. And…” I lift a shoulder. “Thanks for cheering me up. I felt pretty awful earlier, and now… I don’t.”
“Seriously, your parents really missed out on this.” He lifts his plate. “And I’m sorry they’re so wrapped up in their idea of what success looks like that they can’t see how talented you are.”
The back of my throat feels like raw sugar, and my eyes sting. I look away and grasp for a subject change because if I don’t, I’ll start crying again. “So, what about your parents? They’re attorneys, right?”
He nods. “Yep. Human rights.”
“How do they feel about you being a musician? Didn’t they want you to go to law school or something?”
“Well…” Jacob shrugs, his face turning thoughtful. “It probably won’t come as a surprise to you that I was a really shy kid.”
“Not a huge surprise, no.”
“My parents are the complete opposite. They’ve never been afraid to stand up for what they believe, to challenge the system, or defend someone who’s powerless. It’s why they’re so good at what they do.” He cocks his head and gazes across the space between us. “You kind of remind me of them, actually.”
“Me?” Jacob’s parents sound amazing, while I’m pretty much a mess.
“When we were kids, you were always standing up to bullies and looking out for the quiet, shy, weird kids.” He gives me a self-deprecating smile. “Like me and Owen.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. I remember Jacob telling me this once before, on New Year’s Eve during my Very Bad Year. In school, I had a pretty easy time of it. Socially, anyway. But my brother was the classic nerd: supersmart and really into computers, he wore glasses like Jacob, and although he’s over six feet now, he didn’t hit a growth spurt until senior year. So, I got used to defending him. When I discovered that bullies will back down if you stand up to them, I decided to use my powers for good and help out other vulnerable kids on the playground, too.
But that was a long time ago.
“So, your parents didn’t care if you became a lawyer because you were shy?”
“Sort of. When I was about five they sent me to a child psychologist because they were worried I wasn’t making any friends. She was trained as a music therapist and had all these instruments in her office. I got really into them, and around the same time, you guys moved to town and the teacher sat Owen at my table. He was the same kind of weird as me, and well… you know the rest.”
“And now you’re wildly successful, so your parents must be very pleased.”
He sets his fork on his plate. “I’m not sure I’d say I’m wildly successful. I’m lucky that I get paid to write and play music, and I’m one of the rare people who can live off my passion. That’s all I can really ask for.”
As Jacob leans back on my couch and props one foot on his opposite knee, I’m struck by his quiet confidence. How is it possible that I ever thought this man was weird or awkward? He knows exactly who he is, and he doesn’t need to apologize or change to please anyone. I wish I could be more like that.
Jacob slowly lowers his plate to the coffee table, and I realize I’m staring. He gazes back at me, and there’s something charged in the air between us. My heart rattles in my chest, and his breath hitches, telling me he feels it too.
At that moment, Gio wanders out of the closet and hops up on the couch, breaking the spell. I’m not sure if I’m glad about that or not. Jacob reaches out to scratch him between his ears and, sensing an easy mark, Gio rubs his head on Jacob’s leg.
“Oh, sorry about the cat fur,” I say, setting my plate on the side table. “I can get him off you.”
“It’s fine.” Jacob smiles as Gio turns up the purr. “How’s it going, living with Giocoso?”
“He’s the love of my life, and no man will ever live up to him.”
Jacob’s face turns serious. “I’m sorry about Alex. You guys were together a long time.”
“Three years.”
“You want to talk about it?” Jacob leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Gio wanders off to check out his food bowl.
I stare down at my hands. I’m not even sure what to say about what went wrong with Alex. What went wrong with everything. “Have you ever wished for something so badly, only to finally get it and realize it’s maybe not what you wanted after all?”
Jacob is silent for a moment, lips pressed together. “At least,” he finally says in a low voice. “You can say you tried. Whatever it is. You gave it a shot.”
“I guess. But I should have it all together by now. Like Owen does… and you.”
He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head, and he seems almost bitter. “I’ve wanted the same thing all my life. But…” His expression darkens. “I’ve never had the courage to reach out and grab it.”
Our eyes meet, and I don’t think we’re talking about his music anymore. The heat that was rising between us all evening suddenly cranks up to a broil. “Why not?” I manage.
Jacob lifts a shoulder. “I guess it’s easier to hold on to hope than it is to try and fail.” His face is tipped up at me, dark hair tousled and slanting across his forehead, one lock teasing the top edge of his glasses.
And—Oh my.
I don’t want to be talking about his music anymore.
“But you could try and not fail,” I whisper. I grab one hand with the other to stop them from shaking. “How will you ever know?”