“I’m sure.”
I watch as she takes a deep breath before gathering the strength to continue.
“He works at the Tavern now. So he was literally fifteen minutes down the road and he couldn’t even pick up the phone or stop by. I’ve been giving piano and violin lessons to some local kids whose parents can’t really afford much. One of the moms was turning twenty-one; yes, she’s twenty-one with a five-year-old, don’t judge.”
I put my hand up because I am the last person to be judging anyone right now. “No judging. Got it.”
“And a group of them convinced me to go out for a night on the town. We got there and they all shoved me toward the piano. I figured what the hell, you know?”
God. I can see it. I can totally see Dixie playing the piano in this smoky bar and Gavin being drawn to the music and seeing her, and my stupid pregnant hormones are making this too much to handle. Dixie blurs before me as she continues.
“So I’m playing and I feel someone watching me and there he is.”
A startled cry escapes me even though I saw it coming.
Dixie shrugs. “And he was with this . . . woman. She was blond and beautiful in a sophisticated street-savvy sort of way. And older than me. Probably late twenties or early thirties. They were talking all night, every time he took a break from bartending, and they were like forehead to forehead. She kept touching him and it was just . . .” Dixie shudders and so do I.
“He didn’t even speak to you?” Now my hormones are vacating oversentimental land and heading toward blind rageville.
“Oh he did. He basically told me to go back to Houston because I’d be better off.”
“I will kill him. He’s a dead man.”
She laughs a little, but then she looks at me and her eyes go wide. “Robyn? You okay? I promise, it’s all right. I’m okay. Don’t cry.”
“Fuck. Am I crying?”
I wipe my eyes and sure enough, they’re damp. Well, hell.
“How could he? I mean, it’s so obvious that you two—”
She waves her hand. “I don’t know. All I know is, whatever was going on, he didn’t want me there to see it. He basically told me to leave and not come back. So yeah. I’m thinking of getting the first of many cats because I’m obviously destined to be a lonely old cat lady.”
“Like hell you are. I will get this waiter’s number right now and you will—”
I’m interrupted by the waiter in question. He sets our food down and grins sheepishly. So he heard me then. Good.
“Anything else I can get you, ladies?”
“You bet your sweet—”
“We’re fine,” Dixie says loudly. “Thanks.”
He leaves us with another lingering grin.
“See?” I say, gesturing wildly toward his retreating figure and nearly knocking my water over. “There are other fish in the sea. Smoking-hot fish, mind you. Gavin Garrison can suck it.”
Dixie takes a bite of her wrap, eyeing me speculatively while she chews. “You’re really worked up today. What’s going on with you?”
Crap. We’ve reached the portion of the lunch date that’s about me.
“Eat a little more. Then I’ll tell you.”
“Robyn Breeland,” she begins, setting her wrap down harshly. “If you invited me here to tell me you have a deadly disease or something awful and are just stalling for time by messing around about the waiter then I—”
“No, it’s nothing awful.” I sigh. “Well . . . I don’t think it’s awful anyway. Your brother might feel differently.”
“My brother?”
I push my spirally pasta salad noodles around with my fork. “He and I have kind of been seeing each other casually during the tour. Since we were together so much anyway, it just sort of . . . happened.”
“Feel free to spare me the details.”
“No problem.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”