“Well, they’re kind of like pancakes but with little squares you can put syrup in. How about hash browns? Ever had those?”
He looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. I try a different approach.
“What do you usually eat for breakfast, Liam?”
“Pop-Tart thingies. Or cereal.” He glances around slowly, his gaze lingering on the front window. “It’s nighttime,” he informs me gently as if concerned for my mental well-being.
I laugh softly and nod. “I know. I don’t like early morning meals much, but I love breakfast for dinner. ‘Brinner’ is what me and my brother called it as kids when our Nana made it.”
He stares blankly and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get through to him.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing my keys and then opening the front door. “There’s a magical place that serves breakfast twenty-four hours a day for people like me. I’ll take you. My treat.”
He regards me warily for several minutes before finally walking out the door. I breathe a small sigh of relief. It’s progress at least. I’ll take my victories where I can get them.
22 | Gavin
“RENT’S USUALLY FIVE hundred but if you keep sitting in with the house band a few times a week, I guess I can knock it down to four.”
I nod at Cal. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
“It’s not a favor, kid. You don’t pay the rent on time, I’ll take it from your paycheck. Plain and simple.”
I shake his hand. “Got it. And hey, this way I’ll never be late for work.”
My red-faced boss scowls at me. “Somehow I think you’ll still manage.”
Grinning, I nod. “Someone’s gotta keep your heart rate up, Cal. Might as well be me.”
He grumbles something rude under his breath on his way out, handing me the key to the studio apartment above the bar before slamming the door.
It’s empty but it’s mine. Exposed brick walls, a thin film of something on the windows, and heavily scuffed wooden floors don’t exactly scream home sweet home, but it works for me.
Lord knows I’ve lived in worse.
After leaving Dixie’s this morning, I found an eviction notice on the trailer when I got home. It wasn’t the first and I knew it might not be the last, but looking around at that place, the dirty dishes, the stained furniture, and reminders of times I’d lost my temper and kicked in a door or had to remove one from its hinges to save my mom from overdosing on the bathroom floor, I realized there was no way in hell I was getting my fresh start in that shithole. Besides, my mom hadn’t been home in weeks so I was pretty sure she knew she was getting evicted and her sense of self-preservation kicked in so she’d made other arrangements.
Luckily, Cal still had space above the bar available for rent. I make a note to check out some local garage sales for secondhand furniture and write my to-do list on a notepad from the bar. Once I’ve scrawled everything down, I appraise my list.
I’ve got to clean up a bit, get a few basic groceries including cleaning supplies, check in with my drug counselor, call the nearest rehab facility and see about getting my mom admitted, and I saved the best for last.
Make Bluebird fall in love with me. Again.
I got this.
Well . . . except maybe that last one. There is always that fear clawing at the edge of my awareness.
What if my darkness is too dark? What if the accident was the last straw and she can’t forgive me? What if I really and truly just don’t deserve her?
I’ve seen my life without her and it’s bleak and empty and miserable.
I want her.
I need her.
I love her.
I know what love is because of her.
I glance out my smudged window. The glow of the Tavern’s sign is bright from below. I sigh, wishing I could see stars the way Dixie and I used to watch them from her rooftop when we were kids.
Whether she wants to be or not, Dixie Lark is my happily ever after, and even a guy like me can’t help but wish on stars—even if they are made of neon.