“It would appear that way.”
I looked around, the book still in my hand, struggling to find something to say. What had possessed me to follow her like an idiot to begin with?
It clearly wasn’t to engage in witty discourse over the meaning of life.
“I work across the street,” I told her after an infinite amount of silence.
“I know,” Layna replied, surprising me.
I swallowed, loud and thick.
“Oh really?” I squeaked. Yes, I actually squeaked.
“I’ve seen you go into the music shop twice a day since I started working here,” she explained, not seeming embarrassed by her admission that she too engaged in stalker-like behavior.
It was straight and simple fact.
It should have weirded me out. But it didn’t
Not in the slightest.
“I’m a luthier’s apprentice. George owns the shop and he’s letting me learn under him so I can open my own custom shop someday,” I found myself explaining, not sure why.
“I don’t listen to music. It burrows too deep. I feel it in my bones,” she said softly, and I had to bend towards her so that I could hear the words.
Normal people would have found her statement off putting. Odd. Uncomfortable.
We were both way past normal.
“Maybe you haven’t listened to the right kind of music,” I replied just as softly. It was such a cheesy thing to say. But for some reason, saying it to Layna didn’t feel like a crap come-on.
It felt real. Maybe the realest thing I had ever said.
Layna nodded as if she understood exactly what I was talking about. As though she heard me.
Every interaction with this woman was beyond strange.
“Maybe you’d like to come see my stuff sometime,” I offered, my casual confidence disappearing under the weight of her gaze.
Layna chewed on her lip. Small, perfectly white teeth nibbling on plump, red flesh.
“Tonight. After I get off work,” she said, seeming to make an important decision in her acquiescence of my suggestion.
Typically I left the studio at six. But for her, I’d wait.
“Okay,” I agreed.
Layna inclined her head toward the book still in my hands. “Are you going to buy that?”
I handed it back to her. “I’ve had enough nothing in my life.”
Margie and Tate left two hours ago. Margie had asked three more times whether I’d go to the party later.
“Thanks, Marg, but you know I can’t,” I told her for what felt like the hundredth time. She looked unhappy. I kissed the top of her head and patted her back. “Go get yourself a piece of ass and put a smile on that beautiful face.”
She had flushed, and I could tell she didn’t know whether to be upset at my dismissal, or flattered at my compliment. But I knew that she would get over her hurt feelings and that we would be fine. I was good at keeping friends.
Until my life didn’t allow for them anymore.
George wasn’t surprised when I told him I’d be staying late. It wasn’t unusual for me to burn the midnight oil working on a project.
As I sat in the darkened studio, smoothing the edges of the new fret board I had just finished, I felt as though I were waiting on the edge of the world. It was an odd sense of anticipation and disquiet that I couldn’t place or understand.
I also realized I had never asked Layna when she got off work. She hadn’t offered any details, and I hadn’t thought to ask for them.
I may very well be sitting in the shop all night waiting on a girl who never told me when she’d be coming.
I looked at the time on my phone. It was just after nine. I stood up and stretched my back, hearing the satisfying pop of joints and bone.
I picked up the discarded chip bags and the remnants of the burrito I had had for dinner. Tossing them in the trash as I walked out into the main store. Rolling my head from side to side, I rubbed at my neck, noting how sore I felt from being bent over my workbench for the last few hours.
Then I stopped in my tracks.