Inspire (The Muse #1)(44)
Author: Cora Carmack

She looks troubled by that, but she doesn’t give me any grief. I’m grateful because God knows just being in here is giving me enough grief already. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kalli making her way back to us and I add, “We just want to eat and enjoy this place. That’s all.”

“Eat and enjoy, I can do. She’s stunning, by the way.”

“I know.”

Kalli steps in front of us with a smile. Her eyes flick back and forth between us, and I’m sure it’s obvious we’ve been talking about her. But for all the charm Lori thinks I have (and I used to think I had), I’ve got nothing to say. “Well, come on,” Lori says. “Let’s get you two seated.”

I lay a hand on Kalli’s lower back as we move to follow, and the touch sparks heat all the way through me. Lori leads us to a booth in the corner, far enough away from the kitchens and all the other patrons that we won’t be interrupted, but still close enough to the music that we’ve got a prime spot.

Kalli takes a seat first, and I hesitate, unsure whether I’d rather be sitting beside her where I can touch her or across from her where I can see her better. Thinking of her request that we take things slow and do this the normal way, I settle for across.

Lori lays menus in front of us, and with a final wink at Kalli, leaves us alone.

I don’t need to look at the menu. I know it like the back of my hand, but she picks up hers, and I watch her eyes scan over the words.

Lori wasn’t quite right. Kalli is something more than stunning. She’s otherworldly. I’d told her that there wasn’t any need to dress fancy for this, and she’s not. She’s wearing jeans and a black sweater over a plain gray shirt with a colorful scarf tied around her neck. The scarf is really the only special item she’s wearing, but she still somehow manages to look like she’s stepped off the pages of a magazine or a movie screen.

She drags her dark, silky hair around so that it all sits over her left shoulder, and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as her eyes dart wildly across the menu. After another minute, she finally slaps it down on the table and says plainly, “I’m nervous. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be, but—”

“I am too.”

“You are?”

“Hell yeah.” I start to open my mouth to tell her all the reasons, but I decide better on that. It’s not just bringing her here that has me tied up in knots. It’s the fact that I missed her so much after only days apart. Even though we barely know each other. That fucking tears me up, and as badly as I want to say something and find out if it’s the same for her, I’m more concerned with not scaring her off.

She blows out a breath. “Well, that helps. I guess.”

“Why are you nervous?” I ask, which I know is unfair considering I’d just held back my own reasons, but I can’t help myself.

She shrugs, her big brown eyes catching, ensnaring mine. “Lots of reasons.”

“Give me one,” I plead.

She runs a hand over her hair like she wants to pull it over her shoulder again, but it’s already there.

“I don’t know how to describe it, but this just feels different than dates I’ve been on in the past. Those were easy, and this …”

She trails off, and I try to ignore the way my stomach clenches over the thought of other dates she’s been on. And the fact that she doesn’t feel at ease with me. “Is it something I’m doing?” I ask. “To make things harder?”

“No.” She reaches across the table, and lays her hand over mine. “I didn’t mean that this was hard. Not like that. I mean that being here with you feels … bigger than those dates felt. More important.”

I flip my hand over beneath hers and wrap my fingers around her delicate wrist. She does the same to mine, her fingers not quite long enough to reach.

“It feels that way for me, too. So maybe we should stop feeling so much pressure. We both want this to work. So I don’t see why it shouldn’t.”

Her fingers tighten around my wrist, and an unreadable expression, almost like pain, crosses her face before she lets go and picks up her menu again.

“So what should I order here?”

I struggle to make sense of the change of pace and say, “Well, eighty-five percent of the menu is fried. Hopefully that’s okay. I think they might have a salad on here somewhere.”

“No salads for me,” she says. “My only response to fried food is ‘yes please.’”

I laugh. “Thank God. Well, in that case, you can’t go wrong with the chicken fried steak. The barbecue is great too, especially the brisket. The meat loaf is always popular.”

“What are you getting?”

“Chicken fried steak.”

“Then that’s what I want.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. I want to know everything you love about this place. Starting with how you know Lori.”

“This was one of my old haunts in high school. Rook and I came a lot.”

“Rook. He’s the guy who called you that night downtown?”

“Yeah. We’ve been friends for a long time, and Cordell, Lori’s husband, sort of took us under his wing. We both had corporate parents who were gone a lot. We could have gotten into way more trouble than we did without this place.”

“You still got into some trouble?” she asks with a smile.

“Any teenage boys with limited parental supervision are going to do that.”

A waitress comes up then to take our orders, and we go ahead and put in our drinks and food all at once. When she’s gone, the silence settles again, easier than before, but still with a touch of pressure.

She brings back the drinks pretty quickly, and then leaves again.

“So do I get to hear stories about this trouble you got into?” she asks.

“Oh, I’m sure when you meet Rook, I won’t be able to stop him from telling you.”

“Tell me about him.”

I do, describing how we were with each other growing up. I tell her about his job as a tattoo artist now. “He’s the one who did all this.” I gesture to the section of my sleeve that shows from where I’ve rolled up the fabric of my shirt.

Her eyebrows lift. “He’s talented.”

“Yeah, he is.” In more ways than just that. I bite down on the urge to tell her about the band. About how Rook can play damn near any instrument, but he’s the best on the drums, and how he always seems to be able to invent the right music to go with my lyrics. I want to tell her about it because it’s such a huge part of my life, but I don’t trust myself to talk about it. Not with her. Certainly not here.

When Lori suggested I play for her, the idea latched onto my heart, and now I can’t get it out of my head. From the moment I met her, it’s been harder to fight the urge to write. And there are all these little pieces of songs and melodies that make me think of her. I want to share those things with her, and a little part of me is aware of how girls have always reacted to my music. Maybe it will impress her and make up for the fact that I’ve brought her to a grungy cafe instead of a nice restaurant for our first date.