felicity
It’s scorching hot— nearing ninety degrees and it’s not even noon yet. The sun beats down on me like a heating lamp on day-old french fries, leaving me crispy and dehydrated as I sit on the bench waiting for my bus. Now that Dotty’s back working part-time at The Nightingale, I actually have my first full day off since I arrived here in Nashville. I don’t intend to waste it.
A glance at my watch tells me the bus is now running twenty minutes behind schedule. I’d give up and walk the twelve miles if it weren’t so hot outside. Two hours in this heat, I’ll be dead on the side of the road before I make it halfway there. I uncross my sandaled feet so my thighs aren’t pressed together, then peel my sticky sundress away from my skin, fanning the material to create a breeze. It’s little help. My hair, still damp from my shower, is slowly starting to frizz. I should pull it up in a messy bun, but I want to look nice for her.
It’s been more than two years since she last saw me.
Another bead of sweat trickles from my hairline down my spine. At this rate, I’m going to look like I’m made of candle wax when I arrive. I shift uncomfortably on the hard bench, willing the bus to appear out of thin air and wishing for the hundredth time that I had access to a car. I know I probably could’ve begged Carly for a ride, but she’s working tonight and I’d hate to make her late for her shift if this takes longer than expected. My visit is far overdue. Partly because I haven’t had free time… but mostly because I’ve been avoiding going. I’ve been avoiding lots of things, lately.
Dark-haired, devil-tongued musicians included.
It’s been four days since I found Ryder sleeping at The Nightingale and in that time, I haven’t allowed myself to think about his eyes or his smile or the way he said my name. Much.
Kiddo, I repeat to myself like a safe-word whenever I start slipping into dangerous territory.He called me kiddo.
The thought is usually enough to pull me out of the spiral of obsession. To remind me that, no matter what I might feel, he’s clearly not interested. Guys who want to shove their tongues down your throat generally don’t think of you as akiddo,unless they have some serious undiagnosed issues a trained psychiatric professional would be better suited to deal with. Somehow, I doubt that’s the problem here.
He’s just not that into you, Felicity.
Get over it.
I wish I could banish him completely from my head but he’s lodged himself too firmly to shake, like a fragment of an annoying Top 40 hit you hear once and can’t stop singing, even though you don’t know most of the words.
The woman waiting on the bench beside me climbs to her feet as an Uber pulls up at the curb.
“Giving up?” I ask, scrunching my nose.
“I checked the city public transport app — it says there are mechanical problems,” she tells me, tucking her phone back inside her purse. “Could be another hour before they get a bus down here, and I’ve got an appointment I can’t miss.”
“Mother fudger,” I curse lowly.
“Good luck!” She pulls open the door of the car service and climbs inside. A wave of cool air from the AC vents blasts out at me. I nearly moan. It’s gone as soon as the door closes, a faint wisp of relief snatched away by the oppressive heat.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
If I had a cellphone, I’d already have an Uber on the way. Relegated to more primitive options, I eye the payphone on the corner. I’m about to cave and use some of the hard-earned cash stashed away inside my bag to call for a taxi when a white utility van slows to a stop at the curb in front of my bench. It looks like something out of a B-rate PSA on child abduction.
I can’t see through the dark tinted glass, but there’s an unfamiliar logo on the side: a tree inside a lightbulb. The stenciled letters beneath the sticker read WOODS ELECTRIC in capitals. I rise to my feet as the passenger window rolls down. I don’t know who I’m expecting to see behind the wheel, but it’s certainly not Ryder.
Christ, the man is always popping up where I least expect him.
I suppose that’s part of his charm.
“Hey,” he calls, leaning over the center console.
“I think your line is actually,want some candy, little girl?” I shake my head at him. “Try again, creepy van guy.”
I see a flash of his grin in the semi-dark cab. “You need a ride somewhere?”
“No.”
“Come on, you look half-baked out there.”
“I’m fine.” I wipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “The bus will be here any minute.”
“Suit yourself.” He revs the engine lightly. “But you should know… I’ve got air conditioning. And a bag of fresh donuts.”
My chin jerks up stubbornly even though my mouth is filling with saliva. It’s been ages since I had anything sweet.