#possibly dark

You don’t mind too much. It’s something to do as the night ticks on. You go to the center aisle with an armful of spicy ramen and work at lining the shelf with the varied flavours. Anything called ‘super extreme’ makes your chest hurt with just a glance.

The door chimes and you glance over at the customer.

“One second,” you assure and place the last package on the shelf.

“No rush,” the man counters.

You slow down as you come up the aisle. You’re not often surprised in your line of work. You get all sorts of characters in the store. The ones who make you chuckle and those who make you want to bite your own tongue off, and the unfortunate few who have you with your hand on the bat under the counter.

“You’re still in town,” you say as you make your way behind the counter.

Steve Rogers, the famed rocker, the stadium sellout, nods as he looks down at the front of the counter, perusing the assortment of cough drops, candies, and gummies. He reaches for a packet and flips some spearmint gum onto the counter.

“Double header,” he explains. “Getting restless in the room. Was hoping to see a familiar face.” You meet him across the counter and pick up the pack of gum. He taps his fingers on the edge as he angles to look behind him into the store. “Few snacks wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Sure, we just got restocked… Anything not out, I can check the crates,” you offer.

“Mm, I’m sure I can find something.”

He turns and strides down the centre aisle. He grabs a bag of chips and reads the flavour aloud ‘teriyaki chicken glaze’. He clucks and puts it back. “What happened to salt and vinegar?”

You snort softly. You’ve seen some of the flavours they come up with. You’re a bit repulsed yourself.

“You know…” he picks up another bag. “I didn’t get your name last night.”

“Oh…” You look down and blow out between your lips. “Shoot, forgot my name tag again.”

“I was tryna guess. In my head,” he crinkles another bag as he sifts through the display. He makes a face at the hot pickle rings. “Selena?”

You tilt your head. “No,” you utter.

“Lucy?” He guesses again.

“Uh uh,” you hum.

“Ella?”

“Cute but no,” you shake your head. “Is this a game?”

“Kind of,” he picks up a bag of kettle cooked chips and carries them over. “I got time.”

“Ah, so I’m just an encore act,” you muse.

His lips slant. He doesn’t have his sunglasses but there’s a small cut at the inner end of his left eye brow. His sockets are slightly shadowed too. You never sleep well outside your own bed, even if it’s not very comfortable.

You take the chips and scan them. He puts his hands on the edge of the counter and bends slightly to once more search the product.

“I never had much of a sweet tooth,” he says. “Any suggestions?”

“Hm. I love Hot Lips.” You try to see over, even knowing you’d have to hang well over the side.

He flicks his eyes up, “hot lips?”

“Cinnamon gummies,” you realise how odd that sounded. “But if you’re into chocolate, I love the chocolate-dipped raisins.”

“Raisins?” He stands straight. His leather jacket is done up, giving a peek of a grey ripped tank underneath. “Exciting.”

“Simple tastes,” you shrug.

“Hm.” He squints at you then grabs a chocolate bar. Plain dark chocolate. He puts it on the counter. “Is it Macy?”

“Macy?” you scrunch your nose. “Nope.”

“Damn,” he puts his hand on his hip. “Hot or cold?”

“Frigid,” you answer. You scan the chocolate bar. “It’s…” you give your name.

“Huh. Pretty. Never would’ve got that,” he shakes his head. “Looks like you got a lot of work tonight.”

He glances over his shoulder. You follow his gaze to the boxes. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “It’ll keep me busy.”

“Don’t they got a day crew or are you here 24/7 too?” He faces you again. He unzips his jacket enough to slip his hand under the zipper and retrieve his wallet.

“Only for the night,” you answer. “Guess it’s busier in daylight.”

He hums and pays in cash again. You count out his change and hand it back. He slips it away and slowly folds his wallet.

“Want a bag?” You offer.

“Sure,” he accepts. 

You can sense he’s reluctant to go. It’s a little awkward. You were hoping to pop and earbud in and make a dent in the boxes.

“You know, my aunt doesn’t believe me.”

“Your aunt?” He repeats.

“That you were here. I texted her. Guess she figured out emojis bc she sent me big laughing ones.” You chuckle.

“You bragging about me?” He asks coyly.

You put his things in a paper bag and peek up at him. “To who?” You grin and look around.

“Right,” he nods and crosses his arms. “So… when you’re not stocking shelves and dealing with cranky old men… you study or something?”

You pucker your lips in thought. “Don’t you got something more exciting to do? Like… eat your chocolate and watch some hotel double feature?”

“Alone? Nah,” he mutters. “Must be a lot, working at night, school during the day?”

“Nuh uh,” you purse your lips. “No school for me. I just work.”

“Oh, I guess…”

“You’re not the only one to ask. It’s fine.” You insist. “Maybe in the future when things are a bit more… steady.”

“Tough out there,” he drawls. You push the paper bag toward him. He makes no move to take it.

Instead, he turns on his heel and struts up to the aisle of boxes. You stare after him. He reaches in and takes out a box of limited edition strawberries and creams cereal. He turns to you and holds it up.

“Where does this go?” He asks.

You snort. “You don’t have to help.”

“I’m bored. I keep sitting in that room, I’m gonna finish the bottle,” he argues and walks down the next aisle, searching.

“Next one over,” you direct him and come around the counter. You go up to the boxes and take out and armful of pink boxes. You meet him down the right aisle. “Gonna wanna do more than one thing at a time or you’ll be here all night.”

You nurse a rare dose of coffee behind the counter as you do inventory on the cigarettes, papers, and vapes. No one else really follows the procedures but you’re the only who ever hears about it from Remo. Or maybe you’re the only one who hears him.

Monday nights are always slow. You might as well get something done.

You pull down the metal cover on the premium products and move onto the little canisters of flavoured nicotine. It’s kind of twisted that they look kid-friendly. There’s nothing better between either forms of inhaled death.

The door chimes and interrupts your count. Shoot. Was that thirty-two or forty-one? Oh well. 

You put the clipboard down and turn to greet the customer. You can’t hide your surprise. You fiddle with the pen as Steve saunters over.

“I thought you were flying out?” You say.

“You think of me?” He muses. Your cheeks burn.

“Well, I listen,” you shrug. “What happened?”

He smirks and crosses his arms as he leans on the counter. He looks across at you, his arms pulling taut the grey and blue plaid shirt.

“Hi. How are you? Good to see you too.” He replies coyly.

“Oh, right. Hey,” you cringe. “I just… wasn’t expecting you to come back. Ever.”

“Counting on it?” He wonders.

You pout. “Didn’t say that.”

He scoffs. “I forgot my jacket.”

Your eyes round and you go stiff. “Your jacket?”

“Yeah, something about a passport to get through the gate.” He tilts his head.

“You…” you look around. “You didn’t come earlier?”

“I was tired. Checked back into my room. Rebooked.” He explains casually. “Too many people watching during daylight.”

“Right, er…” you fidget. “One sec. I’ll check…”

You hurry away and reach for the keys on your belt. They jingle loudly as you unlock the backroom and dip inside. You see his jacket on the chair cluttered with statements and candy bar wrappers. You’re surprised one of the guys on opening didn’t swipe the thing. You forgot your water bottle once and never saw it again.

You snatch up the jacket and fold it over your arm. The scent of alcohol and a woodsy cologne waft up from the lining. You look down at the well-worn leather. It’s probably more than just his wallet, this thing is well-loved.

You lock the door behind you as you come out. You go to the counter and lay his jacket on top. He stands straight and spreads his large hands over the brown leather. He smiles.

“You found it,” he says.

“Yeah. Thankfully someone put it aside.” You sigh. “I didn’t even notice.”

“It’s my jacket,” he insists. “Like an old friend, you know?”

“Mhmm,” you nod. “Well, guess now you can finally get out of this place.”

He slides the jacket off the counter and slips it up his arms. He shrugs it on and feels around the pockets. He looks down as he peeks at the inner pocket.

“Got everything, I think.” He says. “You know, I had to get the person at the front desk to let me in. Kinda embarrassing.”

“Again, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be,” he interjects.

You chew your lips and focus on hooking the keys back on your belt. He watches you. You peek up and make a face.

“So er… where are you headed back to? LA?”

“LA?” He grins knowingly. “Nah, not for me. Brooklyn.”

“New York?” You flick your lashes. “Wow. I’ve never been.”

“Born and raised,” he proclaims as he rests a hand on the counter, his other on his hip. “You wanna go?”

“One day. Maybe,” you reply. “If I can ever afford the flight. Don’t know if I could be on a bus that long…”

“One day?” He echoes. “What about tomorrow?”

You choke, then snort. “Tomorrow?”

“Ah, you know, I’m not good at this tech thing. Wide thumbs.” He shows his hand. “Maybe I bought two tickets instead of one.”

You squint. “Oh?” Your lips part slightly as you stare at him. Your lashes flutter as your mind races.

“Oh?” He counters in a deeper tone.

“You’re asking me to… go with you?” Your eyes search as if you’re reading a book.

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckles nervously. “I am.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

“Sorry I just… it’s… oh…”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek and sets his feet. He crosses one arm over his chest and bends the other to frame his jaw, poking his lip with his pinky. The corner of your mouth twitches.

“I’m… I don’t know,” you laugh thinly. “I… why?”

He takes a deep breath then drops his arms. He tilts his head one way then the other.

“I thought I was being obvious here,” he sighs. “Or thought at least that we were getting along… I… I’m gonna be soul-crushingly honest right now. I like you. A lot.” He bites his lip and shakes his head. “You know, I haven’t written a song in years, words tend to run away from me these days but… yeah, I like you and if I leave and that’s the end, I don’t think I’d be okay with that.”

Your lips move but you can’t speak. You lift your brows and sway nervously. Your chest is all hot and tight.

“Wow,” you utter at last.

“Please say more,” he pleads.

“I’m trying.” You eke out. “I’m surprised. That’s all. Surprised.” You blabber dumbly. 

“I can take rejection… you just need to tell me,” he says.

You giggle then stop yourself. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m just… my brain is…” You scrunch up your lips and furrow your brows. “You’re a really nice guy, Steve…”

“But…” he rasps, his forehead lining as his eyes dim.

“You’re a nice guy and…” Your cheeks bulb as you smile. 

You’re not going to do this. This is wild. You barely know each other. He’s so much older and you could be stranded in New York.

It just feels like it’s now or never. This isn’t ever going to happen again. You can stay and spend your nights staring at these shelves or you can take a chance. You’re not going to go to school or be some great career women. So this is that tiny bit of excitement before you settle into mediocrity.

Right?

You look at him. He’s waiting and you can see the fragility in his expression.

“And I’ll go.” You say out loud, then blink in surprise at your own impulsivity. “Yeah,” you breathe. “I’ll go. To New York!”

His face brightens and his eyes gleam. His shoulders lift and you see his chest fall as he exhales. His throat bobs. “You will?”

To you, it’s the same old. The seven-to-seven is nothing special. People your age are out dancing or drinking or studying. They’re staring at the glow of their future, not the flickering glare of the marquee reflecting in the puddle outside the scuffed windows.

There’s a thrum in the air. A few blocks that way, the concert hall is pulsing. Another thing you can’t afford. Another memory you don’t have time for.

You mindlessly sort through the box of lighters next to the till. You organize them by colour; light to dark, then along the spectrum of the rainbow. The night hums to static as the show ends but the bars crackle to life. Amped up from the music, the fanatics will go and end the night with a drink, or two. Or too many.

You slide the lighters back into place. A man in stained flannel comes in to buy some smokes and beef jerky. He grumbles but doesn’t say much else. As he goes, two women enter in zip-up boots and crop tops. You try not to assume or judge. They pay in ones and go on their way.

You yawn as you’re left alone again. The radio plays songs you don’t know. You use the old bic pen to draw on a crumpled length of receipt paper. Roses on a vine stretching across the thin sheet.

The door chimes and you stand up. No one is really out of place there. Whatever you need after midnight is right there. But he looks lost.

He looks around behind a pair of dark aviators. His brown leather coat is scuffed around the cuffs and elbows, the button-up underneath has three buttons undone at the top, and one leg of his dark jeans is caught over the tongue of his boot. His disheveledness is somehow finely curated.

He looks in your direction but you can’t be sure with his dark lenses. “Hey,” he greets with a nod.

“Hi,” you utter back. You push the receipt aside and rest the pen on it.

You put your hands on the edge of the counter. Remi will be watching the camera back if this guy swipes anything and he won’t be impressed if you’re not paying attention. The man goes back to the fridges as you stand on your tip toes.

There’s a clink of glass and he stands up straight. He strides down the centre aisle and approaches the counter. He puts the dark bottle on the counter.

A shank of his grey blonde hair falls loose from behind his ear. He scratches his thick beard before he flicks it back. Your cheeks dimple in your sheepish attempt at a smile. You slide the bottle closer and scan it.

“ID, please,” you prompt.

He tilts his head and slowly raises his hands. He takes off his sunglasses and reveals two bright blue irises. “Really?” He intones as the lines around his eyes crinkle.

For a moment, you’re speechless. He’s so familiar but you can’t place him. You look at the screen then at him again. You nod and shrug at the same time.

“Gotta scan it to make the sale,” you explain.

“Ah,” he hooks his sunglasses in the front of his shirt. You don’t mean to look at the chest hair peaking out, dark blonde with strands of silver to match the thick shag on his head, as he reaches into his jacket. “If you’re just doing your job.”

His rocky drawl tweaks in your ear. He hands over his ID and flip the small black and white square towards the scanner. As you do, your gaze snags on his name. You glance up at him.

“Not working?” He asks.

“No, it’s…” You offer him the ID. “Cash or credit?”

He sniffs and slides the card back into his wallet. “Cash.”

He holds out the bill and you take it. You do your check with the marker and make change. You peek up again and a quarter slips past your palm.

“Shoot,” you bend down to retrieve the coin. As you stand up, he’s watching you. “Sorry.”

“Tired?” He asks.

“Not really. Still early.” You offer the change and he slowly puts out his large hand. The star above the knuckle of his thumb confirms your suspicion. It really is Steve Rogers. “You want a bag?”

“I’m good. They got you working alone?” He wonders as his eyes scan the store. “Night shift?”

“Not too bad. Slow.”

“Mm,” he hums as he closes his hand and brushes your fingers with his. He diligently slips away the bill and the coins. He looks up at you and you realise you’re staring. “You didn’t hit some silent alarm or something?”

“What?” You blink.

“Just… you been watching me like a hawk.” He puts his wallet away. “Promise,” he shows his palm. “Just here to feed the beast.”

He reaches for the bottle, wrapping his thick fingers around the neck. He lifts it and you shift your weight.

“I just… I know who you are.” You chew your lip. “Was it you playin’ at the Hall?”

He scoffs. “Nah. Not me.”

“Oh, right. No, I must be mistaken,” you show your teeth.

“No, I’m… me. Just. I don’t play anymore.”

“Right, uh. Sorry. You know, my aunt’s a big fan so…”

“You’re not?” He challenges as he lifts the bottle.

“I don’t mean– I like your stuff but I guess…” you stop and chuckle nervously. You don’t want to insult him. It’s not that his music isn’t good, it’s just a little before your generation.

“I’m surprised. Not a lot of the youngins heard of me,” he snorts. “I’m flattered.”

“Oh, sure,” you raise your brows. “Well, I hope you enjoyed your Buy Fast experience, sir.”

He winces, “sir?” He whistles. “Right, old man.” He clicks his tongue and the dimple in his cheek deepens under his cheek. “You don’t gotta say it out loud. I feel it.”

“Feel… what?”

He laughs. “My age.” He looks down at the label of the bottle. “I just came to town ‘cause… buddy of mine was playing.”

“Oh, right. Was it any good?”

“Do you really care?” He asks.

“Well…” you look around emphatically. “I can’t say I got much else goin’ on.”

He shrugs. “He still gets the crowd goin’.” He gestures to you with the top of the bottle. “You have a good night. I’ll…” he turns and turns the bottle as he examines it. “Get through.”

“You sure? I don't mind…"

“You've been yawning for the last few hours. You need the sleep. Besides, I've slept on much worse. Trust me." He drawls.

“Oh me too," you chuckle. “Thanks."

You stand and there's a slight waver in him. You sense the lingering reticence, a sense of guilt, maybe even frustration. You grab your phone and you bag and swallow another yawn.

“I hope you don't mind me clocking in already.” You say.

"Not at all." He puts the blanket and pillow on the couch. “I'll show you where everything is."

He gestures you ahead of him. You lead the way down the hall. He points to your left. “Bathroom," then ahead of you. "Bedroom.” He sniffs and drops his hand. "The other room is supposed to be a guest room but… not many of those.”

"No worries,” you assure him. "Think I'll just wash my face and brush my teeth and lay down.”

"I'll probably do the same. Oh, shower’s all yours as well.” He offers.

"Yeah, probably a good idea after that flight," you say.

“I put a towel out." He assures. “Let me know if you need anything else. I'll probably be awake for a while."

“Okay." You smile.

He lingers between the bathroom and the bedroom. You sway on your feet.

“Thank you, Steve."

“No problem. Really. Anything you need… and it's New York. If you want a moccachino at 3am, you can get it. Trust me.”

You chuckle. "That's a bit late. Even for me.”

You turn and head into the bedroom. It feels like trespassing as you look around. You can smell the same cologne he wears.

You put your bag on the chair and go to the window. It's dark and the city glows like a thousand stars altogether. You stare for a moment before your eyes blur.

A shower sounds real nice.

You grab your toiletries from your bag and a set of pajamas. You go back out and dip into the bathroom, locking the door as you enter. You twist on the faucet and mess with the little lever to make the showerhead spray. You step back before you can get soaked.

You undress and stretch out your shoulders. You don't realise how much you've been tensing up. It's just been a long day.

You take your time, scrubbing and soaping up. You linger in the steam and let it ease the knots in your neck. You flip off the water and sigh.

As you emerge from the shower, you're even more tired than before. You exfoliate your face and brush your teeth. You zip up your pouch and bring it with you as you leave the bathroom.

You pause as you hear a clink from down the hall. You glance toward the noise, the soft scuff of careful steps bristles the hair on the back of your neck. You hesitate at the bedroom door.

It's not your business. You're tired. You close the bedroom door and put your pouch on your bag. You go to the bed and stretch out.

Maybe tomorrow, you can go out and do something. After all, no one comes to New York to stay cooped up.

🎸

You wake up in a moment of intense confusion. The fracture in routine has you spinning in the unfamiliar bed. You blink away the haze of sleep as it all comes back to you.

You sit up and glance over at the city skyline. The morning greets you brightly. You smile and bounce off the mattress. You pull the blankets straight and smooth them out.

You stretch and rock your hips, loosening up the kinks. You check your phone. The weather looks great and it's still early. You rarely feel this refreshed.

You quietly open the door, slowing as you sense the stillness in the apartment. A loud rumble rolls through the air. You follow it to the front room.

Steve's on his stomach, one arm slung down to the floor, his feet up on the armrest. He looks too big for the couch. You feel terrible to displace him.

You cross the room but stop yourself. Better let him sleep a little longer. You go to the kitchen and get a glass of water.

You mull over what to do as you empty it, gulp by gulp. You wash it out and put it in the tray. You go back to the bedroom and take your toiletries. You get ready in the bathroom and go back to dress. A pair of jeans and tee shirt. Casual… too casual?

You swipe up your phone and go out to the living room. It's not too early. You pace a little before you find a nerve. You go up to the couch and gently touch Steve's shoulder.

He's still in his jeans but his shirt is on the floor. The blanket is rumpled around his middle, exposing his bare back. You nudge him a bit harder.

“Hey, Steve, you want a coffee or something? It's after nine."

He snorts and grumbles. He lifts his arm and flings his hand up. You rub his arm softly.

“Sorry, I know you're probably tired."

He grumbles and shifts, rolling his back to you as he folds his arm over his head. He growls then snores again. He's a heavy sleeper.

You back off and bite your thumb. You don't want to wake him up if he's still tired. Still, you don't really want to hang around and awkwardly wait on him. Maybe it will be easier if you just go out alone. Just down the block.

You go to the kitchen and weigh your options. You could surprise him. Find somewhere to buy him a sweet treat, and yourself. You won't be long at all.

You search your purse and find an old receipt. You write a note on the back and leave it on the coffee table next to him. You'll probably be back before he knows it.

“Oh?” You eke out. “I fell asleep.”

“Um, yeah,” he stares down at you then slowly stands straight. “I didn’t want to wake you, but there is a bed…” He points over his shoulder with his thumb.

You lift your head from against the back of the couch and the blanket drops to your waist. You swallow a yawn and rub your eyes. You look out at the placid sky.

“It’s not even five,” you shake your head.

“You’re tired. You’re allowed to be.”

“I fall asleep now and I’ll be up all night,” you say.

“Nothing wrong with that,” he shrugs as he slowly backs up.

“No, maybe not, but I was hoping… well, I was gonna ask if we could see more of the city.”

“Uh, sure,” he rubs the back of his neck and tilts his head to the side. “We got time for that. I was thinking we could you know, have a real date first…”

“Oh, ha, yeah, of course. I hope I wasn’t being pushy. I just… I’m excited.” You smile and watch him. His blue eyes are set in stone. “Not just to be here but to be with you, too.”

“Right,” his expression softens, just a little. “Well, you want me to keep you awake? I’m a bit boring to be honest. Despite my reputation.”

“Boring?” You scoff. “Alright.”

You roll your shoulders and stretch out your neck. You get up and fold the blanket up, leaving it on the cushion. It was nice of him but you’re trying to reset your clock.

“What’s this?” You point to the square thing on the shelf just beneath the mounted TV. “It looks fun.”

You glance back, noticing him recoil from behind the wall that divides the dining room from the front room. The subtle clink suggests some sort of dish. He clears his throat. 

“Wow, I feel old. That’s a game cube,” he chuckles.

“You’re a gamer?”

“Not really. We used to have one on the tour bus. Super Smash Brothers and all that. Before that, it was a PS1 and a 64. A way to pass the time.” He clucks. “And start fights.”

“Super Smash Bros? I played that with my cousins. They have the new system. The flat one you can carry around or whatever,” you shrug.

“So, you don’t game?” He asks.

“Not really but I’m always up to try. I think I can figure it out… if you feel like showing me.”

“Sure, I can take it easy on you,” he boasts.

“Please don’t,” you retort.

He sends you a look, eyes narrowing slightly, then crosses the room and reaches for the controller. “Let me find the spare.”

He searches in the drawer at the bottom of the shelf and hands you a second controller. He sets the other on the top of the shelf so he can turn on the TV and switch around the cables. He hums and turns around.

“Gotta move the couch closer,” he says.

“I can help.”

“Nah, you stay there.” He points to you. He slides the coffee table to the side then pulls the couch up within reach of the controller cords. He stands and claps his hands. “Not out of commission yet.”

He takes the other controller as you sit then takes the cushion next to you. The system starts up and he loads the game. He leaves the control tutorial on screen as he waits patiently. You squint and nod.

“You know what, I’m never gonna remember this. I’m gonna mash,” you giggle.

“You should at least learn how to dodge,” he says.

“Let me go with it. It’s seemed to work out so far,” you grin.

He stares at you a moment then looks at the screen. He sighs, “alright.”

You go to character select and you choose the cutest character; Kirby. He picks his and you shift forward as you focus on the battle. The countdown ends and you start. Oof, you are not good at this. He’s probably right about trying to learn the actual controls but you don’t wanna win, you just want to have fun.

It goes about as well as he predicted. You lose. 

“Dang,” you pout.

“You sure you wanna play this?” He asks.

“Yes! Come on! Let’s do it again,” you nudge him playfully. “I can’t figure out how to kick your ass if I don’t practice.”

His mouth slants and he hits rematch. “You want a different character?”

“Nah, I like this one.”

“Okay,” he snorts and you start again. And you lose again.

“I can show you a few tricks,” he leans over, “try hitting this twice then this one and that one again real fast.”

“But if I hit them all at once, then I can do everything at the same time, right?” You goad.

His forehead lines and he looks at you. You smirk. “You’re messing with me,” he grits.

“A little. But… I am utterly hopeless at games. That part is real.” You stick out your tongue. “So, best of five?”

He tuts and shakes his head. The screen idles as you feel him watching you. You peek over at him again.

“Unless you’re bored?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “No…” his cheeks dimple. His blue eyes crinkles around the edges.He leans in until his arm touches yours. “I haven’t had this much fun in… ever, I think.”

“Ah, you definitely seem like the type?”

“The type?”

“A puppy person.”

“Oh, but I love the big old guys that grumble! Like mastiffs. So cute,” you babble then catch yourself. You shake your head. “I’m rambling. Sorry, I’m tired. If you can’t tell. And a bit… over my head.”

His lips curve slightly. “You’re very honest, you know that?”

“Am I? I think I just don’t have much of a filter.” You scoff.

“I like it. I’ve been around a lot of people who lie. And you get to a certain spot and people just lie because they think it’s what you want to hear.” He says.

“Yeah, I guess.” You agree. “Guess it’s where you’re at. I’ve met a lot of painfully honest people.”

“Well, if they ever said anything bad about you, I can say they were lying,” he counters.

“Ha, that’s nice of you. I think…” you pause and take a bite of your hot dog. It’s salty and a bit dry. You swallow and look at him. “For the sake of honesty, I don’t think you really know me that well.”

“Getting there,” he says as he arches a brow. “Right?”

“Mm, trying,” you agree. “Oh, another truth.” You look at the hot dog and grimace. “This isn’t very good.”

He chuckles. “Gotta try it once.”

“Well, this might be the only time I’m in New York. Gotta soak it all in.” You chime as you fold the wrapper over what’s left of the hot dog.

“Every second,” he agrees. “How about we go back to my place and get some real food now? I make a mean grilled cheese.”

“With pickles?”

“Pickles?” He makes a face. “Really?”

“See, you don’t know me,” you giggle. “Pickles, onion, and some ketchup. Mm mm.”

“Huh,” he clucks as he points to a bin and you drop the remnants of your regrettable snack inside. “Maybe you should think about trying something new. Old cheddar and chives. Simple but savoury.”

“Or maybe you should. Have you ever had a grilled cheese with pickle?” You wait and he tilts his head, pointing you back to the waiting cab. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Quite a bit, I think,” he opens the cab door and waves you inside.

🎸

You nearly slip as you step off the shoe mat. Your socks slide on the hardwood as you gape, mouth open as a wispy ‘wow’ escapes you. You’re hypnotised by the New York skyline, drawn in like a sailor to a siren.

You go to the window and stare out from the high rise penthouse, taking in all the windows and winding streets and lights. You keep from touching your nose to the clean glass as you peer down at the city. It’s all so wonderful and surreal.

“You live here?” You slowly turn to take it all in.

The penthouse is perfectly curated. He must have paid a professional to pick out brass accents and exposed brick detail. Your eyes scour the space, picking out the pieces that are all him. The framed records and the bookshelf of LPs.

“Not as glamorous as it seems,” he assures you.

“It’s so big,” you say.

“Ha, sure is,” he agrees. 

You turn again and squint, searching the space. He comes closer and you face him. He looks down at you with a stitch between his brows.

“Something wrong?” He asks.

“Yeah… I thought… don’t you have guitars or something?”

His eyes flick down and away. His hands go to his hips and he chews his lip. He hums.

“They’re in storage.” He mutters.

“Oh, I… I’m sorry. I just… I was curious is all, you know?”

“It’s fine. Really. Mostly safekeeping, you know? Some people think they’re valuable.” He shrugs and drops his hands from his hips. He turns and strides across the pent house. “So…” he says over his shoulder, “how about that grilled cheese?”

“Sounds yummy,” you follow him as he enters the kitchen. You step into the doorway as he approaches the square island, his back to you as his shoulders square. He lingers there for a moment. “I hear it pairs well with champagne,” he sidles to the side to reveal a bucket with a bottle sticking out of it. He plucks it out and faces you. “How about it?”

You near and he offers the bottle. You take it and read the label. “Never had champagne…” You say. “Um, how exactly…” You touch the cork.

“Here, let me show you,” he steps around you and stretches his arms around you as he puts his hands over yours. “Hold it tighter right here.” He guides your hand low down the curve of the neck. “Grip it.” he squeezes your hand under his. “Push your thumb and wiggle a bit…”

The pop surprises you. You squeal and push back against him as mist wafts from the brim and the cork pings off a cupboard door. He rumbles with laughter that rolls through you.

“Not too bad,” he praises.

You smile and turn in his arms. You hold out the bottle.

“Ladies first,” he insists.

“Shouldn’t we get glasses?”

“Right… old habits,” he grins.

“No, it’s… I can do this. I can live on the wild side.” You insist and look down at the bottle. You put it to your lips and sip the sweet alcohol. The bubbles burn your nostrils and you pop your lips off. You hiccup. “Oof.”

He laughs again and you offer him the champagne. He takes it and swigs it without hesitation. It doesn’t affect him at all. He licks his lips and examines the bottle.

“I think glasses are a good idea,” he pivots and goes to the counter. 

He bends to pick up the cork and sets it on the wooden finish. Then he pops open a cupboard. It takes him a moment to take out two short glasses shaped like skulls.

“Sorry, I don’t have any champagne flutes,” he says as he pours. “I should’ve asked Glenn to leave some with the wine.”

“I don’t mind.” You go to him and he turns to offer you a glass. “I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“So, is it everything you dreamed of?” Steve’s fingertips brush down your sleeve.

“It’s… awesome,” you grin even bigger as a honking car comes close to the taxi. You twist around to see the angry driver. 

Steve chuckles. You bite your lip and turn forward. You touch your hot cheeks and sigh.

“Ugh, I’m such a dweeb, I know.” You look at him. He’s smiling at you, his head slightly tilted.

“You’re…” he struggles to finish his sentence. “You’re perfect.”

You shake your head and make a face. “Corny,” you chide softly and nudge his arm. You look out the window again as the traffic slogs by.

You hope he can’t see how nervous you really are. It isn’t that you don’t like all his compliments, you’re just not used to them. To be honest, you really don’t know that you deserve them or could ever live up to them.

A siren wails in the distance and you flinch. Steve stretches his arm above you on the back of the seat. “Sounds like home,” he preens.

“It’s… loud,” you push your thumb down with the other.

“I guess years on the stage got me used to it,” his hand slowly crawls down and he tickles your shoulder. “The noise, the rush…”

You shift and turn to look at him. “Do you miss it?”

“Miss?”

“Playing? Concerts? Shows?” You wonder. “Oh, what’s the best show you ever played?”

He laughs again. It rolls up his throat deeply as his gaze clings to you. You could melt beneath those eyes. You can still see the rock’n’roller that made all the girlies go wild.

“In a way. You know. I miss the energy. Not the solo stuff so much but when we had the band goin’, those were good times,” his cheeks dimple and he drags his fingers along his neck where the shorter stubble sticks out. “Exhausting, though.”

“Oh, of course. You had a tour bus and all that?”

“Sure did. Actually, the early days, you know, when we played covers in pools of spilled beer, we had this old van,” he splays his free hand before him as if painting the picture. “And Bucky. Jeez. This guy. He went down a one-way. The wrong way.” He tuts and shakes his head. “He got in a fight with some guy about it and well, he played with a black eye. End of the set, we thought he was going to lose it. Said he couldn’t even see his strings.”

“Wow,” you gasp. “That’s… crazy.” Your lashes flutter. “I feel like I’m missing out on my youth. I don’t know that I’ve ever done anything that crazy. Oh, you know what, I went to this disco thing last year… ha.” You cross your arms and shrink down. “On second thought, the most exciting thing was the girl in the bathroom who told me she liked my shirt.”

“Don’t think I ever had a buddy tell me that so…” he drawls.

You gently poke him with your elbow, “don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” He lets his arm fall down onto your shoulders. You don’t push him away. “You’re really not missing out on much. Trust me. We were young and reckless. That stuff follows you. Even when you think it doesn’t.”

“Mm, sure. I guess safe is boring but… safe.” You say dumbly. You scrunch up your lips. “Urgh, you know, I don’t think I’m a song writer. That’s for sure.” You swallow and watch the street above the dashboard. “Steve?”

“Sweetheart?”

You giggle.

“What?” He growls.

“Nothing, it’s just… that’s… cute, but er, I was going to ask. I hope it’s not too much but… why did you stop playing? You don’t like it?” You glance at him.

His eyes finally leave you. He lowers his chin and blinks. You feel him sink down just a little.

“I had a bad night. Then two. Then a bad month.” He shakes his head subtly. “It was killing me. I loved it but I didn’t enjoy it. Music is everything but it just became a chore. I hated the crowds, I hated the press, and I couldn’t stand the record company anymore.” He sniffs. “Well, I don’t think I wanna say much more. They made me sign a damn NDA and…” he wiggles his fingers dismissively. “Music is fun when it’s a passion, not when it’s your job.”

You mull over his words. You know everyone wants that life. You can’t say you never dreamt about being rich and famous behind the convenience store counter. It doesn’t sound much better the way he puts it.

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

“Nah. I’m lucky. I get to walk away. I have that freedom,” he says. “I get to go out and meet pretty girls and bring them home…”

“Girls? So you’ve done this before?” You narrow your eyes.

“Uhhh,” he blinks. “Not… I don’t mean like that. I never was that type.”

“I’m kidding.” You assure him.

“Right, uh…” He exhales. “Can you tell I really don’t want to blow this?”

“No. Can you tell I’m completely out of my depth?” You counter.

“Not at all. In fact, you seem like you’re exactly where you belong.” He says.

“Hm, we’ll see,” you squirm and look around. “This city might be too big for me.”

“Smaller than you think,” he mutters.

You gape through the window again. You lean over, nose nearly touching the window as you slip free of his arm, and you cling to the door. You watch the smear of people, cars, and building in awe.

“You really live here?” You breathe. “Oh, my god. It’s so magical.”

“Oh, yes, that street meat is legendary,” he chuckles as a hot dog vendor doles out his wares.

“Is it? Can we get some?” You sit up.

He snorts then clears his throat. You look up at him and his expression sobers. 

“Sure,” he agrees. “Hey,” he talks to the driver. “Can we pull over? My lady’s hungry.”

“Sure thing, guy,” the driver looks around. “Gonna have to take you ‘round the corner.”

“No problem,” Steve says. “She’s a tourist. She wants to take in the sights.”