Authors: Steven Slavick
Nina
’s attempt at humor had fallen flat. But she appreciated that he revealed his sincerity. And she
knew
tha
t he would never
look at her with hatred,
curse at her,
or
raise a hand to her.
“I do
n’t believe people frown at you,
”
he said.
“Only when I tell them about my dreams of making it as a musician.”
“Really?” He let loose a warm smile. “Tell me about it
.
”
“I sing. And write lyrics. I also play the piano and
the
violin.” She looked down, pushing aside some imaginary dirt with her shoe.
“I
’ve
always wanted to cut a record deal, but I realize now that it’ll never happen.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said with certaint
y. “Not for a second.
”
And she wanted to believe it. But how could she
continue believing in herself
after all of the rejection:
your voice is too high; you
certainly
aren’t much to look at;
you play the piano like an
amateur
; your lyrics are too sentimental.
Through tear-filled eyes, she refused to look up at
Nick, revealing someone without the fortitude to look past all of the naysayers.
But despite all of their comments, she continued trying, didn’t she? The harsh words inspired her to work that much harder, spending all of her free time writing music, perfecting her voice, tightening her sound on both the piano
and violin.
“I don’t know why, but I believe in you.”
Any other man who uttered those words would have come off looking like a scheming player. But t
he intensity in his g
aze made Nina
dismiss her cynicism and just…trust him.
“You shine so brightly.
No one had ever refer
red to her in such a unique and
lovely way. His words made her light up inside. She treasured the compliment.
It
made her lift her head and meet his gaze with pride.
“
I didn’t
just
say…
what I think I did
, right
?
Because that
…” He shook his head, looking relieved.
“No, of course, I didn’t.”
He swept a hand through his hair. “
I’d only thought it.” He met her eyes. “And don’t think you can read my mind.”
That made her head pound to the beat of her heart.
Shocked, he draped a hand over his eyebrows, hiding his face. “Oh, Jesus.”
Nina
giggled at his
embarrassment. She felt giddy.
“
Nina
!”
She turned arou
nd, annoyed at the interruption.
She
spotted
Brittany coming up behind her, wiping her hands on her apron. “
Could you
take my shift tomorrow
night
?” She gla
nced at Nick. “Sorry to intrude
.” Then
she turned back to her colleague
.
Nina
noted that Nick hadn’t even looked at Brittany, w
hich surprised her because every man who entered
the restaurant
always let his gaze linger on Bri
ttany for more than a few seconds. It also made Nina feel appealing, something she hadn’t felt in quite a while.
Until she’d come to work here, she’d always thought of
herself as somewhat attractive:
thick, dark
curls reached the middle of her back;
a slender fig
ure with
decent
breasts
;
and a smile that loo
ked cuter without showing
her
teeth. Her
gentle overbite made her feel like a chipmunk, a nickname that followed her from grade school to middle school.
But working alongside Brittany and, especially her boss, Kelsey, made her feel as special as the trinkets that accompanied the caramel co
r
n in a box of Cracker Jacks. But
seeing Nick look into her eyes with such
en
thusiasm, how could she not feel good
?
Feeling color entering her cheeks because Nick
still regarded her from profile. Nina
appreciated that her shift just ended. It gave her an opportunity to leave (and watch him from around a corner
to find out if he looked disappointed because she’d ended their conversation
).
Nina
excused herself and
w
alked Brittany to the back room, where she removed her jacket and purse from a wooden wall mount.
As she slipped the coat
on
, she decided against asking Brittany if she had plans
tomorrow night
. Of course, she did: a date with another
sexy
young man.
Nina
admitted to a stab of envy, but she couldn’t blame
her friend
for living it up.
“Sure, I’ll take your shift.
” Nina
slipped a shiny green purse over her right shoulder. After she
reached her apartment
, she would sneak in a nap before her shift at the bar tonight. “I’ll see you next week?
”
“
You bet.
Oh, h
ey, what’s that?” She
pointed at
the pa
ge
in
Nina
’s hand.
She looked down at it, only now realizing that she hadn’t given it back to Nick. She glanced in his
direction, but he had…vanish
ed.
A thread of anxiety made her heart pound.
The crum
p
led
pages no longer littered the booth’s table.
Only the untouched toast and the mug gave any indication that he’d inhabited that area only moments ago.
And she felt a pang of regret – that she hadn’t stayed longer to chat, t
hat she’d only learned his name and
nothing more. Well, he was obviously an artist of some
sort. She headed toward the exit
, sca
nning the restaurant for Nick.
The
ir unexpected chemistry h
ad spooked him.
Nina
couldn’t blame him. It
had shock
ed her as well. Nevertheless,
their meeting had a mystical quality that would make it difficult for her to ever forget.
Althoug
h she desperately wanted to look
at the sketc
h to discover what Nick had such difficulty
drawing,
she fo
ught against the urge: if he’d
intended
for
her see it, he would have given it to her.
But he’d crushed it and tossed it to the floor.
He regarded it as trash and threw it aside, essentially saying the artwork was not worthy of his efforts.
Despite that argument, s
he
couldn’t put it in the garbage. Doing so wouldn’t feel right, although if asked, she couldn’t explain why. So she stuffed it into her purse. If Nick visited the restaurant again, she could use it as an excuse to stop by and say h
ello
.
In the meantime
, she decided to do some more productive snooping.
As she exited her workplace, s
he pull
ed
out
her
cell
phone and
G
oogle
d:
“
Nick
Malloy artist.” It turned out that
he had his own website, so she clicked
on his biog
raphy, hoping to find a picture and
any other pertinent details.
For some reason, t
his little mission ma
de her feel like a stalker. But
it shouldn’t.
Nick had supplied his name and told her which schools he’d attended. If he didn’t want her to look him up,
he
would
n’t
have
revealed so much about his past.
She overlook
ed the notion that she offered her background first, knowing that if he didn’t do likewise, she might have been insulted or
presumed t
hat he had something to hide. Still, she
preferred to assume that he
wanted
to tell her about himself.
Walking down the sidewalk, using her peripheral vision to sidestep
a
few passersby,
she found a
picture
of
Nick in an artists’ studio
.
It soothed her anxiety. Although clean shaven
in
the picture, he still maintained
a
hint of a smile that hovered around his lips
. A
nd
t
he most magnetic eyes she’d ever seen
now stared back at her
. He didn’t look as rugged, but he looked more relaxed, more carefree.
A short while ago, at the restaurant, he’d looked focused and kind of tortured by the inability to perfect his work. But looking at his photogr
aph, Nina
now uncovered another expression that she’d unconsciously picked up on before but hadn’t enough time to deliberate on: Nick
sustained
that painful
expression
every day of his life
,
revealing that he
had
lived
a lifetime of sorrow and torment.
Or at least that’s the impression she got (from having known him for all of ten minutes).
And while many would tell her that she needed to spe
nd more time with him before draw
ing any conclusions, she’d seen that same haunted expression
throughout
her life simply by looking into the mirror. And in this case, if someone had pointed out that she’d transposed her experience wit
h Nick’s, Nina may have agreed. B
ut a sixth sense whispered that she’d correctly identified
that Nick had endured
far too much
disappointment and gloom
in his life
.
Be
low his
picture, she no
ticed a few pages of narrative. B
ut she couldn’t look away from those
stunning
eyes
.
They felt so familiar that she wanted to keep staring at them until something tripped in her mind, allowing her to
stumble upon a
connection. A few moments later, she finally managed to
focus
o
n the short biography below his picture.
But she couldn’t read the words, because her mind kept trying to process this man’s identity. She did, however, discern a few details that
may have
expla
ined his
brooding
appearance
: his
parents had died after getting hit by a drunk driver a dozen years ago. Les
s than one year later, his younger
brother had
suffered the same fate
.
T
ears enter
ed
her eyes.
She lowered the phone and swallowed past the bump in her throat.
She didn’t understand why she identified so strongly with someone who could only be described as an acquaintance (and someone who obviously darted out of the restaurant once she
stepped away from him). After all
, they hadn’t swapped memories or secrets.
But they made a connection.
She couldn’t deny that.
In fact, the weight of that realization pressed down on her with excessive force.
And not only did this unexpected burden feel ordinary, it also seemed familiar. But why? She refused to buy into the theory that she transferred her own experience onto Nick just to feel like she’d found a kindred spirit.
Taking a breath of the cool October air, she
p
u
lled up a page of his artwork
on her cell phone
. B
ut something inside her
(intuition?)
advised her that his aborted sketch would provide a better example of his art
istic skill
than anything on his website. She dropped her phone into her purse and pulled out his sketch.
Then she t
urned it over to analyze the rendering
.