Cinnamon Eyes

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Later the same evening, I was back outside the bar. I hovered on the sidewalk for a few minutes, trying to look casual—probably failing spectacularly—while talking myself into going in. I drew a deep breath and pinched my earlobe, and was half a second from running off, when a blond guy in a suit exited the door.

He held it open for me. “Going in?”

“Sure. Thanks, man.” I smiled and hurried inside, not wanting to take up his time more than necessary and weirdly happy someone had taken the decision out of my hands.

The place was surprisingly crowded for a Tuesday. Several of the tables were occupied, and a few people hung by the bar, elbows on the shiny copper surface with frosty beer bottles in front of them.

It was a cool place, with bare brick walls, dark wood ceilings, and a row of big, naked light bulbs over the bar, casting a warm light throughout the interior.

“Nice,” I mumbled as I walked up to the end of the counter and signaled the bartender.

He finished up with his current customer before sauntering over to me with a wide, come-hither grin all over his face. “Welcome to the BB-Bar, handsome. What can I get you?” he asked and winked.

He was undeniably cute, in a clean-faced, twinky kind of way. I might have considered flirting back with him in my old life.

“Whatever IPA you have on tap.” I smiled back, but it was my polite, thanks-but-no-thanks expression.

He caught it and backed off immediately. “Sure, man.” He got to work, still smiling, but without the flirtiness.

I appreciated his sensitivity. I had no problem with flirty bartenders—everyone had to make a living—but the ones who wouldn’t take no for an answer annoyed the crap out of me.

A minute later, he put a frothing, frosty pint with an amber-colored beverage in front of me. My mouth watered. I hadn’t had a beer in so long, but figured a few sips wouldn’t hurt.

I paid for my drink, gave him a generous tip, and decided to go for broke. “Is, uh, Asher Cross in tonight?”

He raised a questioning eyebrow and seemed to look more closely at me. I tried not to fidget under his stare. “Sure, he is,” he finally answered. “But he’s…” He let out a little snort before continuing. “He’s kind of busy right now. I’ll let him know you’re looking for him as soon as he’s available, okay?”

“Thanks.” My mouth felt raspy, as if clad with sandpaper. I grabbed my glass and took a big gulp of the liquid to moisten my tongue. Crap. If this was my reaction just asking about Asher, how would I feel standing face to face with him?

After shooting me an amused look—what was that all about?—the Twinktender was off to help another customer. I took my glass and wandered over to a free table tucked away in the corner, where I climbed the high stool and took another sip.

I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of the cool beverage flowing down my throat. Alcohol and depression were a terrible combination, and I hadn’t had the tiniest drink for a long time. I’m sure my therapist would glare at me and my IPA if she were here, but I ignored her imaginary stare. I wasn’t going to drink even half anyway.

As I sat there deep in thought, I became aware of music playing. A dark, raspy voice sang, accompanied by a single acoustic guitar. My eyes flew open.

How had I not noticed the music when I entered the bar? Had I been that anxious?

On a raised platform across from the floor-to-ceiling windows, the singer was perched on a high stool just like mine, playing a beat-up guitar almost completely covered in stickers.

He hunched over his instrument, with his head bent down, making the wild, coal-black hair fall over his forehead. Rocking from side to side, he seemed completely absorbed in his music.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Never before had I heard a voice like his. It rumbled in his chest, almost like it sent out sound waves that made every cell in my body vibrate along with it.

I didn’t recognize the song he played, but I liked it. It was slow and intense, and suited his voice perfectly. Even when he sang it softly, almost inaudibly, I still felt it acutely.

“Beautiful,” I murmured. My eyes fluttered shut, and I allowed myself to be caught up in the music.

God, I’d missed this.

When the song ended, I opened my eyes and clapped with the others. He didn’t look up or say anything, just started strumming another slow song on the strings. Judging by the cheers from the room, it was a popular one.

And then he lifted his head, opened his eyes, and started singing.

I gasped.

It was him. Asher.

My hands flew to my face and covered my mouth.

Sixteen years later, I still would have recognized him anywhere. The hair was as unruly as ever, and just as rock’n’roll as his voice. The jawline so sharp, he could probably cut glass with it. And the nose was still a little too big for his face.

I couldn’t see his green eyes from here, but I remembered them vividly. The pale color of a leaf newly broken out of its bud in spring was such a stark contrast to his black eyelashes and olive complexion. They had always hypnotized me with their beauty.

When he started singing, his voice pulled me out of my initial shock.

Two best friends

Like no one had ever seen before

Always together

happy and troublesome and wild

Sharing scraped knees

and high flying dreams

Carefree as the clouds in the sky

The boy with laughing cinnamon eyes

And I

The words struck a chord inside me. They reminded me of us when we were kids, all the way down to the scraped knees. Had he written this song? Had our friendship inspired him?

Then one day

he shimmered with a different light

Just one look at him

made my heart ache, stutter and want

I felt the same

pouring from his soul

A longing for more between us

The boy with loving cinnamon eyes

And I

He sang with such emotion, and the pronouns he used didn’t escape me. Asher was singing to a man, and my stomach made a hopeful jump.

Our story

didn’t have a fairytale ending

He had to leave me

and all I could do was to cry

But with no choice

I had to let go

We hugged and were saying goodbye

The boy with grieving cinnamon eyes

And I

I swallowed. I didn’t understand. That sounded just like…I shut down that thought immediately. It couldn’t be.

It’s been years

and my life has never been the same

I’m often wond’ring

what could have been if he’d stayed

Maybe one day

I’ll see him again

In dreams we were never apart

My boy with the sweet cinnamon eyes

And I

My boy with loving cinnamon eyes

And I

After the last chord rang out, the bar was deadly silent for a heartbeat. Then everyone started cheering and clapping and whistling.

Everyone except me.

I folded my arms on the table in front of me and collapsed with my forehead on top of them, my face hidden in the dark space.

Had I heard what I thought I’d just heard?

Was that song…about us?

Had he had feelings for me, too, back then?

The thought made me shake, and I grabbed my elbows and squeezed to keep myself from flying apart. I took a deep breath and didn’t let it out until my lungs screamed and burned in protest. I repeated the process several times until my teeth had stopped chattering and my heart had slowed its furious pace.

I was still hiding when someone cleared their throat in my vicinity.

“Excuse me? Benji said you wanted to talk to me? Are, uh, are you all right?”

His voice was as deep when he spoke as when he sang, and it sent a shiver down my spine, completely different from the previous desperate shaking. I took a deep breath and raised my head. Forcing myself to face him.

At first, he didn’t seem to recognize me. He searched my face for clues, but it only took a few moments for the spark of realization to light up his eyes.

“Cory?” His voice was gravellier than ever. “Cory, is that you?”

Strands of hair were plastered to his face, and his forehead shone with sweat. His countenance was serious, and he remained completely still, as though he didn’t dare to breathe before he heard my answer.

“Yes,” I whispered.

That was all it took for him to explode in movement. With two quick steps, he was close enough to grab my hand. His strong fingers enveloped mine, and for a second, I reveled in the feeling of calloused fingertips against my palm. Then he pulled, careful not to make me topple over, but forceful enough for me to understand he wanted me to follow.

I jumped off my stool, and he nodded before he turned around and strode toward the bar. I scrambled after him, having a hard time keeping up with his long legs.

“Benji!” he yelled over the buzz.

The Twinktender looked up from the beer he was pouring. “Yes, boss?”

“I’ll double your pay if you close the bar for me tonight.”

Benji’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared into his blond hairline, but he didn’t ask any questions. “No problem,” he said, staring at us with his mouth hanging open as we rushed past him, toward a door behind the counter.

“Thanks, Benji,” Asher threw over his shoulder before he opened it. He tugged on my hand to signal he wanted me to follow and closed the door behind us.

Behind it was a steep stairwell, and we climbed it together. Asher didn’t have to pull me anymore. I followed him willingly up the stairs, taking two at the time. In seconds, we were upstairs in an airy apartment.