See Her (Turn it Up #1)

Chapter 2

2

MAYZIE

“ W hat’s your name?” he asks in a thick baritone that accompanies his warm smile.

“Mayzie.”

“I’m Jack.” He reaches his hand out for me to shake, and I find it warm and callused when I slide mine into it. It’s strong but gentle as it squeezes mine, sending a wonderful buzzing sensation up my arm that settles in my chest. It’s like his hand is sending mine some kind of message as he releases slightly, and gives my fingers one more squeeze before letting go. It makes my entire soul glow, and I immediately miss the feel of his hand as he gestures to the park across the street.

“Do you want to take a walk?” he asks, and I’m surprised to find myself immediately nodding as I adjust the strap on my laptop bag.

“Yeah, sure,” I answer, falling into step with him as we cross the road.

“So what were you working on in there?” Jack asks as he nods at my laptop that swings at my side.

“Oh,” I reply, blowing out a slightly ruffled breath. “Just a boring copyright job. Nothing exciting, it just pays the bills.”

“Do you usually go there to work?” he asks, tossing his head back in the direction of the café we’re leaving behind us.

“No, I just wasn’t getting anything done at home,” I explain, letting my eyes dart up briefly to take in the dark blue of his before looking away. And here I thought I’d found my confidence. “I thought a change of scenery might help,” I add. “What about you? What brings you out on a Thursday morning?”

“Kind of the same thing,” he admits, and that cute dimple makes another appearance.

“You work from home?”

“Well…” He shrugs uncomfortably and his dark eyebrows draw together. “More like a side gig.”

“And what’s that?”

He draws in a long breath before letting it out. “I write songs,” he answers shyly.I almost stop walking.

“Are you serious?” I ask, as he gives me a curious look. “Don’t tell me... you’re in a band?”

“Would that stop you?” he asks.

“Stop me from what?”

“Talking to me.”

I look him straight in the eye so he knows I’m sincere.“No,” I say plainly.I don’t tell him how I’m really feeling on the inside, that I have a serious weakness for guys like him. The kind that are creative and expressive. They bring me to my knees (metaphorically), every time. Not that it’s going to stop me from talking to him.

“So if writing songs is your side gig, what’s your main gig?”

“I bartend at The Cedar a few nights a week,” he answers.“Ever been there?”

“A couple of times, yeah.I haven’t seen you there though.”

“Are you sure you would’ve remembered me?” His smile turns playful.

“Yeah, I think I would have.”I try not to blush as I keep our slow stride.“What about the band you’re in? Do I know you guys? ”

“We’re called Turn it Up,” he says, turning his head to me with a smile that borders on pride, yet still manages to be modest.

“I like it. What kind of music?” Please be alternative .

“I guess you’d call us rock, or alternative rock.I don’t know if we really fall into a category.We just play what we want, what feels good.” He continues to look between me and the view in front of us.

“Again, I like it,” I say, starting to feel myself relax a little. “Do you play anywhere? Like local gigs or anything?”

“Yeah, we’ve played at The Cedar occasionally, and we’re hoping to line something up downtown.”

“What instrument do you play?”

“I do guitar and vocals.” Wow. The whole rock star fantasy starts forming in my head, and I try to picture this laidback guy rocking his guitar and singing into a microphone while a bunch of groupies (myself included) swoon below the stage.

“And what about you?” he asks with a tone that’s a remarkable mix of warm and cavalier as we sit down on a wrought iron bench. “Tell me what you do when you’re not on your laptop.”

“That’s going to be hard since I’m on it a lot,” I chuckle. “I actually want to write creatively, like books, or a blog or something,” I confess my first thing.

“I love that,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I think it’s the dream to make a career out of being creative.”

I sigh at that statement. This is too much. Having only just gotten my confidence back after my last so-called relationship, I’m not ready for all the wondrous perfection this guy seems to be so far. I know damn well it’s likely too good to be true.

“Me too,” I agree on a nervous breath.

“That’s good,” he gives me a sincere look. “But you still haven’t told me what else you like to do with your time.” His facial expression seems to be struggling with the sincere mask it tries to hold up before a sharp breath escapes through his nose. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he lets out a chuckle. “Fuck, are you hearing this lame game I’m laying on you? I might as well talk about the weather.”

His words take a beat or two to sink in, but when they do, an ecstatic humming bird takes flight, fluttering up in my chest, the beat of its wings sending little shock waves down my spine.

I let out a light, nervous laugh. “We’re both lame,” I amend his statement, quirking my eyebrows at myself as my gaze drops down to my lap. “If you’ll recall, I’m the one who made things weird, asking you for sugar back at the café. It was like an awkward thing neighbors say.”

“Hey,” his soulful voice brings my eyes back up to see his blue pools soften as he gives an endearing tilt of his head. “So we’re both out of practice. Let’s just use it to say what we want then.”

Though one corner of my mouth likes the sound of that, I feel a bit unsure. It’s sad that a seemingly nice guy wanting to get to know me has my hackles up, but here we are. Thank you, male species.

“Can I ask you something first?” I redirect, with a scrunch of my brow. I feel like such an ass, but he lifts his eyebrows with considerate interest and nods. “What made you want to stick around and talk to me?”

I’m dying to know his answer. This cannot be happening just out of luck.

“I know it was probably weird how I approached you,” he says, looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up at me; his eyes are intent on conveying his next words. “First, I heard your laugh…”

I close my eyes in embarrassment, but try to offer a lighthearted smile. I can laugh at myself.

“… and it lit me up inside,” he finishes, tilting his chin up at me and staring me down with those sparkling dark blues. A bolt of beautifully soft lightning electrifies my insides, and I can’t help but wonder if it feels like what he just described .

“My laugh?” I parrot back in disbelief, leaning back to try and gauge if he’s messing with me. “Seriously?”

“And then your smile,” he adds, easily, and I shake my head, still blown away by what I’m hearing. I don’t think any guy has ever said this to me.

“Don’t get me wrong, my life is just fine,” he shares, sitting back and resting an arm across the back of the bench, “but it’s also very mundane in some ways.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “The truth is, I haven’t been able to write anything decent in several months. I think I’ve hit a wall because nothing’s inspired me lately.” He holds his hands out as if to say that’s life and he’s not feeling sorry for himself over it, but I can still tell it bums him out.

“Then you laughed in the café…” A warm smile comes across his face as if he’s reliving it, “and it made me smile. It made me want to laugh along with you, and it made me realize I hadn’t felt much in a while. Like I’ve been on autopilot.”

My heart squeezes itself so tight at what he just said I wonder if heart cramp is a thing. Even if I never see this guy again, I know I’ll forever remember this moment.

“Only I wasn’t man enough to come talk to you; you came to me. That blew me away all over again, along with your smile, and the obscene amount of sugar you put in your coffee.” He offers me a companionable laugh that melts away any embarrassment I might normally feel from that.

“I like my coffee sweet,” I offer with a half-shrug, returning his laugh, and we sit quietly for a few moments. It’s surprisingly comfortable; no traces of awkwardness.

“Laughing is my favorite thing to do by the way,” I finally reveal.

“Laughing?” He raises his eyebrows as if he just doesn’t understand.

“Yeah,” I say coyly, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk. I’m feeling shy in the moment, but after what he just shared with me, the least I could do is answer his question from before. “I’m a yogi, I dance downtown in a studio, I love walking my dog, but more than anything else, I love laughing. It just feels good.”

“I’ll have to pay attention next time I do it,” he sighs warmly. “Seriously though,” he continues, “I knew I wanted to know more and didn’t want it to end with me handing you a sugar canister.” He leaves his eyes on me for a moment, letting them flirt with mine.

“I’ll be honest,” I reply, trying to swallow down my jitters, “I didn’t either.”

“I like that you’re not shy.” He gives my knee a friendly bump with his, sending electrical impulses up that side of my body and making my nerves go haywire again.

“Oh, trust me, I am.” I roll my eyes at myself.

“Well, I like that you’re not too shy to tell me that.” Another silence takes over that’s oddly relaxed for two people that have only just met.

“So… you said you’re having trouble with your songs?” I ask, trying to keep this going for even a moment longer.

“Oh… yeah.” He lets out an uncomfortable breath. “Writer’s block can be a real bitch.” He shakes his head and I can tell that he’s trying to keep his trials lighthearted.

“I bet she can be,” I comment. “I’ve gotten stuck on papers back in school and sometimes with my copywriting, but I don’t think I actually have had it. What does it feel like?”

“It’s when something you used to do so easily, just one day won’t show up for you.You keep writing every day, but everything you come up with is just…” He trails off for a second.“You look down at what you’ve written, and nothing will click. It won’t spark any kind of feeling, and it sounds like garbage. It’s like you can almost see the mental block in your brain,” he says, bringing his finger to his temple.

“What kinds of songs do you usually write?” I ask.

“Some songs are just things I come up with. Others are based on real experiences I’ve had or people I know.”

“Well, I hope you can break through this wall and write more. I can see you like being creative too, and that shouldn’t have to be blocked. It should be shared with the world.” A look passes over his face, like one of realization, but it’s gone so quickly I think I must’ve imagined it.

“Can we see each other again?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere.A wave of disappointment comes over me as he seems to be signaling the end of conversation, but it’s quickly replaced with one of hope once I register that he just asked to see me again.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, nodding. “When?”

“Would Sunday be alright?” he asks. His eyes are hopeful, and it sends a zing through my chest.

I don’t want to seem overeager. I’ve had too many guys get excited about me, get me excited about them , and then turn around, freak out, and say things have moved too fast and they’re spooked, even when they were the ones to set the pace. I remind myself to just take it for what it is.

“I can do Sunday,” I nod. “You feel like getting writer’s block on that day?” I joke.

He laughs. “No. Hopefully I’ll come up with something more fun than that.”

And then he winks at the same time his dimple appears. Talk about a one-two punch.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask as an annoying text alert goes off on my phone. I pull it out to silence the alarm, reminding me to send in the work project I already submitted in the café.

“I’m not sure.” He grins sheepishly, running a hand through that sexy hair again. “But like I said, I’ll come up with something. Can I put my number in your phone?” He reaches out for it and I hand it to him, trying not to pass out at the feeling of our fingers touching again. He’s got strong hands with calloused fingers that I’m already yearning to feel on more of my skin.

Down, girl.

“Sounds great,” I answer, and take my phone back after he texts himself from it so he has my number. We stand awkwardly for a minute, and I decide to be the one to walk away first.

“Well then, bye,” I say, bringing my teeth down on my lip with a nervous smile.

“Bye,” he says, still standing for a few beats as I start walking away. I wave over my shoulder as I glance to see him start walking away too.I head to my car and home, where I try to put him out of my mind.

Ha!