The Duet(30)

“Bike accident in college,” he said, having caught me staring.

I raised my brows. “College boy, eh?”

“I went to the University of Montana for two years before I got signed to a record label. I finished the last two years up online.”

An image of a younger Jason Monroe serenading girls on a college campus made me laugh.

“I bet the girls loved you on campus with that guitar and all,” I said, trying to ease the quiet tension that seemed to follow us everywhere. I couldn’t place its origins, but it probably had something to do with the fact that I had the urge to straddle his gear shifter.

His gaze hovered on the road in front of us as he answered, “Just one.”

That’s as far as he cared to elaborate, and for the rest of the ride we remained silent.

Suffice to say, Jason and I would not become lifelong soul mates.

…



When we rolled into Big Timber, I was expecting to see signs of life. Maybe a few kids in miniature cowboy and cowgirl attire, some old men sitting out front of a barber shop reading a newspaper, a woman selling jams on the corner of Main Street. Isn’t that what happens in small towns? Instead, it was nearly as deserted as it’d been when Derek had driven me through it the first time.

Jason found a parking spot (there were about 100 available ones, unlike in LA) outside of a coffee shop that sat between a butcher shop and a shoe repair place. The awning was a little tattered, but the windows were painted with a giant coffee cup and scrolling cursive letters that spelled out Big Timber Brew.

“Looks like we’ve found the mecca of city life,” I joked as we hopped out of the car. I fully expected a tumbleweed to roll by and take me out, it was that quiet.

Jason’s mouth quirked up but he didn’t offer a reply. I was starting to learn that everything about him was a challenge. He didn’t offer laughter or words just to fill the silence. He laughed when he thought something was genuinely funny and he spoke only when he genuinely had something to say. My head would explode if I tried to do that. I’d talk to a brick wall if it meant I didn’t have to sit in silence.

He held the door open for me and a little bell chimed over my head as I walked inside the dim shop. The smell of coffee hit me in a wave and I took a deep whiff. Better than crack, I tell you.

“What’ll you have?” Jason asked, retrieving a wallet from his back pocket. Oh, Mr. Silent was going to pay for my coffee.

“I’ll come up there and order,” I said, mostly because I didn’t want him to make fun of me for my complicated coffee choice.

A portly woman with a bob, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since Rachel on Friends, was manning the counter. Her green apron accentuated all of her curves, but her wide lip-sticked smile was what caught my attention.

“Morning, Jason,” she crooned, her eyes twinkling as she took him in behind me.

“Hey, Marcy,” he replied with a tip of his head. If he’d been wearing a cowboy hat, I bet he would have tipped that forward, too. There was something about Jason that just seemed old-fashioned even if he wasn’t that way on the outside. “This is Brook—”

“Brooklyn Heart!” Marcy exclaimed, putting her hands over her mouth. “I don’t live under a rock, dummy!”

She rushed around the counter and came toward me with her arms outstretched. There was just enough time to give Jason a worried glance before her arms were around me. Mmm, coffee. Her hair smelled like a mocha Frappuccino and I liked it.

“You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, releasing me and holding my hand up so I was forced to spin in a circle. So far, I was two for two when it came to Montana women. Maybe it was just Montana people in general. My LA fans were just as excited to see me, but the people I’d met in Montana just seemed more genuine, like they wanted to adopt me into their family and feed me Sunday dinner.

“We came in here to write for a little bit, if that’s okay?” Jason asked behind me.

Marcy finally dropped my hand and glanced toward him. “Of course it is! Y’know, I’ve always told you I had some good ideas for a song.”

I smiled at Jason, but he was eyeing the menu board behind the counter. The scruff on his chin looked trimmed, and if I could do it without him biting my hand off, I would have reached out to run my hand from his chiseled cheek bone down to his jawline. I knew it’d be a little scratchy at first, but I’d get used to it.

“Okay, what can I make for you?” Marcy asked, drawing my attention back to her.

I stared into her honey-brown eyes, and rattled off my drink of choice. “Small vanilla latte with almond milk and an extra shot of espresso.” The moment I got it all out I heard Jason chuckle softly behind me and I suddenly felt self-conscious about my order. “Er, if you have it,” I finished, wrapping my hand around my stomach to grip my other arm.