When Darkness Falls(2)

At that same moment, Devon turned and headed toward her, smiling. She licked her suddenly dry lips. He remembered her. He put a hand on the back of the chair next to her. He was going to sit down.

“Mind if I take this?” He gestured at the table next to hers. “My friends forgot to save me a spot.”

She sagged in her seat. “Oh. No, not at all.”

Devon dragged the chair a few feet away and sat. Haley could have reached out and touched his shoulder, she would have sworn she could feel the heat from his body, but he might as well be half a room away. The next songwriter, Jake Zetlin, began. The same bass player accompanied him as had Devon, and the two of them sounded good, but Haley couldn’t pay attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Devon light a cigarette, saw his lips close around the end as he inhaled, felt a twist of jealousy when he touched the blond woman’s hands. He never glanced at Haley.

During the next break, Devon returned to the bar. Haley hesitated, put one hand on her coat. It was draped over the back of the remaining empty chair at her table. She could catch the ten-thirty train home. But then she’d either never see Devon again, or she’d need to find somewhere else he was playing and again try to muster the nerve to talk to him. Just walk to the bar, she told herself. Once you get there, you can say, “I really liked your songs.” But first you’ve got to get to the bar.

She studied his profile. The angle of his cheekbone, the slant of his jaw. He watched the stage, though no one stood there. Her hands shook. If she’d liked his songs less, it would have been easy to say a polite, “Great set,” and get the conversation rolling. If she didn’t care if she ever saw him again, it would have been easy.

As Haley walked toward him, Devon continued to look at the stage. He probably has a girlfriend, she told herself, both to keep from raising her hopes and to try to take the pressure off. She wished she had her guitar. She always felt more comfortable talking to people, especially men, if she had a guitar in her hands. She half-smiled to herself. She didn’t feel like playing it these days, but maybe she could carry it around.

“Great set,” she said. Her voice didn’t sound too shaky.

Devon glanced at her, seeming a bit startled.

“Thanks,” he said. “You’re one of Jake’s friends?”

Haley’s heart sank. “No. I came to see you. You gave me a flyer. By the Options Exchange.”

“Oh, yeah. How could I forget? I remember your eyes. I love that shade of gray. And you have a pretty name, too, I think, but I don’t, uh—”

“Haley Black.”

“Haley. Nice to meet you again.”

Devon held out his hand and they shook. As it had been the first time, his grip was firm, but not crushing. His fingers felt warm. Haley forgot what she’d planned to say next, if she’d planned anything, but she was on the edge now. It was too late not to jump.

“I, uh, liked the songs you wrote.”

“Thanks.”

Her glass clunked as Haley set it on the bar. “Liked” wasn’t what she wanted to say. It was too generic. What had people—men—said to her when she’d been playing that she’d appreciated? She couldn’t recall.

“They were intense.” Even worse. She sounded like a teenager. “I write songs, too.”

“Yeah?” Devon sat on a barstool and pulled another out for her. “You playing anywhere around?”

Haley shook her head. “I haven’t in a while.”

“Why not?”

“My boyfriend and I broke up.”

Too late, Haley clamped her lips together. After a somewhat disastrous blind date with one of Kari’s guy friends, Kari had drilled into Haley that when meeting a new guy, the ex-boyfriend was not to be discussed. Or mentioned. Or hinted at. Thirty seconds in and she’d broken the rule.

Devon raised his eyebrows.

“We used to play together,” Haley said. “I mostly sang harmony. I haven’t quite figured out what direction to take now.”

Devon nodded. “I’ve known a couple bands where that happened. It’s hard on everyone.”

Haley’s shoulders dropped. So she hadn’t sounded like Brian was on her mind every second. Devon understood the connection.

He offered to buy her another drink and, as they talked, kept his eyes fixed on her, as if she were the only person in the room. His knee grazed hers. A mix of Blind Jim Brewer songs played over the PA system, but all she heard was Devon’s voice and her heartbeat. She focused the conversation on him whenever she could, asking how long he’d been playing, whether he always played with the same musicians, whether he performed outside the Chicago area. She was more comfortable when he spoke. She wasn’t sure how much was appropriate to say about herself on a first date. Or meeting or whatever this was. She tried to pretend to herself he was just another musician she’d run into. That the only thing special was that he also wrote.

“Your songs have so much emotion,” she said.

“I write what fits the melody. And the rhythm.”

“So music first, then words.”

“Usually.”

Haley didn’t know anyone who wrote so powerfully merely by applying the mechanics of songwriting. “But isn’t it all inspired by your feelings?”

Devon shrugged and lit another cigarette. “Feeling that much gets you nowhere.”