An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(10)

I dwell on the word chemistry and my teeth start clacking. “Okay. Great,” I manage. Pacing forward, I sit down in the chair he’s gesturing at and almost miss the seat. Blush settles into my cheekbones as I regain my composure and clear my throat. “I really appreciate the interview, Cal. I know I don’t have much experience with cars or mechanics—well, any, really—but I’m a hard worker and extremely reliable.”

I inwardly cringe. I basically confessed that I have zero knowledge in the field I’m applying for, but hey, at least I’ll show up to do a job I’ll suck at.

Cal holds my gaze for another second before looking away and reaching for a pen. “Do you have good phone etiquette? Can you handle customers?”

“Yes. I’m great with people.”

“Assuming you don’t think they’re trying to maim your dogs.”

He says it so straight-faced, it takes me a moment to realize he’s kidding—I think. Cracking a smile, I laugh lightly. “Sorry about that. I really am good with people, and I’m a fast learner. I’m sure I’ll figure out your processing system and software in no time.”

Jotting down some notes, he nods. “Good. I don’t have time to micromanage.”

“Okay. That won’t be a problem.”

“It says here you’re available any time, except for Friday and Saturday nights, and preferably no Sundays?” he inquires, not looking up.

“Yes…if that’s okay. I can move things around if necessary, but I’m a performer. I play live music every Friday night, and on the occasional Saturday night. And on Sundays I volunteer at a local animal shelter called Forever Young.”

His eyes lift. “Should be fine. We close at six p.m. during the week and are closed on Sundays.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” I smile. “I can definitely work with that schedule.”

Cal flicks the end of his pen against a yellow pad of paper, still studying me. His eyes narrow as he asks, “You play music?”

I’m not sure if he’s showing interest in my life, or if this applies to the job position somehow, but I latch onto the question like it’s my oxygen mask dropping on a plummeting aircraft. “I do. A little of everything, but I primarily sing and play guitar. I actually wanted to go to college for songwriting. Unfortunately, my health…” I trail off, nibbling my lip, not sure how much personal information I should offer. “Well, I was in the hospital for a while. I’m fine now, so you don’t have to worry about the job. And then my dad passed away, so it was just hard to focus on—”

“Your dad passed?” Cal’s eyebrows pull together, his expression painted with a tinge of concern. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

Touched, I smile despite the subject matter. “Thanks. He had cancer. It was really hard on me and my mom.”

We stare at each other for a few charged beats. Memories dance between us, and I wonder if he’s thinking about family bonfires in the backyard in late September when the leaves would float from maple tree branches, looking so burdenless, so carefree, matching the feeling in the air that we thought would last forever.

Cal blinks. Shadows steal the flickering of light in his eyes, and he throws the mask back on, returning to the stranger who replaced my old friend. “Well,” he says, clearing his throat and rising from the chair. “I think this will work. You can start tomorrow.”

I stand as well, my heart galloping beneath my lavender halter dress. “Really?”

He pulls a piece of gum out of his pocket, peeling back the wrapper and popping it into his mouth. His gaze falls over me, the muscles in his jaw twitching when he slides his eyes back up to my face. Throat bobbing, he gives me a curt, “Yeah.”

“Wow, okay…that means so much to me. I really—”

“Under one condition,” he interrupts.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I fold my hands in front of me and twirl my thumbs. “Of course. Anything.”

His stare is hard, stance rigid. Copper irises fuse with steel as he says, “We don’t talk about her.”

A sharp breath leaves me.

Emma’s face skips across my mind, from her freckled nose to her ribbons of brunette hair that were often pulled up into a ponytail with her favorite scrunchie. I see her waving to me as she races from my backyard to hers. I hear her shouting, “Toodles!” when she reaches the patio door, a gummy smile shining back at me before she slips inside.

I don’t want to not talk about her. I don’t want to pretend she’s not real.

But Cal is staring at me from behind his desk with a dark expression that tells me I don’t have a choice. His “condition” is not up for negotiation. His eyes are blazing, daring me to counter him.

Nodding my head slowly, I do what I do best. I smile. “I understand.”

“Good.”

That’s all he says before storming out of the office, leaving me in a cloud of sandalwood and spice, a trace of something minty, and remnants of a girl he longs to forget.

Before I step out, something catches my attention on the desk. I tilt my head, recognizing the platter of banana bread.

And then my grin brightens because all that he left of the bread were the two end pieces—just like he would do when we were kids.