An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(9)

Those dimples are out in full force at the moment, acting as little weapons aimed right at me.

“I like your drawing.” I gesture with my pinky finger at the lemur-dog drawn onto the bar napkin. “Very cute.”

“Yeah? That’s Buttons. I’ll relay the compliment.”

“Great.” Both of our smiles broaden at the same time, and I duck my head.

Nash raps his knuckles against the table, taking a step back. “Let me know if you ladies need anything else,” he says, his focus skipping over to Alyssa, then returning to me. Our eyes hold for another beat before he pivots away and heads back to the bar.

Alyssa sighs, reaching for the new glass of wine. “You should sleep with him.”

My cheeks burn as I twirl my finger around one of my braids. “He’s probably a player. I saw him flirting with another girl a few minutes ago.”

“Okay, but he isn’t leaving her cute little napkin notes. I say go for it.”

I shrug a maybe, even though I know I’m not going to “go for it.”

I’ve seen what relationships can do. Napkin notes turn into dates, dates turn into kissing, and then sex, and then love, and then…

And then there’s Jessica.

I can’t ever be Jessica.

“Anyway,” I tell Alyssa, hopping down from the stool and swigging back a quick sip of wine before sliding the rest over to her. “I need to get going. Interview tomorrow.”

“Ahh, good luck, babe.” She hugs me tightly, her bubblegum-scented body mist tickling my nose. “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will. See you next week.” I throw my guitar case over my shoulder and send her a wave, making eye contact with Nash before I traipse toward the front door.

His dimple-infused wink sees me off, right as my phone pings from my dress pocket. I fish it out, glancing down at the screen.

Cal’s name lights up the face.

Cal:



You too





Those two words have me smiling the whole way home, reminiscing about a little girl I desperately miss.

Deceptive Cadence: When you think something is coming to an end, it’s actually the beginning of something beautiful.





Chapter 4





I’m late.

There is nothing that gives me more anxiety than running late. I even put on my resume: PROMPT AND PUNCTUAL. I capitalized it for emphasis.

Now, I’m a liar. A late liar.

Granted, I didn’t predict a power outage last night. We didn’t even have bad weather—it was one of those freak things that nobody really plans for.

Except for me. Normally, I do plan for freak things. I leave an hour early to drive five minutes away in case there’s a stalled train, or never-ending construction, or a meteor shower, or someone’s unfortunate dice roll during a game of Jumanji. But when I plugged my cell phone in to charge last night at a feeble three-percent, I did not predict that someone would drive their car into a utility pole and cause the entire street to lose power.

So, my phone died, my alarm died with it, and so did my best hope at landing the receptionist position at Cal’s Corner.

The jingle bells chime when I race through the main door, alerting everyone within earshot of my tardiness.

“You’re early.”

Cal steps out of an office situated behind the front desk, wearing a plain white tee and black denim. His espresso-brown hair looks even darker, damp from what I assume was a recent shower. It’s tousled and messy, drying in an assortment of different directions that he somehow manages to make look attractive. There’s a silver chain around his neck, tucked into the collar of his shirt, but I can’t make out the shape of the pendant.

Wait.

When his words register, they catch me off guard, and my eyes instinctively skate over to the dust-sheathed wall clock. The time shows ten-past-nine.

“I said nine-thirty,” he continues.

The interview was most definitely for nine a.m. sharp—a girl doesn’t forget her imaginary time of death. But I accept the tiny miracle and choose that moment to believe in a higher power. “Right. That’s me. I really love being early.”

Wow. I said it like it’s at the top of my list of interests: I love a finely aged wine. Sloppy dog kisses. A tangerine sunset.

Being early!

I scratch at my collarbone and start to fidget, picking at my fingernails.

“Come in.” Cal nods his head toward the office and disappears inside.

Smoothing down the wrinkles in my dress, I follow behind him, watching as he makes his way to a desk littered with invoices and folders. The office is dim and musty, void of any character or personal touches. No pictures, no knick-knacks. Just a shoddy old desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet in the corner of the room decorated with cobwebs belonging to a spider family from the nineties. I itch to pull open the blinds and bathe the space in natural sunlight, but I remain where I stand, waiting for direction.

Cal waves his hand at an empty chair and sits down in his own, releasing a long sigh that borders on irritation as he glances up and catches my eyes. “Sorry about the other day. I lied when I said the position was filled,” he admits, leaning back and folding his tatted arms. “I thought we’d start with an interview and see if our chemistry is conducive to a comfortable working environment.”