Loving Mr. Daniels

“‘Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love,’” he quoted.

My book dropped down to my lap. I stared at Mr. Beautiful Eyes with confusion. “Shut up.”

His grin disappeared and a level of apology filled his face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just saw you were reading—”

“Hamlet.”

A finger brushed across his upper lip, and he stepped closer. Putter. Putter. Heart. Heart. “Yeah… Hamlet. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he apologized, and his voice was very sweet. Almost what I thought honey would sound like if it had a voice. I didn’t really need an apology though. I was just happy to discover that there were other people in the world who were able to quote William.

“No. You didn’t. I-I didn’t mean shut up as in the, ‘close your lips and stop talking,’ type way. I meant it more in the way of, ‘Oh crapballs, shut up! You can quote Shakespeare?!’ It was more that style of shut up.”

“Did you just say ‘crapballs’?”

My throat tightened up. I sat up straighter. “No.”

“Um, I think you did.”

He smiled again, and for the first time, I noticed how disgusting the weather was. It was ninety degrees outside. My palms were sweating. My toes were sticky. There were even a few specks of sweat dripping from my forehead.

I watched his mouth open and I parted my lips at the same time. Then I shut mine fast, wanting to hear his voice more than my own.

“Visiting or staying?” he asked.

I blinked. “Huh?”

He laughed and nodded once. “Are you visiting town or staying for a while?”

“Oh,” I replied, staring at him for too long without saying anything else. Talk! Talk! “I’m moving. Here. I’m moving here. I’m new in town.”

He raised an eyebrow, interested in the small fact. “Oh? Well.” He pulled the handle of his suitcase with his right hand, moving closer to me. A full-grown grin brushed across his face, and he extended his left hand my way. “Welcome to Edgewood, Wisconsin.”

I looked at his hand and then back up to his face. Pulling my book to my chest, I wrapped my arms around it. I couldn’t touch him with sweaty palms. “Thanks.”

He sighed slightly, yet his grin remained. “All right then. Nice meeting you.” Pulling his hand back to his side, he began walking away toward the taxi that had just arrived at the curb.

I cleared my throat, feeling my heart pounding against Hamlet and Ophelia’s pages, and my mind started to race. My feet demanded that I stand up, so I leaped from the top of my suitcase, knocking it over.

“Are you a musician?!” I screamed toward the banmoy, who was disappearing down the strip. He looked back to me.

“How did you know?”

I took my fingers and tapped them against my novel in the same rhythmic pattern he’d tapped his fingers on the train. “Just wondering.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

I scrunched up my nose and shook my head back and forth. I wondered if he saw the sweat fly from my forehead. I’d hoped not.

Slowly, his teeth bit down into his bottom lip. I saw his shoulders rise and fall from the small sigh he released. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

He nodded and ran his hand through his hair. “Good. You gotta be eighteen to get in. They’ll make you wear a stamp and they’ll double-check IDs at the bar, but you can listen and stuff. Just don’t try to buy alcohol.” I tilted my head, staring at him. He laughed. Ohhh, what a beautiful sound that is. “Joe’s bar, Saturday night.”

“What’s Joe’s bar?” I wondered out loud. I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to him, to myself, or to those damn butterflies ripping my insides to shreds.

“A…bar?” He voice raised an octave before he laughed. “My band and I are performing at ten. You should come. I think you’ll like it.” He proceeded to give me argumentatively the kindest smile in the world. It was so gentle that it made me cough nervously and choke on air.

He held his hand up to me and smiled as he waved goodbye. With that, he closed his taxi door and he went his own way.

“Bye,” I whispered, watching the car pull off. I didn’t look away until it rounded the corner out of the lot and went far, far away. I looked down to my book clenched in my hands and smiled. I was going to start from the beginning again.

Gabby would have loved this weird, awkward moment.

I just knew it.

Chapter 3

I’m not going to look back,

I’m not going to cry.

I’m not going to even ask you why.

~ Romeo’s Quest

The engine in Henry’s 1998 yellow, rusted pickup truck roared like it was going to explode as he pulled up to the Amtrak station. The station was packed with families traveling, people hugging and crying and laughing. People were diving into the art of human connection.

It all made me uncomfortable.

I sat on top of my suitcase with Gabby’s wooden box in my lap. Running my fingers through my hair, I hoped to avoid the same connections that the rest of the world seemed in search of.

I was melting away in the black thigh-length dress I was wearing, and the night heat of the Wisconsin air crept up unwelcome under my legs. I was burning my butt off in the late night, but I hadn’t thought I would actually have to wait over an hour for Henry to pick me up. I should have known better, but alas. Sometimes I wondered if I would ever learn.

I waited for Henry to inch closer to the curb. His front tire rolled over an empty water bottle. I watched as the plastic bottle quivered under the pressure of the wheel and the cap popped off, flying across the sidewalk, landing against my foot. Pushing myself off my vintage floral case Mom had given me for my sixteenth birthday, I clicked the button and yanked the handle up, rolling the suitcase to the truck.