Page 68 of Smoke and Glitter

All I have to do is cross the street. I get as far as the curb. If she opens the door, the same questions will still be waiting between us, and I won't have the bar between us this time. I stare at her building.

Showing up days later with I should have answered you feels pretty fucking thin. So I stand there trying to come up with something better. Nothing comes. A car turns onto the block behind me, and I step back from the curb. I could step forward again, but I don't. Instead of crossing the street and letting Autumn decide whether what I have is enough, I decide for her that it isn't. Then I turn around.

On the way back to Vibes, I stop at the hardware store so I can fix a light in the storeroom that has been flickering. Twenty minutes later I'm on a ladder with the old ballast in my hand. I replace it, flip the switch and the light comes on the first time.

By the end of the week, I've convinced myself Autumn will come to Vibes before she leaves. She hasn't told me that. She hasn't answered my message either.

But Bex is here. Marisol is here. Lucia still thinks Autumn owes her a drawing of a dog-cat. Autumn has been part of this room for months. She'll come. And when she does, I'll be behind the bar. I know how to talk to her from behind the bar.

That's the excuse I'm going with.

Behind it, I know who needs another drink and who needs water. I know when Bex is getting close to done with somebody's shit and when Tony needs me to step into a conversation. I know how to read a room without anybody explaining it to me.

The night comes.

Autumn doesn't.

Bex catches me before she leaves. She's got her coat on and her bag over one shoulder, keys already in her hand, but she stops in the office doorway.

"Sam."

I'm halfway through an invoice. "Yeah?"

"Are you going to do anything?"

I look at her. I know exactly what she means. I could tell her I walked to Autumn's building yesterday. I could tell her I stood across the street and stared at her front door like an asshole. I could tell her I've typed three different versions of please talk to me and managed to send the one that asks for absolutely nothing.

Instead I say, "She knows where I am." The sentence sounds worse once it's out loud, like that's enough, like she should still be the one coming to me.

Bex looks at me long enough that I almost start explaining. She doesn't ask me to. She just nods once. "Okay." Then she leaves.

For the rest of the night, I keep thinking she could've said more. That's probably the point.

It's Autumn's last night in Chicago.

The knowledge follows me downstairs in the morning and stays there all day without needing much attention from me. It's there while I check deliveries, fix a problem with the reservation list and argue with Tony about a late delivery. By the time we open, the room is busy enough that I can work around it. That is usually enough, but not tonight.

The first time the front door opens, I look. Not her. A few minutes later, it opens again. Still not her.

Around eleven, I get busy enough that I forget. Twenty minutes go by. Maybe forty. Then I realize I haven't looked at the door in a while. My eyes find it immediately. Autumn isn't there. The stupid part is that I still expect her. Even after last call. Even while we start closing tabs. Even when the crowd gets thin enough that I know exactly who's left in the room without counting.

She'll come in. She'll sit at the end of the bar. Maybe she'll be pissed. Fine. At least she'll be here. The door opens once more. A guy comes in looking for a phone he left the weekend before.

Near close, I wipe down the back bar and have to move the envelope. It's still sealed. My thumb touches the flap, then drops away.

At two fifteen, Tony locks the front door. I move the envelope back where it was and start counting the drawer.

Chapter twelve

Chapter Twelve

Autumn

I'm working on the O'Keefe press brief for the first leg of the tour when my phone buzzes on the desk beside me. I glance over, expecting another message from Anna, but I find Sam's name on the screen instead. My attention leaves the brief so quickly and completely that I have to read the same line again before I give up pretending I'm still working. I pick up my phone.

I stare at the message for a few seconds. Seriously? That's what he's got.

After everything that happened between us, after I stood in his apartment and asked him if he wanted me, Sam has decided the safest way to reach out is to ask about work.