Page 138 of Levi

“Have you ever been to Miami?” He’s fanning hand towels. “You’d hate it for a day and then never leave. Do you like Cuban food? Tell me you like Cuban food.”

“I like —”

“Because his mother will feed you until you explode. She’s in Coral Gables. Crazy loud house, his abuela argues with her friends until the day they die. Maybe she kills them. I don’t know. You need to go meet them. What happened to your cowboy hat? There’s always a hat in the pictures. Did the hat not make it today?”

“The hat’s —”

“Retired? Correct answer, next. What about the girlfriends? I counted six. I’m not asking if they were real, I’m asking if one of them ever knew a single true thing about you. A middle name. An allergy.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “What does a stadium pay you for one night? Don’t answer that, I’d have to sit down and we’re behind schedule. Do you wear cowboy boots to bed? Be honest.”

“Benji!” Dante calls out. “That’s inappropriate. Stop grilling him. I need to check the upstairs bathrooms. Behave while I’m gone.”

Benji waits until Dante is out of earshot. “Have you ever dated a man?”

“No,” I say. Which is true. “No. I haven’t.”

“Do you want to?” He says it light, an orchid in each hand, deciding which faces the door. “Have you thought about it, what it would be like if it was a regular thing? Two toothbrushes on the bathroom counter kind of thing?”

Benji’s asking me to picture a life I’ve never let myself want. Like wanting is a thing I’m permitted to do. I look at the orchid I’m still holding. I don’t have an answer that fits in this kitchen.

“Where do you want this flower?” I say instead.

Benji catches the dodge. “Give it to me, I know the perfect place.” He takes it from me. “Do you cook?”

“No. Dante cooks for me sometimes. At his place, Cuban food.”

Benji freezes. Turns his head slowly toward the stairs, then back to me, eyes enormous. “He cooked for you? At his apartment? Oh my God. He doesn’t cook for people until he knows them forever. When we first met, I had to forage for two years before he would feed me. Do you like his food?”

“Yeah, he’s a great cook.”

He points a stem of greenery at me. “Okay. Last thing quickly before he comes back. If you hurt him, I will leave you one-star reviews on every platform until your streaming numbers bomb.” He waves the greenery in the air and his blue eyes go big. “No wait, I’ve got a better idea. Instead, I’ll leave reviews saying while I don’t have any evidence of this at all, I’m very suspicious that you’re an AI cowboy. Your music is AI, and your guitar is made of cardboard. And that cowboy hat you wear has a little bitty AI-generated silver star on the brim.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “I’ve been doing live performances since I was a kid.”

Benji swats my arm hard with the plant stem.

“Levi! Why would I ever let the truth stand in the way of a juicy rumor? I bet you don’t even have the right number of fingers. Give me your hands. Let me take a look.”

He throws the greenery down and grabs my hands with both of his. “See! Look at you. Eight fingers on one hand and seven on the other. Called it. You’re definitely ‘sus.’”

I burst out laughing. “Nobody will believe you.”

“Sure, they will,” he says. “You know why? Because they’re terrified you’re personally going to drink all their water. Besides, every rumor starts small. All it takes is a little whisper to get it going. So, do you understand now what I’m willing to do if you hurt Dante?”

“I’m getting the idea.”

He nods once, satisfied, and goes back to the greenery. “Glad we got that settled. Also.” He doesn’t look up. “That thing at the bar. When you grabbed the guy who wouldn’t take his hand off Dante. I watched the clip nine hundred times like everyone else.” He arranges a stem that’s already perfect. “I’ve waited seven years to watch someone care enough to do that for him. So…”

Dante runs back down the stairs, and Benji doesn’t finish whatever he was going to say. The front door opens without a knock and somebody walks in. It can only be one person.

Freddie.

Sunglasses up on his head, two coffees in a cardboard tray. “There’s my headliner.” His voice is warm. As if he’s not here to lay eyes on me the day before the show.

His eyes go around the room, taking stock. Me, casual, barefoot, a roll of paper towels in my hand. Dante with his sleeves shoved up. Benji, eyeliner, hair pulled up, stem of greenery cocked between two fingers like a cigarette.

All week he’s been suspicious of Dante. He’s walked in on the answer. I’m standing in their circle.

“I brought coffee.” He sets the tray on the counter Benji just cleared. “Don’t let me interrupt. It looks incredible in here, by the way. You do beautiful work.” His comment is pointed at Benji, who has a frozen smile on his face.