Page 7 of Anything But Lonely

Literally anything would’ve been better than word-vomiting the first coherent thought my brain managed to produce when I saw the only open seat in the bar was next to a woman who looked like she was pulled directly out of my dreams.

And the worst part is I could literally feel it happening in real time—the very careful, very fragile version of myself trying not to implode because a stranger with sadness hiding behind the mischief in her eyes was sitting next to me.

And now she’s gone, and I’ll probably never see her again.

I’ll never know which of her tattoos was her first or which ones have meaning and which ones don’t. I’ll never be able to ask her which of her piercings hurt more or if she was a fan of Cross My Heart.

I’ll never be able to find out why seeing her made me feel like maybe my shot at a happily ever after didn’t come and go with my divorce.

Maybe I just haven’t found mine yet.

The bartender comes over to us, asking what he can get us, and Talia orders a glass of wine for her and a beer for me as I collect myself, resisting every urge to sink into the floor.

Or maybe I’m just fooling myself into thinking I get a second chance.

“So,” Talia starts, and I realize I’ve been staring at my hands interlaced on the bar for probably longer than deemed normal. “You’re probably wondering why I wanted to talk.”

Her words bring me back to why I’m here in this bar to begin with, allowing me to push my encounter with the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen to the back of my mind.

Probably a good thing too.

I’m having thoughts I haven’t had in years.

I shake my head, as if the action itself can clear my mind. “You said it had to do with Crew and our current arrangement?”

Talia inhales, her shoulders rising high before she blows out a breath. Her short hair is tucked behind her ears, her hazel eyes closing for a moment as if gathering the courage to say what she wants to say.

My hand instinctively goes to her forearm, never wanting her to feel like she can’t tell me anything. While our relationship had its ups and downs, ultimately turning into more of a friendship than anything else, there’s nothing she can’t tell me.

She pats my hand with hers before she exhales again. “You know I took a step back from work when we were together, and the band really took off.”

I bring my hand back to my lap. “I know.”

When I met Talia, she was a photographer, and that was something we sort of had in common. My sister was Cross My Heart’s photographer at the time because I needed to keep an eye on her, and I met Talia while looking into different agencies Mia might be interested in. At the time, I noticed her getting a little too friendly with my best friend—the drummer of Cross My Heart.

Her now-husband.

What started out as friendly slowly turned into something more with Talia, and she was my first serious girlfriend in a long time—maybe even ever.

When we got together, she was working with an agency that required her to travel a lot, and when Cross My Heart was taking off, she was the one who offered to leave her job to support me.

She played with the idea of going back once we got used to what she called “the rockstar life,” but then she got pregnant with Crew and decided she wanted to stay home with him rather than return to working full-time.

“I don’t regret doing that,” Talia quickly adds. “Even now, Daniel understands how important it is that you see Crew and how part of the arrangement you and I have is me traveling with him to see you,” she continues. “My husband is supportive of that, and his job financially supports it.”

“Okay,” I say carefully, wondering where she’s going with all of this.

“But,” she starts, her eyes going to where she holds her glass of wine in both hands, and I realize I’m holding my breath.

“You want to go back to work?” I ask.

She nods her head, rubbing her lips together like she has more to say.

“That’s great, Tal.” I smile wide, not only happy for her and the life she’s creating for herself but relieved that she had good news to share.

But as I say the words, she stays silent, and it’s like something is holding her back from being happy. Worry immediately bleeds into my relief.

Talia must sense it because she finally says, “It’s not just going back to work.”