“I’ve got it,” I whisper, “what do you want?”
“Coffee, sugar and cream. And water.”
I nod, exiting the SUV like my ass is on fire, bypassing an elderly man sitting on the side of the gas station next to the door. Deep creases mar his face, and he looks badly battered in his current state, a cup gripped in his hand like a lifeline. He glances up at me as I open the door, muttering something I’m unable to decipher.
Going along the aisles, unsure if Easton’s eaten, I decide to grab an armful of snacks for our road trip to nowhere. I can’t help but be thankful he invited me out today. If not, I have zero doubts I’d be wandering around Seattle aimlessly. At least my fake motive for being here gives me a distraction. Nerves fraying in the wake of Stella’s call, I try to focus on the man just outside the door and opt to pay with what little cash I have.
This is already too close for comfort, Natalie.
Rattling with tension, I exit the store and bend down, putting the entirety of my change—including a few bills—into the man’s cup.
“What the hell, lady?! That was my coffee!” The man screeches, standing abruptly and taking a threatening step forward.
“Oh, I’m s-s-sorry, I thought, I apologize,” I manage weakly, taken aback by his aggression while walking backward with my bag of snacks, Easton’s piping hot coffee, and my purse clutched to me. Eyes fixed on the man cursing me while fishing the sopping bills out of his cup, I open the passenger door of the SUV and jump into the seat, seeking refuge as the outraged loiterer’s eyes pin me with a withering glare. It’s the clearing of a throat that brings me to the realization I’m in unfamiliar surroundings. A whole new wave of terror runs through me as I turn to see a stranger in the driver’s seat. A stranger who’s gawking back at me in confusion.
“Uh, can I help you with something?”
Horrified, I study the older man whose passenger seat I just highjacked when Easton’s face appears through the glass an SUV over, a ‘what the fuck’ reading clear on his lips. Shifting my gaze, I glance back at the man sitting on the driver’s side as he stares on at me expectantly.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I—sorry!” Exiting the wrong SUV, I round the rear and race back to Easton’s passenger door before opening it and diving in, securing his coffee in his cupholder while giving orders. “Go, go, go! Drive!” I demand, embarrassment racing through me as I bury my face in my hands.
“Seatbelt,” he orders evenly, not budging an inch.
“You can’t be serious, Easton, go!” I say frantically, reaching blindly for my seatbelt.
“Afraid so. It’s apparent if anyone needs a safety net right now, it’s you.” I turn to glare at him as laughter bursts out of him, and I manage to click myself in.
“Please just go.” My neck heats as he puts the SUV in gear and pulls away while I fumble through an explanation.
“The m-man outside, I put money in his cup, I thought he w-was, you know, in n-need of help, and he started screaming that it was his coffee,” I stutter out as Easton’s laughter amplifies.
“This is a black SUV. It’s a common car!” I defend. His laughter only increases as I shrink in my seat, and for the next mile, short bursts of laughter sound from him. Unable to help myself, I glance over at him with a sheepish smile on my face as he turns, his eyes flickering over me with head-shaking amusement.
“Whatever, asshole, it was an honest mistake. It could have happened to anyone,” I spout weakly, only mildly annoyed.
“I’m not entirely sure that’s accurate.”
Exhaling harshly, I train my smile out of the window until his chuckle finally slows.
“All right, Crowne, I’ve given you eight songs to start speaking,” I summon, turning the music down and staring over at him.
He sighs heavily and nods in resignation but speaks up. “What you want to know is trivial and doesn’t matter.”
“Says you.”
“If it’s about me, personally, then it has nothing to do with the bigger picture. You haven’t even heard my music, so there’s nothing to discuss.”
“And what’s the big picture?”
“The body of work I’ve created. For the most part, I have it all mapped out.”
“How mapped out?”
“Sixty-three songs,” he says simply as my jaw drops.
“There are sixty-three songs on one album?”
“No, I’ve recorded sixty-three so far.”