“The tattoo,” I clarified.
“Oh, it’s for my unit.”
“Unit?”
“Yeah.” A wistful smile crossed his lips. “It seems like tattoos just tend to happen when you’re in the military.”
“You’re in the army?”
“Was. I was discharged almost two years ago.”
“How long were you in?”
“I completed my four-year contract and then got out.”
“Didn’t want to make a career out of it?”
He shook his head. “I’m grateful for my time in the service, but it takes a toll and I was ready to focus on something else.”
I wanted to ask him more about it, but he seemed like he was done talking. “Do you have any other tattoos?” I asked instead.
“One other.”
“Is it an army one as well?”
“No, it’s a personal one.”
I waited a moment, hoping he would expound, but he didn’t. Maybe I’d pry the info out of him later.
“What about you?” he asked. “Are you inked anywhere?”
“Oh, no,” I was quick to say. “Needles and I do not get along.”
“That’s too bad.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why? You think I need body art?”
He quickly shook his head. “No, your skin is flawless. I wouldn’t want you to cover it.”
Holy flaming cheeks, I could not believe he said that so casually and then just went on as if he hadn’t given me the best compliment ever.
“I meant it was too bad because I’m studying to become an acupuncturist, so needles kind of are my thing.”
Images of multiple needles being poked into a body crossed my mind and I was instantly tense.
“Whoa,” he said, leaning forward and grabbing my hand, which was resting on the table. “Are you okay? You just went white.”
I slumped back against the booth. “You stick needles in people?”
“That’s the plan.” He ducked his head to catch my eye. “You okay?”
I nodded.
“You know acupuncture needles aren’t like syringe needles.”
“Nope! No! Don’t want to hear about it.” I waved my hands, desperate to get him to stop talking as I squirmed in my seat. Just the word syringe made me sweat.
He pressed his lips, obviously trying not to laugh at me. “Okay. Let’s go back to talking about music.”
“Yes, please,” I said, grabbing for my water. “I play the piano. I’m good at it.” Way to be subtle, Libby.
“Are you? What do you like to play?”
“Classical. Movie scores. Whatever I can get my hands on and, you know, afford.”
“Did you go to college?”
“Yes. Graduated last year. Now I work in the music department at the high school. Accompanying the choir, mostly.”
We kept up the conversation as the evening progressed. He told me how he had graduated high school at fifteen and gotten his bachelors at eighteen.
“So, child prodigy?” I ask, impressed.
He shrugged. “I was homeschooled for a long time and my mom went faster than the usual speed.”
“So then,” I said, trying to tie to facts together. “You joined the army at eighteen after graduating from college?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I had to ask. “Why not go on to get a higher degree if you were already so good at school? You probably could have gotten major scholarships.”
“I could have. But going through school that fast meant that I didn’t have a lot of experiences outside my own bubble. I was tired of school. I was ready for something completely different, a different challenge.”
“Active-duty military would definitely be a different challenge.”
I admired him for it. He’d taken an unexpected path through his life, and it made me even more curious to find out who he was, what made him tick.
Our food came. Dinner was good, but getting to know Jonas was definitely the highlight of the evening. He saw me in a way that not many people did, myself included. After so many years of watching out for Sean, it was easy to see myself as an extension of him, and it was nice to be just me for now.
At the end of the evening, Jonas walked me to my car and we went our separate ways with a plan to get together again soon. I drove away with a grin on my face and texted Felicity and Tara as soon as I got home.
♪♫♪
The next day I was out running errands when my phone rang. It was Sean.
“Hey. How’s Atlanta?” Normal day. Normal talk. That was my routine. Act like everything was fine, like the train wreck hadn’t happened.
“Just peachy. Get it? Georgia peach? I’m hilarious.”
“That’s obvious by the way you have to explain your jokes,” I retorted.
“You know you love it when I’m punny.”
That was true, because it reminded me of the old Sean. “You are the punniest.”
“So listen. I’m going to be in town for two days next week and I want to get together. Do you think you could make some time for your oldest and best friend?”
“Why? Do you need a plus-one for something?” He knew I didn’t do plus-ones. Public appearances were not my thing.
“No. I just want to spend some time with you. I’m inviting you to come see me.”
At least he remembered the conversation we’d had the morning after his club binge, and I was glad. It would be good to just be with him for a while, hopefully talk some things through. “I’d love that. What days are you here?”
We worked out a day and time to get together, and as we hung up I couldn’t help but be hopeful. If he had actually heard and remembered my complaints from the other morning, maybe he would actually do something about them.
♪♫♪
The next few days were fairly routine in that I went to work and came home. But they were not at all routine in the way my phone kept chiming and buzzing with texts from Jonas. After our date I had been determined not to reach out too soon or be too clingy or desperate, but a few texts back and forth had evolved into a near-constant dialogue between us. However, after four days, we still hadn’t arranged a time to see each other in person again and I was getting anxious about it. What if we never progressed beyond text bantering? The sweeping disappointment brought on by that thought was a lot stronger than I felt it should be. I wanted to see him again. Like, right now.
So it was with great glee that I read his text Wednesday evening.
Jonas: So, when can I see you again?
Me: I’m free most evenings.
Jonas: How about tomorrow?
I went to type “great!” But then stopped. I was busy tomorrow evening. Sean had invited me to get together with him. I was hoping he would apologize and we could talk—really talk—while he was sober and there weren’t fans throwing themselves at him.
Me: Tomorrow is the one day I already have plans. What about Friday?
Jonas: Friday is good. Are your plans tomorrow something I could tag along on? I like a good high school choir concert…