A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe Read online

  She fit in his arms like she was meant to be there. Dylan tried to think of something to say. “So what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  Suspicion, maybe irritation, made her flinch. “I don’t know.”

  Keep it light. “Come on, you must have had a dream, wanted something.”

  “I wanted to get away from my parents.”

  So much for light. “Then what?” She gave him a puzzled look. “After you’d split, what next?”

  “I’d be free.”

  “To do what?”

  Pain showed in her eyes. “God, you really are just like them, aren’t you, Frat Boy? People have to set a goal, or they’re worthless.”

  What had he said now to piss her off? “I don’t think for one second that you’re worthless.”

  “Let’s stop, shall we?”

  “What?”

  “The games. The freaking interrogation.”

  “I’m merely trying to get to know you better.” He’d have better luck breaking into CIA headquarters.

  “Why?”

  Did she need a reason for everything? Frustration came out in a laugh. “We’re in Jeff and Amy’s wedding together—”

  “Which is now over.”

  Thanks for the reminder. “I thought since we have to see each other so much, we should—”

  “Make nice? God, you’re pathetic.”

  Jesus. “How is that pathetic?”

  “You comply with set social norms because others expect it of you, not because you—God forbid—might be actually interested in someone. It means nothing to you.”

  “It doesn’t mean nothing.” In her case, very much the opposite.

  “Stop repeating what I say. You’re like an emotional puppet. You can’t figure out what you want, so you mime others. A Frat Boy chameleon, always blending in, never making waves.”

  Her response stunned him. Not because she was wrong. Fuck, she’d nailed him again. Time to give it back to her. “Cultural anthropology? Sociology? Maybe psychology?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Would any of those have been your major at Columbia?”

  “No. Visual arts.” She said it as if he should have guessed. “How is that relevant?”

  “Just wondering. Back to your point… you’re wrong. If you weren’t so abrasive and obnoxiously biased, you’d see the truth. You’re too busy channeling your parents—” At her whoop of laughter, he spoke faster. “Yes, you are, looking down your nose at everyone as you privately psychoanalyze them…. Your dad? Was he the psychotherapist? Or your mom?” Oh, now he’d hit on something. Or he was about to get hit again.

  Whatever anger he’d teased to the surface, she contained behind clenched teeth, tense muscles. “You have some nerve.”

  “For calling it as I see it? Hardly, honey.”

  “Do not call me honey. Or any other demeaning label.”

  “Jesus, you really are screwed up.”

  “Me? You’re the looney tune here.”

  True, he’d never felt like such an outcast. “Honey is a term of affection.”

  Her smile turned wry. “I bet ‘hey babe, wanna screw’ is your best come-on.”

  He’d try it with her if he thought it might work. He doubted anything would work with her. At least, anything he tried. She’d made up her mind about him. “Like I said, you can’t see the truth. Or you don’t admit to it because you’re afraid.”

  “Afraid… of you? Please.”

  “Afraid of feeling something real.”

  She huffed, but it seemed all for show. “You twist everything around.”

  “That’s about as straight-up as it gets, Clarissa.”

  “Are you done?”

  “No. Not by a long shot.” He wouldn’t give up yet.

  “I am.” She stomped away, wobbling in her heels.

  Amy, dancing with Jeff, shot him a disbelieving look, then ran after her.

  Riveted by the two women hurrying off, Jeff sidled over. “Seriously, man? Again?”

  “I was attempting to be nice to her.”

  Sadly, Jeff shook his head. “Your attitude’s a problem.”

  Mine? “Didn’t you hear me? I said I was trying to be nice. Have a goddamn normal conversation for once. Something she apparently can’t handle.” And now he’d made a scene at their wedding reception like some spoiled… Frat Boy?

  Jeff drew him to the side of the room, out of earshot of others. “She’s been hurt a lot. If you push her, she shoves back. Hard.”

  “How is a conversation pushing her?”

  “She doesn’t let other people in easily.”

  “Yeah. I noticed. I’m sorry, man. I promise, no more drama.” Dylan went to the table, plopped down.

  Harvey raised his glass in salute. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Too normal for this town.

  “Tell me, Harvey. Why do you stay in Marfa?”

  Harvey exhaled deeply. “Mañana.”

  “Tomorrow? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s a concept unique to places like Marfa. Unless you’re some kind of Zen master, you won’t find it in Pittsburgh, or any other city. It tends to shy away from nine-to-five lifestyles. It’s that something you can’t quite touch, the thing that stays a little bit out of your grasp.”

  Like Clarissa. “Like a drug high.”

  Harvey shook his head slowly. “Mañana is better than any head trip. It doesn’t fade. It catches you up in the endless flow, the sea of the universe’s tranquility.”

  “Tranquility?” Might be a nice change.

  “It’s the essence of possibility, man.” Harvey spoke as if in a meditative trance. Doctor Zen. “Of hope.”

  Tranquility. Possibility. Hope. All right here in Marfa. Dylan’s head might’ve expanded just thinking about it. Harvey’s words held a ring of truth. A new airiness filled him, a lightness he hadn’t known since boyhood. Since middle school, staring up at the stars with his brother. Marfa held the same kind of freedom. And yeah, possibility.

  His life wasn’t tied to one track. He could change direction if he wanted. Did he want to? “So you think there’s hope in Marfa?” Hope for him? Hope of getting through to Clarissa?

  Harvey snapped his gaze to his, his grin hinting Dylan might have caught on, finally. “There’s hope anywhere, man. Marfa brings it closer to the ground.”

  Right, where Dylan could stomp all over it. He wished he could believe it. Right now, he wished he could believe in anything. He still couldn’t shake the odd sensation that hit him when he visited the Prada display. What if I’ve been wrong? What if Jeff’s the one who got it right? Dylan couldn’t deny how physical hard work had such a gratifying feel. Pair it with creativity, as Jeff had, and it might become The Zone, the high he used to get from his work that eluded him of late.

  Dylan raised his glass. “To mañana.”

  The clink of glass on glass sounded when Harvey raised his to Dylan’s. “You got it.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “I’m trying.” Maybe not hard enough?

  Harvey leaned toward him. “Then go get her.”

  “What?” Had he said it out loud?

  “Go after Clarissa. Ever since you got here, she’s been on edge. You disrupted her world. Looks like she disrupted yours, too.”

  “Big time.” Even that felt like an understatement.

  “I’m telling you, sparks have been flying between you two since you first met. Make the sparks work for you. You don’t find ones so powerful very often. Be on the inside after the disruption ends, and the dust settles.”

  The guy should’ve been some Zen monk. But yeah, Dylan should have been the one to go after her, not Amy. He rose suddenly. “You’re right. Thanks, Harvey. Excuse me.” He had to wade through some hope. Maybe he’d even find a little tranquility. First, he had to find Clarissa.

  ***

  “Clarissa, wait.”

  When Clarissa turned, Amy hitched her gown and hurried.

  “What are you do
ing? You should be with Jeff.” And she’d hoped for solitude. Silence always unclouded her thoughts.

  “I will be. For a long time. I can’t leave without knowing you’re okay.”

  A loaded question. “I am. I don’t know why I let him get to me.”

  “Dylan?”

  “I can’t deal with him. I’m sorry I reacted so strongly.”

  “He likes you. A lot.”

  “He doesn’t know me.” If he did, his attitude would flip in a one eighty.

  “He’s not the first one who couldn’t help falling for you.”

  “J. D. was different.” She could overlook his comments.

  “Because you didn’t care about him?”

  Oh no. Wedding fever had infected Amy, and now she was a carrier. “I care a lot about J. D. but not that way and he knew it from the beginning. Dylan….” So many emotions churned up even at hearing his name, she couldn’t single one out. “He’s going home, probably tomorrow. What’s the point?”

  “That’s exactly it,” Amy said. “You’ll never know what might have been. All I’m saying is, maybe you should talk to him.”

  “I’ve tried.” She no longer cared if she sounded like a spoiled child.

  As usual, Amy saw through her. “Spend a little time with him.”

  More softly, she admitted, “I have.”

  Amy’s eyes widened.

  Clarissa huffed. “Yes. Don’t even say it out loud. The answer’s yes.”

  “You guys….”

  “No! He kissed me. And things got out of control very fast, and I kicked him to the curb.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  A Sherlock Holmes, look-at-the-possibilities sort of mm-hmm if Clarissa ever heard one. “It’s too late.” Isn’t it?

  Amy shrugged. “He’s still here.”

  “At the reception?”

  “Actually, no. Harvey said he’s out looking for you.”

  “Oh God. He can’t take a no, can he?” And why did the idea excite her? And make her so god-awful nervous?

  “He seemed very upset.”

  “So am I.” At herself, for building the goddamn wall around herself so high, no one could scale it. For throwing more roadblocks in Dylan’s path.

  “Then you two should work it out.”

  Clarissa toed a pebble. “Were you afraid? When you met Jeff, did he scare the shit out of you?”

  “A little. In a good way.”

  “But not now?”

  After a deep breath, Amy smiled. “If I’m afraid of anything, it’s of losing him.”

  Bingo. The universe had it out for some people. Clarissa knew better than to jinx herself by attempting a relationship.

  Amy gazed up at the stars. “Do I wake up certain of what will happen every day? Absolutely not. But do I look forward to sharing every day with him? Absolutely yes. He makes me see things in a way I might never have considered. He makes me laugh. And yes, he makes me mad. But he just makes my life better.”

  Clarissa just nodded; she already knew all that. Lucky girl. Luck was not her friend. Amy would say because Clarissa didn’t take chances. The old “you gotta play to win” notion. How many times did a person get their hearts slashed to bits before finding the right one to love? And Dylan…. he made her want to scream, pummel him, kiss him, hold him…. When they’d danced, she couldn’t think straight. Everything he said touched her too deeply, like he could read her thoughts. No one had ever made her so unsettled before. She was dealing with it badly but didn’t know how to fix it.

  Amy rose. “Listen. I love you. I want you to be happy. I’m not saying Dylan is the one who’ll make you want to wake up every day. But I’ve been worried about you for a while. You don’t let anyone get close, sweetie. Maybe it’s time. You shouldn’t deny yourself a shot at something amazing. And you’ll never know if it’s amazing until you give it a try.” Amy drew Clarissa into a brief hug. “I have to go start the rest of my life with my new husband. If you need to talk, call me. If I’m naked on a beach with Jeff, I’ll have to call you back.”

  “Ugh, thanks for that image.” Clarissa pretended to cringe, but the vision of them together gave her instant warm fuzzies. “Go. Make love. Be happy.”

  “I could say the same to you.” Amy’s gown flowed as she hurried away. Like something out of a movie, the side door of the reception hall opened, and Jeff stood in silhouette. Clarissa couldn’t hear their conversation, but didn’t need to. He’d come out to check that everything was all right, and, falling into his rocking embrace, she assured him it was. They shared a lingering kiss before going back inside.

  I should go in, too. Clarissa wanted to be there for them when they left. And then she’d find out where Dylan had gone. Time to face him head-on and see where it went.

  Chapter Seven

  Dylan had looked everywhere he could think of. Her cottage. The café. Padre’s. The Mystery Lights platform.

  She didn’t want to be found. Not by him, anyway. Or he couldn’t find her because he didn’t know her well enough to look in the right places.

  He drove to the Prada display and plopped down in the field across the road and stared at it. My future. He didn’t like the looks of it.

  Another car pulled over and the car door slammed. He didn’t look up until a woman approached him. Clarissa.

  With a soft swish, she tucked her chiffon skirt behind her and sat beside him.

  His first instinct was to whoop, pull her close. He knew what she’d do—push him away. He couldn’t risk it. So instead, he trained his gaze on the display and waited.

  After a few moments, she asked, “You okay?”

  He searched for the words to define how not okay he was. “Surreal, how it captures the essence of my life—perfect when seen from the outside, everything lined up so neatly and in its exact place. But try to go inside, and there’s no entrance. Inside that perfect little facade, nobody’s home.”

  “I thought you liked things lined up nice and orderly that way.” She said it in a light, teasing way but the truth of it stung.

  Did he? He laughed, a hollow sound. Maybe he used to.

  “It’s how you make sense of the world, Frat Boy.”

  Whether she meant to provoke him or not, she’d hit it again. Exactly how he felt, uncertain of life, of himself. He stared at the empty display. “It’s damn lonely in there. And the fucking door won’t open.”

  “Then break out through the window.” Her soft voice reached deep inside him.

  “How? I can’t.” The store was a fucking monument to the construct of his life. Perfect. And empty. Exactly the way he’d made it. “I’m trapped.”

  “No you’re not.”

  He couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “A fracking company wants me to convince the public they’re freaking superheroes. They destroyed three private properties, three families are out of their homes, but I’m supposed to make everyone believe they’re working for a better tomorrow.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I know.” Hearing her say it so emphatically, he knew it to be true. If he took that job, he’d never respect himself again. The whole thing turned his stomach. “The problem is, if I turn them down, I might as well close up shop anyway. I’m caught in my own web of spin.”

  “But if you take the job, you’ll lose your integrity.”

  “What little I have left.”

  “Leave.”

  “Leave? My life?” It sounded so simple.

  “That doesn’t have to be your life.”

  He didn’t know how to answer. He finally chanced a look at her. In the soft glow of the Prada display lights, her beauty stunned him.

  “You have the power, Dylan.”

  “Yeah. I’m a superhero.” At least she’d used his real name for once.

  “It’s up to you to save yourself. No one else can do it.” She started to rise.

  He caught her hand. “Not even you?”

  “Especially not me.”

  “Why espec
ially not you?” She knew. She felt the strong connection between them, too, or she’d never have said it. Only someone who cared would push him to discover himself. He tugged her down.

  She resisted but sat on her knees. “Don’t.”

  “I can’t help it.” If she left now, that would be it. He’d never see her again.

  “Bullshit.”

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “Stop.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “It’s true. You’re amazing.” Did she really not acknowledge it?

  “I swear, Dylan. If you thought I punched you hard last time….”

  “Every time I see you, it’s like a punch in the gut.”

  She turned her head away. “Oh thanks. Really nice.”

  He stroked her cheek. “I mean it. It’s a physical reaction. Visceral. Powerful. Like a force of nature.”

  She rolled her eyes, her glance hitting him briefly, but long enough to reveal the hurt within. “You really need to work on your pickup lines.”

  “It’s not a line. I’ve never said that to anyone else.” He edged nearer, the faint scent of cherries and vanilla inviting him to taste, her flawless skin inviting his touch. Not yet.

  “Good thing,” she said softly, “or you’d constantly have a black eye.”

  “I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Never wanted so badly to touch anyone, hold her close enough to know every breath, every movement.

  “You’re drunk.” Whispered, it sounded like a last desperate excuse.

  “I had one beer tonight.” Weird, considering how he used to knock them back. Dull his senses. Here, he wanted to feel everything.

  “I have to go.” She turned her head again but stayed seated.

  Hope felt closer to the ground. Finally. “Clarissa.” He said it like a plea.

  She faced him, angry, but it lacked power. “What do you want from me?”

  He stroked her cheek, the edge of her mouth, her jawline back to her hair. Surprisingly soft. “To explore every part of you. Kiss every inch of skin.” Her tremble beneath his touch surprised him.

  She stared with a mix of wonder and anger and an undeniable need. “Stop.”

  Yes, she needed to hear the truth. “I can’t. You’re all I think about. Since the first night I saw you.”