Page 25 of Lost Love on 6th Street

“Oh, god, no, I’d be terrible at that,” she says. Then, she lifts her face to the night sky and smiles. “I don’t know, I think I’m just in so far at this point I need to know about her. I can’t explain it, but it feels sort of like my purpose. Cosmic, maybe.”

I don’t have words to respond. Her beauty is ethereal and timeless. I’ve never been captivated by someone quite like she’s captivated me.

Eleanor looks at me, a sheepish smile on her face. “I think I’ve had a little too much gin.”

I laugh, stripping away both the uneasiness of the club and the questions I have if I’m doing what’s right.

I don’t say it aloud. Can’t. But if Eleanor’s cosmic purpose is to find the story behind this photograph, then my purpose is to get her there with the information and connections I have. To let the story unwind for her.

All in due time.

9

ELEANOR

I rub my fingers together, desperate for them to warm up. The archive gets colder throughout the day as the world outside heats up. Jolene’s informed me the system controlling the temperature is set to do that, but I can’t imagine it needs to be so frigid I can nearly see my breath.

Just a little bit longer . . .

Another binder, another day. I am moving through the photos at a steady rate, but I underestimated how much uncategorized material the archive had.

I zip up my fleece (yes, a fleece in Texas), and burrow my nose into it as I stare down at another muddy shot of Austin City Limits, so overexposed I can’t tell if it's Robert Plant or Allison Krauss or both.

“Eleanor?”

I look up; Jolene is poking her head out from the center aisle. “What’s up?” I ask, my voice muffled by my sweater.

She cocks a smile at me. “Are you really that cold?”

“No,” I say drolly.

She laughs, tinkly like a glockenspiel. “You’re so funny.”

I smile, though it’s hidden in my sweater. Through these two weeks, I’ve become quite fond of my boss. She spends a lot of time talking my ear off instead of doing her job. That’s how I’ve basically heard her whole life story. I like people who overshare in the name of closeness. I’ve never been like that, but I’m a good listener and find those who like to expose themselves gravitate toward me for that very reason.

Makes having a job that much easier when you like who you work with.

“Anyway, there’s a man asking about you at the front desk,” she says.

I frown and glance up at the clock. “He’s early.”

“So, you know him?” Jolene’s eyes brighten and she smiles.

“Um, yeah.”

“Um, yeah. How can you be so calm about it?” she says, putting her hand on her hip.

I close the binder. Not going to be getting much more work done today now that Jolene has me locked in a conversation. Robert Plant/Allison Krauss will have to wait. “Because he’s a friend?”

“A friend? You’re letting yourself be friends with a guy who looks like that? How do you have that much self-restraint?” Jolene squeaks. “Unless you don’t swing that way, in which case, that’s totally fine.”

I giggle. “I do swing that way. But Luke’s just a friend.”

“Luke?! God, even his name is sexy.”

I get up from my workstation, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous! Guys don’t just show up at your place of work asking for you if you’re friends.”

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