Page 37 of Lost Love on 6th Street

“What are friends for?” I say, making my own stomach twist at the mention of the word “friends.”

“Luke, we’ve known each other three weeks,” she says.

The knot in my gut tightens. “So?”

“So, dropping hundreds of dollars on a stranger is—”

“You’re not a stranger! How many times do I have to tell you?” I say through a smile though my frustration is growing. Doesn’t she realize the only distance between us is the one she insists on putting up?

Eleanor goes silent, looking into the long mirror across from us.

We look nice together. I’d say as much if it wouldn’t freak her out. All her darker features, her hair and eyes, complement my light ones. And the way her body is settled in beside me looks effortless. Like a puzzle piece you thought you’d lost in a couch cushion, and when you slot it into the puzzle, relief floods through you.

I haven’t spent much time looking for the one. I’ve always said I haven’t had the time, but I’m starting to realize that’s bullshit. I’ve been too scared. I kept women at arm’s length so they didn’t get in the way of my work, and I stopped going on dates because I didn’t know how to be anything more than Luke Wyatt, music promoter.

Eleanor has seen me in a way not many people have.

I wish she understood that. “You like them, right?”

“I do,” she admits. “But I have nowhere to wear cowboy boots.”

I smile. “You’re in Austin. You have everywhere to wear cowboy boots.”

She looks up at me, her eyes weak at the corners, lips serious. “Luke, please don’t do something you’re going to regret, okay?”

Eleanor’s talking about the boots, but she could be talking about so many other things. The desire I have to kiss her. The impulse inside me to pursue her to the ends of the earth. The way I want to beg her to never leave town, just stay, give me a chance.

Maybe she’s right. Three weeks ain’t much time. Not enough time to start thinking about all the ways our lives fit together.

Especially when we’re “just” friends.

“I don’t regret acts of kindness, Eleanor,” I say with a tiny shrug. “Not in my blood.”

Her seriousness melts into a smile. “Okay. Fine. Let’s try on the others.”

When all is said and done, Eleanor fights a battle with herself over the classic brown boots and the blue ones. She goes for brown, saying that it’s better to go classic rather than jump in head-first. However, I make a mental note that for all of Eleanor’s withholding—for all her reservation— there’s a woman inside of her that wants to be wearing blue cowboy boots, strutting down the streets of Austin.

Who knew you could make a cowgirl out of a Chicagoan?

13

ELEANOR

I still have about two months of my tenure at the music library left, but a lot can change in two months. And from the brief glancing I’ve done at apartment listings, the rental market is just as competitive as Chicago. A little less expensive, thank the Lord. But my pay here reflects the difference in cost of living too.

I really shouldn’t be using my slow Dell computer to look for apartments, especially not at work.

I can’t help myself, though. It’s a compulsion; it has been two weekends since Luke and I found the identity of my mystery woman. And he bought me my boots. Which I happen to be wearing right now.

His work schedule has been packed. I had apparently met him just before a slow couple of weeks. Now, however, he’s not only working his butt off on his usual bookings, but he’s also looking down the pike at Austin City Limits and bookings surrounding the festival.

For all his easy smiles and casual saunters, Luke is a hustler. Sometimes he’s sending me text messages at 3:00 AM, after working late at the office or after a gig.

I’m grateful he’s texting me at all. That he hasn’t forgotten about me. Although this is the longest stretch of time we haven’t seen each other—it’s been 12 days.

Yes, I’ve counted.

Once I reach the listings I’ve already seen, I sigh heavily and glance at the clock. Still an hour until lunch, which means I should do some actual work. Time for a new stack of binders, so I head into one of the aisles and grab the next few.

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