Page 10 of Finding Tane
“Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”
Relief flooded me, he didn’t think it was weird, or if he did, he didn’t care. He wanted to come over.
“Okay um, well, how about you come back round at closing time tonight and I’ll... cook for us?” I was instantly planning menus, trying to decide which would be best.
Tane nodded. “Great, thanks, man. Do you drink? I can bring some bottles of something?”
“Yes, I drink. You don’t have to bring anything though, it’s on me.”
Tane chuckled. “No, my mother taught me never to go to someone’s place empty-handed.”
I could understand that. “Okay then, whatever you like will be fine.”
“Great.” Tane grinned at me. “Well, I’d better find something to bring then.”
“Oh uh, my place is just upstairs, but take my number as well, in case you’re running late or something?”
Tane produced a brand new Samsung phone and opened the messaging app, he handed me the phone. “Put your number in there and I’ll text you so you have mine.”
I did as he said, punching in my numbers and then handing it back to him. A moment later my phone vibrated in my pocket.
“I guess I’ll drop by at closing time?”
“Perfect.” I nodded. “See you then.”
Tane left the store, and I went into the backroom, holding it together long enough to be out of sight of the shop before bending in half to have a mild panic reaction.
I screwed my eyes shut and gripped my knees, focusing on taking breaths in from my belly. There was nothing to worry about. It was just dinner. I could make dinner.
It was just dinner I was making for a really cute foreigner who, oh yeah, just happened to be a global phenomenon in music.
What was I thinking?
More to the point, what would I make?
I heaved in a raspy breath and forced myself back upright. I could do this. There was nothing to panic about. All I had to do was cook something edible and not be a complete weirdo.
Totally doable, right?
Chapter Six
Tane
Iwas due at the grocery shop in a half hour, I’d already showered and the bottles of beer I’d bought were waiting in a bag by the door of my motel room.
I was weirdly nervous. It felt so intimate to go to Dillon’s house, but I did believe he had invited me as a friendly gesture, not out of some weird sense of obligation.
With nothing much else to do, I went on my phone and looked up my own Instagram. I didn’t sign in, I didn’t want to see the flood of DMs, but there were comments I could read on my latest post. The one I made when I was still in L.A.
Even looking up my Whetu branded social media created a knot in my stomach. How could I ever even go back to touring if I couldn’t even look at a picture?
The comments were full of concern:Where are you? I miss your updates Hope you’re not sick, please feel better soon
I closed the window down and sighed. What was I going to do?
I’d run away from my entire life... Now what?
Should I just head back to Aotearoa?
