Page 4 of Carry On
He looked good—damn good. The kind of good that was fantasy-inducing for someone like me who noticed a guy like him.
A guy you can’t have, that voice reminded me.
Right. Because Lincoln Cassidy and I were living in two different worlds. He might throw me a twenty for playing music, but he’d never so much as look my way. Sighing, I leaned back against the tree, hugging my guitar case to my chest as I nodded off to dreams of making Lincoln Cassidy blush all over again.
CHAPTER 03
LINCOLN
FusionRoastwasfaroutside my norm as far as coffee shops were concerned, but their coffee was better than anything else I’d found in the city. The walk may have been longer, but it was worth it. Sebastian gave me shit for it, but he was always happy to join me.
Like always, the same unhoused man was sitting outside under an awning to avoid the misty rain. His fingers strummed his guitar as he kept his head down. The melancholy music did something to me. It always did something. It stroked something deep inside me, catching my interest and sticking with me for hours on end.
And like always, I dropped a twenty in his case as I passed. It’d become a habit to make sure I had cash on hand before I left in the morning. Was it a lot compared to others? Maybe. But his music stuck with me all day and was absolutely a part of the reason I kept going back toFusion Roast.I wanted to hear his magic.
“Thank you,” he said. He always did, but this time, he glanced up when he said the words. His deeply green gaze collided with mine and damn near stopped me in my tracks.
For a fraction of a moment, I took him in. Underneath the tired and beaten-down expression was a handsome man with ashy blond hair that hung long around his shoulders and stubble tracing his jawline. Wornclothes clung to broad shoulders and a lean frame. I caught a glimpse of tattoos on his wrist and the back of his hand as he continued to strum on his guitar like I wasn’t staring at him.
But those green eyes? Damn it. I kept getting drawn back to them. The familiarity in them was haunting and unnerving.
He broke contact first, his gaze dropping right back down to his guitar as he continued to play. I picked up my pace to catch up with Sebastian, who was completely unfazed by my sudden halt.
“At the rate you give away money, you won’t have anything left,” Sebastian teased when I joined him.
“Please,” I scoffed, struggling to focus on what Sebastian had to say. My mind was stuck on the unhoused musician. Where did I know him from? The voice. The eyes. That face. Something about him poked at old memories—ones I couldn’t quite touch to make sense of. “I have plenty. He could use the help.”
“Dare I say… Lincoln Cassidy has a heart?” he feigned his surprise like he didn’t already know I donated a ton of money every year. Some said I did so to make up for helping criminals go free, and I let them think that. In truth, I didn’t have use for the kind of money I made. I kept a comfortable savings, I paid my bills, I had a nice condo, and I sent money to my uncle every month. All the extra I had did nothing but sit in my bank account. I might as well do something good with it.
“Never,” I said, playing into the banter. Anything to distract myself. The unhoused guitarist had a hold on me, one that was digging in deeper with every passing second. The whole thing was going to bother me until I figured it out.
We sat inside the cafe, choosing a table by the window. Rather, I picked the table by the window because I couldn’t stop watching. The unhoused guitarist had packed up his stuff and moved across the street, disappearing into a mini-mart. He came out with nothing more than a bottle of water. I found myself hoping that he’d bought something more and stashed it in his bag, even if it was something small for later. He couldn’t survive on wateralone. Although when he stood, I could see just how thin his frame was. The thought that maybe he was just surviving on water was nauseating.
“I’m thinking of becoming a defense attorney,” Sebastian said, effectively pulling me out of my own thoughts. My attention snapped back to him.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demanded. There was no way in hell this goddamn man was thinking about becoming a defense attorney. Not after all the shit he gave me.
“Do I have your attention now?” he asked with a grin.
“I was paying attention.”
“What was the last thing I said?” Damn it. He had me there.
“Fuck you,” I muttered into my coffee mug. “What were you saying?”
“Why are you glaring at a homeless man?” he countered. I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “Oh, come on now, Lincoln. You’re not exactly discreet. What’d the homeless musician ever do to you?”
“Nothing,” I said. The look he gave me spoke volumes about how he didn’t believe me. “I mean it! He didn’t do a damn thing. I think I know him… somehow.”
Not knowing the somehow was killing me.
“All right,” Sebastian hummed, “tell me how I can help.”
“If I knew that, I would’ve figured it out by now,” I replied a little too bitterly.
“Did you know him in law school?”
“Doubt it.” My gaze drifted back out the window to where the unhoused guitarist was on the move, his pack slung over one shoulder along with his guitar case. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who went to law school.
