half hour until it officially closed. It was dark, but a river flowed nearby and the crickets were singing.
“This okay?” Paul asked.
“It’s perfect.”
“You wanna take a walk?”
“Yes.”
We got out of the car and I let Paul choose a direction—toward the river. There was a dimly lit path that ran along the bank, and we started south on it. He walked close enough that our shoulders bumped occasionally, but he didn’t touch me. I cracked the seal on my scotch and took a sip. It burned my throat, but in just the way I liked it. Though on the rocks would have been better, I could work with this. I offered the bottle to Paul.
“Thanks.” He took a sip and impressed me greatly by not grimacing.
We walked, passing the bottle back and forth for a few rounds, but then he put up a hand. “Driving,” he reminded me.
After a few minutes, Paul said, “This way,” and stepped off the path. He led me across a wide grassy area and up a slight slope.
I could smell the garden before I could see it. Roses and lilacs. A border of low hedges was broken by two walkways. Paul led me through one into a moonlit English-style garden with gravel paths and beds of flowers. Even in the dark, I could see how beautiful it was. I wondered what it looked like in daylight.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A garden.” Paul shrugged.
“What’s it for?”
“What’s any garden for?” he asked.
“True.”
Our feet crunched over the gravel as we moved through the garden. The scent of flowers was almost as intoxicating as the scotch starting to work in my brain. We reached a series of stone alcoves marking the end of the garden. There were benches set into the alcoves and Paul took a seat on one, patting the spot beside him. I sat down, once again close enough to him that our shoulders touched.
“It occurs to me that I don’t know much about you, Paul,” I said.
“What would you like to know?”
“I guess we should start with your last name.”
He laughed. “I guess that’s a good place to start. It’s Kellerman.”
“Hi, Paul Kellerman, I’m Presley Mason-Schmidt.” I held out my hand, and he shook it.
“I didn’t realize you were hyphenated,” he said. “On Wikipedia, you’re called ‘Mason.’ ”
“You seriously looked me up on Wikipedia?” I couldn’t decide if that was creepy or flattering.
“God, no. I mean, yes, but—” He cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. “I told you your parents used to sell The Luminous 6’s album at the store. So, I looked you up. But that was before I met you.”
I laughed. “It’s fine. I get it.” Nudging him with my shoulder, I added, “But if you have a page, I’m reading the whole thing later.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”
“Then you have to make one up for me.”
“You want me to make myself a Wikipedia page just so you can read it?”
“You can just tell me now if you’d rather.”
“What, like, tell you my biography?”
“Yes.”
“Paul Kellerman was born in a little log cabin he built himself.”
“Ha ha.” I elbowed him, and unscrewed the cap from my bottle of scotch to take another sip.
“All right, all right.” He took the bottle from me and took another small swig, then set it on the bench to his other side. “Well, I think you figured out by now that I have two moms and a sister.”
“The tattoo artist,” I recalled as the urge to check out the rest of his tattoo returned to me in a rush.
“Yes. And I went to school for music, and I’ve been teaching guitar for a couple years now. But I’m also in a band.”
Of course,
I thought. “What kind of band?”
“Local. Kind of a fusion thing. We’re no Luminous 6.”
I snorted.
“Of course, The Luminous 6 is no Luminous 6 anymore, are they?”
“They’re still using the name.” I considered reaching over him for the scotch, but didn’t want to show my frustration.
“They’ll tank without you,” Paul said, as if it were a foregone
“This okay?” Paul asked.
“It’s perfect.”
“You wanna take a walk?”
“Yes.”
We got out of the car and I let Paul choose a direction—toward the river. There was a dimly lit path that ran along the bank, and we started south on it. He walked close enough that our shoulders bumped occasionally, but he didn’t touch me. I cracked the seal on my scotch and took a sip. It burned my throat, but in just the way I liked it. Though on the rocks would have been better, I could work with this. I offered the bottle to Paul.
“Thanks.” He took a sip and impressed me greatly by not grimacing.
We walked, passing the bottle back and forth for a few rounds, but then he put up a hand. “Driving,” he reminded me.
After a few minutes, Paul said, “This way,” and stepped off the path. He led me across a wide grassy area and up a slight slope.
I could smell the garden before I could see it. Roses and lilacs. A border of low hedges was broken by two walkways. Paul led me through one into a moonlit English-style garden with gravel paths and beds of flowers. Even in the dark, I could see how beautiful it was. I wondered what it looked like in daylight.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A garden.” Paul shrugged.
“What’s it for?”
“What’s any garden for?” he asked.
“True.”
Our feet crunched over the gravel as we moved through the garden. The scent of flowers was almost as intoxicating as the scotch starting to work in my brain. We reached a series of stone alcoves marking the end of the garden. There were benches set into the alcoves and Paul took a seat on one, patting the spot beside him. I sat down, once again close enough to him that our shoulders touched.
“It occurs to me that I don’t know much about you, Paul,” I said.
“What would you like to know?”
“I guess we should start with your last name.”
He laughed. “I guess that’s a good place to start. It’s Kellerman.”
“Hi, Paul Kellerman, I’m Presley Mason-Schmidt.” I held out my hand, and he shook it.
“I didn’t realize you were hyphenated,” he said. “On Wikipedia, you’re called ‘Mason.’ ”
“You seriously looked me up on Wikipedia?” I couldn’t decide if that was creepy or flattering.
“God, no. I mean, yes, but—” He cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. “I told you your parents used to sell The Luminous 6’s album at the store. So, I looked you up. But that was before I met you.”
I laughed. “It’s fine. I get it.” Nudging him with my shoulder, I added, “But if you have a page, I’m reading the whole thing later.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”
“Then you have to make one up for me.”
“You want me to make myself a Wikipedia page just so you can read it?”
“You can just tell me now if you’d rather.”
“What, like, tell you my biography?”
“Yes.”
“Paul Kellerman was born in a little log cabin he built himself.”
“Ha ha.” I elbowed him, and unscrewed the cap from my bottle of scotch to take another sip.
“All right, all right.” He took the bottle from me and took another small swig, then set it on the bench to his other side. “Well, I think you figured out by now that I have two moms and a sister.”
“The tattoo artist,” I recalled as the urge to check out the rest of his tattoo returned to me in a rush.
“Yes. And I went to school for music, and I’ve been teaching guitar for a couple years now. But I’m also in a band.”
Of course,
I thought. “What kind of band?”
“Local. Kind of a fusion thing. We’re no Luminous 6.”
I snorted.
“Of course, The Luminous 6 is no Luminous 6 anymore, are they?”
“They’re still using the name.” I considered reaching over him for the scotch, but didn’t want to show my frustration.
“They’ll tank without you,” Paul said, as if it were a foregone
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