triumphantly. “Dresses made from old concert t-shirts.”
“Sweet,” I tell her, mentally filing that idea away for my own designs.
“I don’t know about you,” Dex says, putting out his smoke. “But I could use a beer or twelve.”
There is a little beer garden over by the stage, but I’m only eighteen so I obviously can’t take part, and my last fake ID got seized by a bar Amy and I had tried to sneak into a few months ago.
“You guys have your beer,” I tell them. “I’m going to look around.”
“Are you sure?” Perry asks. “I’m sure Dex can keep his alcoholism in check until we get back home.”
Dex’s mouth drops open in false shock. “Woman, do you even know me at all?”
“I’ll see you in a bit,” I tell them, heading over toward the water fountain. I look back over my shoulder just in time to see Dex grab Perry’s hand, holding on tight as they walk away, lifting it up to his lips and kissing it while Perry beams back at him.
I feel a squeeze on my heart, a warm fuzzy feeling combined with a flash of my dream.
The feel of my hand in Jay’s, the way it felt like it was made just for me to hold.
You’re a fuckwad , I tell myself. It was just a dream.
I repeat that to myself as I meander through the crowds. I start taking pictures of the local fashion, street style to post on my blog, and of course I seek out our own Jimi Hendrix and get a selfie with the market legend. It’s tradition.
I’m standing outside a Korean taco stand, trying to figure out if I want a bibimbap wrap (honestly I just like saying “bibimbap”), when I feel a presence beside me.
I look over to see Jacob standing right there.
“Hello,” he says in his thick accent. “Bloody brilliant weather we’re having.”
I blink at him for a moment, taking him in. He’s not wearing a baseball cap this time and has a thick mop of red hair for someone his age, though his sunglasses are covering up his eyes. I remember their amber color quite well. Just like yesterday he’s wearing an ugly shirt, this time a burnt orange short-sleeved shirt that matches his hair.
“Jacob,” he supplies when I don’t say anything. “We met yesterday. You’re Dawn and Sage’s neighbor. Ada, isn’t it?”
I swallow, trying to find my voice. I’m not sure what it is about this man that makes me feel off-kilter. Not necessarily in a bad way, it’s just . . . something.
“Yeah, Ada,” I manage to say.
“Well, Ada,” he says smoothly, looking around, “I have to tell you it feels good to see a familiar face in this crowd. I don’t know Portland at all. First time here.”
We shuffle forward in the line as it gets shorter. “Where are you from?”
“Aside from England?” He asks. “Oh, I’ve been all over the place. You name it, I’ve been there.”
“But Dawn and Sage, they moved from Washington?”
He nods. “They’re a nice couple. I think you’d like them.”
I give him a wry smile. “To be fair, you don’t know me so you can’t know what I like.”
He tilts his head back and I can feel his eyes on me despite the sunglasses reflecting back my own face. My dark circles stand out more than anything and my blonde hair is thwarted by fly-aways. I look like absolute shit.
“No I suppose I don’t know you at all,” he says finally, his attention back to the menu on the side of the stand. “Bibimbap,” he repeats. “Fun word, isn’t it?”
“So how do you know them?” I ask. “The Knightlys.” I pause. “Is it true that Sage was in the band Hybrid, that Dawn was a journalist?”
“Who told you that, love?”
“My dad. He’s not a fan or anything. He was just talking to them earlier.”
“Well if they told him that, it must be true.”
“And so . . .”
“I’m a family friend,” he supplies. “Here to help them settle in. I’ve always been a helper of sorts for them. Anything they need, they know they can count on old Jacob.” He adds sympathetically, “They’re getting
“Sweet,” I tell her, mentally filing that idea away for my own designs.
“I don’t know about you,” Dex says, putting out his smoke. “But I could use a beer or twelve.”
There is a little beer garden over by the stage, but I’m only eighteen so I obviously can’t take part, and my last fake ID got seized by a bar Amy and I had tried to sneak into a few months ago.
“You guys have your beer,” I tell them. “I’m going to look around.”
“Are you sure?” Perry asks. “I’m sure Dex can keep his alcoholism in check until we get back home.”
Dex’s mouth drops open in false shock. “Woman, do you even know me at all?”
“I’ll see you in a bit,” I tell them, heading over toward the water fountain. I look back over my shoulder just in time to see Dex grab Perry’s hand, holding on tight as they walk away, lifting it up to his lips and kissing it while Perry beams back at him.
I feel a squeeze on my heart, a warm fuzzy feeling combined with a flash of my dream.
The feel of my hand in Jay’s, the way it felt like it was made just for me to hold.
You’re a fuckwad , I tell myself. It was just a dream.
I repeat that to myself as I meander through the crowds. I start taking pictures of the local fashion, street style to post on my blog, and of course I seek out our own Jimi Hendrix and get a selfie with the market legend. It’s tradition.
I’m standing outside a Korean taco stand, trying to figure out if I want a bibimbap wrap (honestly I just like saying “bibimbap”), when I feel a presence beside me.
I look over to see Jacob standing right there.
“Hello,” he says in his thick accent. “Bloody brilliant weather we’re having.”
I blink at him for a moment, taking him in. He’s not wearing a baseball cap this time and has a thick mop of red hair for someone his age, though his sunglasses are covering up his eyes. I remember their amber color quite well. Just like yesterday he’s wearing an ugly shirt, this time a burnt orange short-sleeved shirt that matches his hair.
“Jacob,” he supplies when I don’t say anything. “We met yesterday. You’re Dawn and Sage’s neighbor. Ada, isn’t it?”
I swallow, trying to find my voice. I’m not sure what it is about this man that makes me feel off-kilter. Not necessarily in a bad way, it’s just . . . something.
“Yeah, Ada,” I manage to say.
“Well, Ada,” he says smoothly, looking around, “I have to tell you it feels good to see a familiar face in this crowd. I don’t know Portland at all. First time here.”
We shuffle forward in the line as it gets shorter. “Where are you from?”
“Aside from England?” He asks. “Oh, I’ve been all over the place. You name it, I’ve been there.”
“But Dawn and Sage, they moved from Washington?”
He nods. “They’re a nice couple. I think you’d like them.”
I give him a wry smile. “To be fair, you don’t know me so you can’t know what I like.”
He tilts his head back and I can feel his eyes on me despite the sunglasses reflecting back my own face. My dark circles stand out more than anything and my blonde hair is thwarted by fly-aways. I look like absolute shit.
“No I suppose I don’t know you at all,” he says finally, his attention back to the menu on the side of the stand. “Bibimbap,” he repeats. “Fun word, isn’t it?”
“So how do you know them?” I ask. “The Knightlys.” I pause. “Is it true that Sage was in the band Hybrid, that Dawn was a journalist?”
“Who told you that, love?”
“My dad. He’s not a fan or anything. He was just talking to them earlier.”
“Well if they told him that, it must be true.”
“And so . . .”
“I’m a family friend,” he supplies. “Here to help them settle in. I’ve always been a helper of sorts for them. Anything they need, they know they can count on old Jacob.” He adds sympathetically, “They’re getting
Similar Books
