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50. Lark

Chapter fifty

Lark

Saturday, May 3, 2025

“ I ’m hungry,” I whine as we head back to our apartment building.

Gianni places his hand on my lower back, grinning at me as he turns me around to walk in the opposite direction. “Let’s get lunch then.”

“Ooh, I know just the place! It’s close, and they’re dog-friendly as long as we’re out on the patio,” I tell him, and a little squeal passes my lips.

His bright eyes crinkle at the corners as he extends his arm in front of us. “Lead the way, ma petite rouge .”

A few minutes later, we’re standing outside of the Rusty Dog Saloon , which has nothing to do with any of the above. It doesn’t even have a Western theme, but they have the best live performers.

The hostess seats us at one of the metal tables along the sidewalk, the dark-green umbrella guarding our eyes from the sun .

Pickles and Tiny lie down under the table as Gianni and I take our seats across from one another.

After we order our food, I relax into the seat, letting the warm sun’s rays soak into my skin.

“What’s that smile for?” Gianni asks with a lilt in his voice.

“Oh, nothing,” I tease. “I’m just with a really hot guy at one of my favorite burger spots on a beautiful day, and I’m enjoying it.”

“You think I’m really hot?” he asks with a wink. He chuckles, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, for sure. The hottest, ” I assure him, always wanting to feed his ego when I have the chance.

“Well, you, little red, are the most magnificent, gorgeous, breathtakingly stunning person to ever live. And you have a really fantastic ass.” He smiles brightly, and his white teeth glimmer in the sun.

My heart stammers. No one has ever said anything remotely that kind to me. It was almost poetic ?

“Gi, do you write music?” I ask, my brow lifting in question as I nibble on my bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable blush to climb up his neck.

His eyes cast downward, and his cheeks pinken, supplying the answer without speaking the words.

“You do! I knew it!” I shout, my smile beaming at him.

When those baby blues find my eyes, he asks, “How could you have known that?”

I shake my head and shoot him a little eye roll before explaining. “Sometimes, the things you say sound like song lyrics. They don’t sound like the words of a thirty-two-year-old man, but I like them. And your voice sounds so melodious and smooth as if you’re singing every word without actually doing so.”

His dark brows crinkle. “I’ve never noticed.”

“I don’t think you would. It is your voice. You’ve lived with it your whole life.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, bending to scratch Pickles and Tiny from under the table.

The live band has been setting up behind us, and it looks like they’re finally ready to play.

“Hey, everyone, thanks for coming out today. I’m Jack Shadow, and we’re The Ghosties.”

They start off with a remix of some of my favorite nineties and early two-thousands punk-rock songs.

I stare at Gianni as he watches the band play, unknowingly bobbing his head and tapping his foot just the smallest bit. The waiter delivers our food, drawing his attention back to me.

“Why don’t you do something like that? You love music, and it would be a good change of pace, I think. Besides, I bet your voice is incredible.”

“No, I couldn’t,” he says, shaking his head dismissively. “I play for myself more than anything else.” He brushes me off.

“ I want to hear you sing and whatever else it is you like to do. You never told me—what instruments do you play?”

He finishes chewing and takes a sip of water before responding. “I play the guitar, piano, drums, harp, accordion, harmonica, clarinet, trumpet, French horn, violin, bass, and one year I went to Cuba to visit Alex’s family, and his uncle taught me how to play the guiro and the batá drums.”

A startled laugh nearly chokes me. “I probably should’ve asked what instruments don’t you play, good lord,” I tell him. “I tried to learn the violin in middle school, but I was so bad that the teacher had to call my dad and beg him to convince me to try just about anything else. That’s how I started playing soccer.”

His eyes widen. “How did I not know you play soccer?”

I laugh at that. “My father owns a soccer team. I figured that it went without saying. Besides, you know more about me after the last two months than my ex did after six years.”

He slides his hand across the table, taking mine and bringing it to his lips. He presses a tender kiss to the inside of my wrist, then my knuckles. “Your ex wasn’t worthy of any of your secrets, and neither am I. But I’ll work toward earning them every day, regardless.”

There he goes again, sending my heart fluttering in my chest.

I stare at our intertwined hands, and his words remind me that I never asked about his appointment yesterday. “How did your session go yesterday?”

His cheeks pinken, and it’s just about the cutest fucking thing. “It went really well, actually. Dr. Fasano and I discussed a homework assignment for this week that I think you’ll be interested in,” he tells me with a small smile.

“Do tell,” I say, leaning forward on my elbows.

“Well, he said for me to start playing music again, and if it feels right, to have you with me so I can start to associate it with making new, happy memories instead of thinking of it as something that just dredges up old memories of Alex and me.”

He was talking about me with his therapist? God, this man.

“I’d love that if you think it’s a good idea,” I tell him honestly .

“Maybe when we get home after lunch?”

“Sounds like the perfect day,” I answer. The perfect day with the perfect person.

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