Creative Process Read online

“Sorry for the rush I—” Thought you were gorgeous, his writer’s mind interjected. “—overheard you ask the valet for a cab. It didn’t seem like it would be much fun to carry your instrument all the way to the subway.” Really? He did his best not to roll his eyes at himself. What was he thinking?

  Owen nodded. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, but no, it sucks, actually.”

  Chad made another attempt. “Where are you headed?”

  “Oh.” Owen laughed. “I’m headed downtown, Sixteenth Street and Seventh Ave. I hope that’s not a huge imposition. You could drop me on a less crowded corner, and I could get a cab from there if—”

  “No, that’s fine,” Reese interrupted again. “I’m a bit of a hike from here myself.”

  “In the other direction…” he heard Chad mumble.

  Reese ignored him. “Where are we dropping you?”

  “Do you know the Grey Moon Café?”

  He nodded approvingly—artsy part of town. “You live near the Grey Moon?”

  “Yes, but I’m not going home, actually. I’m playing there.”

  Chad leaned around Reese again. “You’re playing a second gig?”

  “Well, sort of. I’m headed there to jam with some friends.”

  “Cellos can jam?” Reese asked, genuinely interested. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Can be.” Owen smiled and shifted in his seat.

  The car turned up a well-lit street and then pulled over.

  “Oh—this is me.” Chad opened his door. “Nice to meet you, Owen. Really enjoyed the performance tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Owen replied politely.

  Reese climbed out of the car after Chad to say good night. “Hey, Chad. Thank you so much. I really had a nice evening. I needed it—got me out of my head for a while.”

  “Thanks for being my date. You look hot in a tux. Loved the wheels too.” Chad reached over and gave Reese a kiss on the cheek. “Off tomorrow, reading downtown on Monday night. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Reese would completely forget, he knew, despite the reminder. “But you’ll call me.”

  “I’ll call you.” Chad laughed. “Try to at least be dressed.”

  Reese grinned. “Will do. Thanks again. Say hello to your mom for me!”

  Chad rolled his eyes. “I will. She would not approve of your reckless and irresponsible behavior, you know.” Chad pointed to the car.

  Reese snorted. “I need to get out more, right?”

  “Good luck!” Chad winked at him.

  He laughed and slid back into the car. “We’re going to make a stop,” he told the driver. “Sixteenth Street and…?” He’d forgotten already and looked at Owen for help.

  Owen leaned in. “Seventh.”

  “Right. Sixteenth and Seventh,” Reese repeated.

  “No problem, sir. Will that be the last stop?”

  Reese’s apartment wasn’t anything close to walking distance from the Grey Moon. “No, we’ll continue on to—”

  “Why don’t you come listen?” Owen suggested.

  “Listen?” Reese blinked at Owen. He was processing slowly. He must really be tired. “Oh, why don’t I come listen? To you. Why don’t I? Yes.”

  Owen laughed. “That’ll be the last stop,” he said to the driver.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Really? That’s not weird?” he asked.

  “Not any weirder than offering a complete stranger with a cello a ride,” Owen replied playfully.

  True enough. “You’re not a complete stranger. We just sat in the same theater together for three hours.” Hm. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Excuse me a moment.” He opened up Evernote and started typing. Follows woman home from theater—movies? Opera? Leaves her on stage? When he was done, he put his phone back in his pocket. “Had to reply to a text,” he lied. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” Owen smiled at him. “Someone wants to know when you’ll be home?”

  “Ha-ha.” Reese shook his head. “No. God no.”

  Owen nodded. “Averse to relationships. Noted.”

  “Wait, what?” Reese got the feeling he’d just completely missed his cue. “No! No, I’m not averse. I’m just… there’s no one. I’m single.” It had been so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like to flirt. And now he was embarrassed and awkward too. Fuck.

  “Unattached.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Flying solo.”

  “I guess.”

  “Hot.”

  “Yep.” Reese’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Oh my God.”

  Owen started laughing so hard he fell over sideways on the backseat. “Yep,” he repeated just as Reese had said it.

  Reese felt himself grin, and the grin grew wider the longer Owen laughed at him. This was fun. Maybe he hadn’t entirely lost the ability to laugh at himself after all.

  “I stepped right into that, didn’t I? You’re a sneaky one, Owen.”

  “Yep,” Owen said again. He was still giggling but appeared to be attempting to regain composure. He pushed himself upright. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Really. I apologize.”

  “Don’t. I’ll just have to pay you back at some point.”

  Owen’s gaze swept up Reese’s body from his lap until he was looking into Reese’s eyes. “I look forward to it.”

  Holy Mother of God. Owen just hit on him. Reese mentally congratulated himself on recognizing it this time, even if it wasn’t the least bit subtle. “Me too.”

  Owen’s smile turned shy, and he dropped his gaze for a moment. He looked like he was going to say something more, but the car came to a stop. “Right on the corner, sir?”

  Reese forced himself to tear his eyes away from Owen’s beautiful blush to answer the man’s question. “Uh, yeah. Yes. Here’s fine, thanks.” He glanced back at Owen, but Owen had carefully schooled his expression and was sliding toward the opposite car door.

  They both climbed out of the car, and he resisted the urge to offer to carry Owen’s cello. First of all, if he owned an instrument so expensive it needed to be enclosed in an anti-shock case, he wouldn’t allow anyone else to carry it.

  But more to the point, Reese assumed that Owen had just put on his game face for his friends, and he wasn’t ready to explain why Reese was assisting him.

  “This is the place.” Owen gestured to the café. It had tall windows, and the warm lighting from inside spilled out onto the sidewalk. Several people were standing outside drinking coffee or smoking and talking. Reese could hear the hum of music but couldn’t quite make out what it was. “Come on.”

  Reese tipped the driver and said thank you, then followed Owen inside. Owen moved purposefully toward a small stage on one side of the room where one woman was playing the piano and another was sitting behind a small set of percussive instruments, some of which Reese couldn’t readily name on sight. He decided to play it cool, letting Owen hit the stage alone as he went up to the counter and bought himself a latte and a blondie, then went and found a table and took a seat. Realizing how overdressed he was, he pulled off his tie and put it in his jacket pocket. He hung the jacket over the back of his chair and unbuttoned a couple of buttons at his throat. It was better, but he still felt out of place.

  Owen stashed the case off to one side and took a seat, scanning the room as he settled his cello between his knees and did a quick tuning. Reese smiled and winked, and Owen smiled back but looked away quickly. The woman playing the piano glanced over her shoulder, and Owen gave her a nod.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” she purred into her microphone. “You’re in for a treat. Let me introduce you to the very handsome and even more gifted Owen Mercado.” Applause peppered around the room and then Owen began to play.

  From the very first moment Owen’s bow touched the strings, Reese was captivated. The sound was so rich and soulful, and coupled with the piano, its music flooded the room. Slowly Reese set his coffee down on the table, and he found himself tapping his foot, then nodding slightly to the beat of
the music. When the percussion kicked in he realized why—he was listening to an instrumental version of “My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark.”

  Fallout Boy. Really? Reese was delighted. He’d never heard a cello played in that manner before. He listened enthusiastically as the melody traded back and forth between the cello and the piano in a very clever arrangement. As he sat there, he became more aware of his surroundings. The café was bright and busy, full of life and energy. People were talking, singing along, playing air drums, or tapping a beat out on their tables. The song ended with the cello playing a baseline melody, drawing out the last note until the room was still and silent.

  A breath later the room filled with riotous applause and whoops of approval. Reese’s included.

  All three musicians nodded their thanks, and then the pianist gestured to Owen, and the crowd got loud. He was grinning broadly as he sat back down again.

  “Thank you,” the pianist said with a smile. “Did I mention that was Owen Mercado?” Owen started to protest, but the room went up in applause once more. “Yes, that was Mr. Mercado’s arrangement; I told you he was talented.” Her fingers tripped lightly over the keys, playing a tune that was both familiar and not. Reese couldn’t put his finger on it.

  He glanced over at Owen to find Owen looking at him again, and his breath caught in his throat. Owen was flushed, and his black curls fell over one shoulder. Reese gave him a thumbs-up, and Owen nodded in response.

  “I’m Carla, by the way, Carla James. And behind me is Lisa Stein on percussion.” The room erupted again but quieted quickly as Carla kept talking. “So… we’re going to reel it in a little bit here and try something new I’ve been working on. Just gave Owen the sheet music two days ago, so be kind, people, be kind. And don’t forget to get yourselves some coffee—if you don’t support them, they can’t support us, am I right?” Her fingers shifted and the rambling melody started to come together. “Yes. I’m right. Enjoy this one.”

  Reese heard her count off softly, and when Lisa and Owen jumped in, Reese recognized the song immediately as “See You Again.” Dynamic and haunting, Reese was struck by the power in the arrangement, and he loved the way the trio committed to what they were playing emotionally as well. Knowing the lyrics, but not hearing them just added another dimension to the piece. Carla may have given Owen credit for his talent, but she deserved some serious props of her own.

  It was a lengthy set, ten or twelve amazing covers of current music with only a short break, during which Owen was so swamped by friends and fans that Reese just hung back, finishing off his dessert and watching. They exchanged glances a couple of times, and that was all Reese needed to know that Owen still wanted him there. Thank goodness for the coffee, though. It was nearly one o’clock when it was all over.

  Owen took his time packing up his cello, all the while shaking hands and accepting compliments and tips from appreciative audience members. The café started to clear out, and Reese found himself nearly alone by the time Owen finally made his way over.

  “Hey.” Owen smiled. “Thank you for waiting.”

  Reese stood. “That was amazing. Beautiful. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  Owen looked a little shy again, and Reese thought maybe he was blushing, but it was hard to tell for sure because he was still a little sweaty and flushed from his performance.

  “Who’s this?” Carla asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Oh. Carla, this is Reese. Reese, the very beautiful and talented Carla James.”

  “Very pleased to meet you,” Reese told Carla sincerely, holding out his hand. “What an amazing evening. I really enjoyed your performance.”

  Carla took Reese’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. A very tight, bordering on painful squeeze. “Thank you. Where did you pick this one up, Owen? He’s handsome,” she asked. “Except for what’s left of the shiner.”

  Reese swallowed, extracting his hand protectively. “Oh, that. That’s… I’m fine. You should see the other guy.” Reese laughed nervously.

  “Oh, Carla, sweetheart, don’t do that. He was kind enough to give me a ride after my performance, so I invited him to listen. I’d have been late if not for him.”

  “You were late.”

  Owen snorted. “Late-er.”

  Carla winked at Reese and then gave Owen a quick hug. “Gotta hop. You two enjoy each other.”

  “Night, Carla!” Owen called after her, laughing softly. He turned around, likely to say good night to Lisa, but she had her tongue down a guy’s throat and he clearly decided not to interrupt. “That’s Lisa.”

  “I see.” Reese snickered.

  A slightly uncomfortable silence fell between them, but he recovered more smoothly this time. “So, can I walk you home?”

  That was apparently what Owen was waiting for. “Yes, please.” He smiled and picked up his cello.

  “Would you like some help with that?” he asked, holding the door for Owen to step through.

  “No thanks, I’m used to it.” Owen set the case down and grabbed hold of a handle at the top, and he noticed the case actually had wheels. Owen turned and rolled it behind them as they walked.

  “Sure you don’t want a coffee to go?”

  “No, I want a drink.”

  “Oh. Sure, um….” He looked around, getting his bearings, trying to figure out if he knew of a bar nearby.

  “At my place.”

  “Oh.” Reese was astounded that he’d managed not to trip over his own feet. “Oh, sure. That sounds great.”

  Owen chuckled. “Don’t let me twist your arm if you have another engagement at one o’clock in the morning,” he said, his tone dripping sarcasm.

  Some part of him still had decent radar intact because a little alarm went off in his mind. He decided he better make it clear that going back to Owen’s place for a drink was exactly what he wanted to do. He took a few quick steps ahead and then turned, cutting Owen off. Owen stopped short inches from him, and he kissed Owen quickly but deliberately. Owen didn’t offer any hint of protest. “I’m looking forward to that drink, Mr. Mercado. Carla told us you were gifted, after all.”

  Owen set his cello upright carefully and then leaned on it. “Oh, I am. Are you?”

  “So I’m told. I get rave reviews.” Reese snickered softly. He thought his reply was pretty clever actually, but Owen hadn’t recognized him or asked his last name, so Owen wouldn’t get the joke. It suddenly occurred to him that for the first time in years, a man was interested in him without having any idea who he was. The whole thing made Reese a little giddy.

  Or maybe that was the kiss. Owen tasted like cinnamon and coffee, and his soft lips were a little intoxicating.

  “Just one more block,” Owen promised, lifting the handle on his cello again. “Come on.”

  Owen’s apartment was a walk-up. Four flights left them both breathless and giggling. “I’m not this out of shape I swear,” Reese said with a laugh as Owen dug out his keys.

  “Oh, I can see that, believe me.” Owen keyed into the apartment and flipped on the lights. “Head on in there. I’ll get some glasses.” Owen gestured toward a room on the left and disappeared down the hall, setting his cello in a little nook that looked like it could have been made for it.

  Reese nodded and stepped into the living room. It had a very comfortable vibe, with several painted built-in bookcases lining the walls and a deep, comfortable-looking leather couch. Many of the shelves were empty, and a handful of packing boxes were stacked neatly in one corner. He walked over to the wide picture window and looked out. Not a lot to see from the fourth floor, but the street was mostly tree-lined, and the surrounding buildings had fabulous vintage character. The moon was full, he noted. The sky must be very clear, though it was hard to tell with all the light pollution in the city. He took his tux jacket off and laid it on a chair near the window. Grinning to himself, he added his cummerbund. If things went as he was hoping, that could get in the way later.

 
; “So, I almost reached for a bottle of wine, but then I decided that one thirty in the morning called for something stronger.” Reese turned from the window to find Owen placing two martini glasses, a shaker, and a small jar of olives on the table. He gave the shaker a whirl, then opened it and poured out two martinis, into which he tossed two olives. He straightened up and handed a glass to Reese.

  “Thank you.” Reese lifted his glass and took a sip. “Oh, it’s perfect.” He made terrible drinks. He had a stocked liquor cabinet, but he usually invited his guests to help themselves. They didn’t want anything he tried to mix for them.

  Owen nodded. “Bartended my way through the conservatory. It’s handy.”

  “It certainly is.” He looked around and then took a seat on the couch. Owen joined him. “This is a nice place.” Reese sipped his martini again. It really was perfectly made.

  “Thanks. I’ve only just moved in, actually. About a week ago.”

  “Really? And all you have left is that little stack of boxes? I’d still be a disaster.”

  “I can’t work when there’s clutter around. It’s distracting, you know? I had to get moved in.” He watched Owen gracefully sip the drink. A neat freak. Organized. Things he was definitely not. He could work anywhere, any time; he just needed to be inspired. Everything around him disappeared when he was working.

  “Why did you move?”

  “Well, I’d been offering cello lessons, subbing wherever I could find a spot, and playing evening gigs at the café while sharing an apartment with two other people. Then I auditioned and got the job with the symphony.” Owen smiled.

  Reese nodded. “So now you have a steady paycheck.”

  “I do.” Owen smiled proudly.

  “That’s fabulous. Do you love it?”

  “I love it all. I love the work with the orchestra, the paycheck, finally being able to afford a place of my own. It’s only been a couple of months, though, so ask me again in a couple more.”

  Part of him was beginning to hope he would be able to do just that. Owen was charming and beautiful. The man’s career path made it seem like Owen was maybe a little younger than he was, but he didn’t think by much. He pegged Owen at about thirty, and Reese had only just turned thirty-four. Reese hooked a finger under Owen’s chin, and Owen leaned in easily. “Maybe we should just focus on tonight, for now?” Reese suggested. He leaned down and set his drink on the coffee table, then gently lifted Owen’s drink from those talented fingers and did the same.