Cinnamon Eyes Read online

  I didn’t recognize the song he played, but I liked it. It was slow and intense, and suited his voice perfectly. Even when he sang it softly, almost inaudibly, I still felt it acutely.

  “Beautiful,” I murmured. My eyes fluttered shut, and I allowed myself to be caught up in the music.

  God, I’d missed this.

  When the song ended, I opened my eyes and clapped with the others. He didn’t look up or say anything, just started strumming another slow song on the strings. Judging by the cheers from the room, it was a popular one.

  And then he lifted his head, opened his eyes, and started singing.

  I gasped.

  It was him. Asher.

  My hands flew to my face and covered my mouth.

  Sixteen years later, I still would have recognized him anywhere. The hair was as unruly as ever, and just as rock’n’roll as his voice. The jawline so sharp, he could probably cut glass with it. And the nose was still a little too big for his face.

  I couldn’t see his green eyes from here, but I remembered them vividly. The pale color of a leaf newly broken out of its bud in spring was such a stark contrast to his black eyelashes and olive complexion. They had always hypnotized me with their beauty.

  When he started singing, his voice pulled me out of my initial shock.

  Two best friends

  Like no one had ever seen before

  Always together

  happy and troublesome and wild

  Sharing scraped knees

  and high flying dreams

  Carefree as the clouds in the sky

  The boy with laughing cinnamon eyes

  And I

  The words struck a chord inside me. They reminded me of us when we were kids, all the way down to the scraped knees. Had he written this song? Had our friendship inspired him?

  Then one day

  he shimmered with a different light

  Just one look at him

  made my heart ache, stutter and want

  I felt the same

  pouring from his soul

  A longing for more between us

  The boy with loving cinnamon eyes

  And I

  He sang with such emotion, and the pronouns he used didn’t escape me. Asher was singing to a man, and my stomach made a hopeful jump.

  Our story

  didn’t have a fairytale ending

  He had to leave me

  and all I could do was to cry

  But with no choice

  I had to let go

  We hugged and were saying goodbye

  The boy with grieving cinnamon eyes

  And I

  I swallowed. I didn’t understand. That sounded just like…I shut down that thought immediately. It couldn’t be.

  It’s been years

  and my life has never been the same

  I’m often wond’ring

  what could have been if he’d stayed

  Maybe one day

  I’ll see him again

  In dreams we were never apart

  My boy with the sweet cinnamon eyes

  And I

  My boy with loving cinnamon eyes

  And I

  After the last chord rang out, the bar was deadly silent for a heartbeat. Then everyone started cheering and clapping and whistling.

  Everyone except me.

  I folded my arms on the table in front of me and collapsed with my forehead on top of them, my face hidden in the dark space.

  Had I heard what I thought I’d just heard?

  Was that song…about us?

  Had he had feelings for me, too, back then?

  The thought made me shake, and I grabbed my elbows and squeezed to keep myself from flying apart. I took a deep breath and didn’t let it out until my lungs screamed and burned in protest. I repeated the process several times until my teeth had stopped chattering and my heart had slowed its furious pace.

  I was still hiding when someone cleared their throat in my vicinity.

  “Excuse me? Benji said you wanted to talk to me? Are, uh, are you all right?”

  His voice was as deep when he spoke as when he sang, and it sent a shiver down my spine, completely different from the previous desperate shaking. I took a deep breath and raised my head. Forcing myself to face him.

  At first, he didn’t seem to recognize me. He searched my face for clues, but it only took a few moments for the spark of realization to light up his eyes.

  “Cory?” His voice was gravellier than ever. “Cory, is that you?”

  Strands of hair were plastered to his face, and his forehead shone with sweat. His countenance was serious, and he remained completely still, as though he didn’t dare to breathe before he heard my answer.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  That was all it took for him to explode in movement. With two quick steps, he was close enough to grab my hand. His strong fingers enveloped mine, and for a second, I reveled in the feeling of calloused fingertips against my palm. Then he pulled, careful not to make me topple over, but forceful enough for me to understand he wanted me to follow.

  I jumped off my stool, and he nodded before he turned around and strode toward the bar. I scrambled after him, having a hard time keeping up with his long legs.

  “Benji!” he yelled over the buzz.

  The Twinktender looked up from the beer he was pouring. “Yes, boss?”

  “I’ll double your pay if you close the bar for me tonight.”

  Benji’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared into his blond hairline, but he didn’t ask any questions. “No problem,” he said, staring at us with his mouth hanging open as we rushed past him, toward a door behind the counter.

  “Thanks, Benji,” Asher threw over his shoulder before he opened it. He tugged on my hand to signal he wanted me to follow and closed the door behind us.

  Behind it was a steep stairwell, and we climbed it together. Asher didn’t have to pull me anymore. I followed him willingly up the stairs, taking two at the time. In seconds, we were upstairs in an airy apartment.

  Chapter 3

  Asher slammed the door, silencing the muted noises from the bar. Our chests heaved with heavy, loud breaths, and his strong fingers still enveloped mine.

  Neither of us said anything for the longest time.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was even taller than I remembered, and every angle of his body was as sharp as his jawline. Narrow shoulders ended in a bony, ninety-degree corner. Prominent collarbones were visible in the wide neckline of his black T-shirt, together with tufts of black hair.

  His hips were slender and his legs long, and everywhere I looked, he was straight and angular. Except for a slightly rounded belly. I wanted to reach out and put my hands on the soft-looking flesh, stick my hands under his T-shirt and find out if he had hair on his stomach, too.

  “Cory.”

  His voice rasped along my body, making me quiver all the way to my toes. I dragged my gaze upwards, knowing I stared shamelessly, but unable to stop.

  “Cory,” he said again, took a step closer, and grabbed my chin between his fingers. Nudged it upward, forced me to look him in the eyes.

  I tried to avert my gaze, afraid of my reaction if I looked directly at him.

  “Cory,” he whispered a third time. “Look at me.”

  My lips trembled, but I did as he asked.

  Pale green eyes bored into me, peering all the way into my soul. I drew in a shuddering breath, and the confession spilled out of me. “I’ve missed you.”

  The words hardly escaped my lips before I was wrapped up in his strong arms. Our bodies fit perfectly together, with my head right under his chin. I wound my arms around his waist. As I did, his shirt slid up, and my hands came in contact with naked skin.

  Warmth rushed through my fingertips and heated up my body. My appetite had vanished as the depression set in, and I’d lost nearly thirty pounds over the last year, leaving me constantly cold. Here, in his embrace, was the first time I wasn
’t freezing in a long time.

  Asher’s grip loosened, and he took a step back. I had to bite my lip to keep myself from wailing in protest, but he didn’t go far. He grabbed my hand again and led me over to an enormous suede couch situated in the middle of the room, where he threw himself down. Without hesitation, I joined him.

  I tried to keep some distance between us, but he wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me close. I sighed and leaned my head on his sharp shoulder.

  He smelled just like I remembered. Like the air after a heavy spring rain. Fresh and comforting. Like home.

  How was that possible after all these years?

  “How’ve you been?” he finally asked.

  I shrugged, not knowing how to answer the question. From everyone else’s perspective, my answer should probably be “excellent.”

  But that was so far from reality, it wasn’t even funny.

  What had looked good on the surface had been hollow and painful underneath. The job I hadn’t wanted in the first place had completely burned me out. I’d spiraled so deep into the depression, I’d feared I’d never find my way out again.

  But I couldn’t tell him that, could I? After not seeing him for sixteen years, it shouldn’t be the first thing out of my mouth.

  “Yeah, me too,” he said.

  Reading me perfectly, as usual. I should’ve been surprised, but I wasn’t.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” I repeated my earlier statement as my hand flew to my ear. I pinched it to keep the threatening tears at bay.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  His arm tightened around me, and I shivered as he burrowed his nose into my hair. He took a deep breath and held it, just like I had done moments before. Did I smell the same, too? He exhaled and hummed, the sound reverberating through my body.

  “Do you still drink tea?” he asked.

  “Mhm.”

  “Want a cup?”

  “Please.”

  Asher let go of my neck and stood, but didn’t walk away. He looked down at me as I leaned against the back of the soft and comfy couch.

  Furrowing his eyebrows, he bent down and, with the lightest touch, swept his thumbs over the black rings under my eyes and down my hollow cheeks.

  “Are you okay? You look so tired.”

  “I’m getting there.”

  He bit his lip, but then he nodded and straightened.

  My gaze followed every step he took as he rounded the couch. I turned to the side so I could continue watching him. His long legs ate up the distance to the kitchenette. With practiced movements, he poured water in the kettle, took down two mugs from the open shelf over the counter, and prepared our tea.

  A few minutes later, he returned, sitting sideways just like me. Leaning the side of his head against the back, he reached out his hand. Without hesitation, I put my smaller hand in his.

  “Tell me about it,” he said as he weaved our fingers together.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have all the time in the world.”

  Without letting go, he stretched out his free arm, grabbed the tea, and handed it to me. The scent found its way into my nostrils. Green peppermint. My favorite.

  “You remembered,” I said and blew on it in an attempt to cool down the steaming beverage.

  “Yes.” He grabbed the other one, and we drank in silence. When our mugs were empty, he put them back on the coffee table and turned his attention back to me.

  “Are you gay?” I blurted out.

  “Yes.”

  “So am I.”

  “Oh, Cory. I know.”

  I nodded. Of course, he did. “Was…” I cleared my throat, and closed my eyes, not daring to look at him as I asked the next question. “Was that song, uh, about me? Us?”

  When he didn’t reply, I glanced at him under my eyelashes. The answer was easy to read in the intense look in his eyes. In the tense lines around his mouth. In the slight wobble of his chin.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I whispered.

  “I was waiting for you to talk to me.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You looked at me like I’d hung the moon. And also like you wanted to eat me.”

  I snorted. “You noticed that, huh?”

  “It was really hard to miss.” The smile spreading across his face chased the tension lines away, and I wanted to touch him. To reach out and see if the stubble was as scratchy as it looked. To follow along the sharp edge of his jawline.

  Instead, I fisted my hand. “Do you live here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where do you live, Cory?”

  “New York. Still.”

  “Are you happy there?”

  I shook my head. My hatred of the city had started the minute I’d set foot in it. I’d blamed it for taking me away from Asher, never really giving it a chance. The loss of my best friend had been worse than losing a limb to my teenage self and had made it hard for me to make new friends.

  Eventually, I learned to hate the city on its own merits. The swarming streets. The sharp elbows. The overpowering, soul-killing stress.

  “So why don’t you leave?”

  “I have nowhere to go.”

  He squeezed my hand, eyes filled with sadness. “How long are you here for?”

  I shrugged. I hadn’t made any plans since I hadn’t known how long it would take me to work up the courage to talk to him. And it wasn’t like I had something waiting for me at home. I’d quit my job a long time ago, much to my parents’ aggravation.

  But I didn’t want to think about them now.

  “I loved the song,” I said.

  “Thank you.”

  “When did you learn how to play?”

  “After you moved away. I needed something to do. I walked past the old pawn shop down on Main, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “The guitar was hanging in the window. I bought it and taught myself how to play.”

  “You’re great.”

  “Nah,” he said. “I’m good enough. I do it just for fun.”

  “I love your voice.”

  “I sound like I’ve downed a gazillion bottles of whiskey.”

  “No. It has character.”

  He laughed. A dark, scratchy sound, just like I imagined his stubble would feel against my skin.

  “When did you write the song?”

  “A couple years back.”

  “Why?”

  Asher sighed and looked away, lifted his free hand to his mouth and gnawed on the knuckle of his index finger.

  “You don’t have to tell me.” I caught his hand and pulled the finger away from his teeth. Rubbing the abused flesh with my thumb, I leaned forward and blew on it. Just like my mother always used to do when I’d hurt myself as a kid, before she’d turned distant. “No biting,” I added.

  His attention was focused on what I was doing. A final sweep of my thumb, and then I put his hand back on his thigh.

  “You did that when we were kids, too,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Blew on my boo-boos.”

  “I did?”

  He nodded.

  “I hadn’t realized.” Heat crept up my neck, and I turned my head away.

  “Please, don’t hide from me.”

  I looked at him, neither strong enough nor willing to resist his plea.

  “I wrote the song after my boyfriend broke up with me. He said I was emotionally unavailable. I thought about it a lot.” He raked his free hand through his untamed hair. It had the slightest curl in the ends and surrounded his head like a black halo. I, too, wanted to run my fingers through it. “He was right. He gave his love so freely, but I never gave mine back.”

  He opened his mouth to continue when his phone blared to life.

  “Shit,” he muttered and pulled it out of his back pocket. Glaring at the screen, he silenced the ring,
pushed a few buttons, and then threw it down on the couch between us. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Neither of us had the chance to say anything else before his phone buzzed again. The sound was off, but it vibrated resolutely between us and displayed the image of a dark-haired guy named Mike.

  He declined the call. “Sorry. Can’t turn it off in case something happens downstairs.”

  I nodded. “Boyfriend?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t have a boyfriend. He’s not even a friend with benefits. I guess he’s just…benefits…these days.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed. “I should probably go. I’m sorry if I’m interrupt—”

  “No.” He leaned forward and grabbed my other hand. “No, you’re not interrupting. Mike and I don’t have plans. He just calls when he’s got an itch. He doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Mike called again.

  “He seems really…itchy,” I said.

  Asher burst out laughing. The joyful sound boomed in the apartment, filling every nook and cranny, and I wished I could record it and keep it for later.

  “He always is,” he said after he’d calmed down. Mike chose that moment to call a fourth time. “What the fuck?” He pulled his hands out of mine and grabbed the phone. With his jaw set in an annoyed line, he poked the screen so hard, I was afraid he’d break it.

  When the phone buzzed again, I fidgeted. I was starting to feel like an intruder.

  “Sorry, I gotta take this,” he said and put a warm hand on my thigh. “What, Benji?”

  I grimaced at his irritation. Even if it wasn’t directed at me, I was sensitive to anger. It had a way of penetrating my body to my very core, and it had only gotten worse with the depression. I shivered and moved backward on the couch, out of his reach.

  His gaze zeroed in on me and what I was doing. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be down in a sec. Hold the fort.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket and rubbed both his hands through his hair.

  “I’m sorry, Cory. I forgot.”

  “What?” I whispered.

  “That you get upset when someone’s pissed.” He followed me on the couch. “Can I touch you?” When I nodded, he reached out and put his palm back on my thigh. “I need to go down to the bar. Mike is here, and he’s loud and obnoxious. Benji didn’t know what to do.”