Chapter Seven — The Trouble with Having Friends (continued)

Friday night had left Luna Reyes with three unfinished exhibition labels, a bowl of popcorn, and a man who was much too comfortable on her sofa.

Asher had taken off his shoes at the door, produced a packet of chocolate-covered ginger from his jacket, and settled beneath the knitted throw as though he'd been assigned permanent residence. His charcoal shirt stayed buttoned, its collar high enough to conceal the parts of him that might have made an entirely different evening.

Fernando occupied his usual place outside the bathroom, sending a green frond into the hallway. The plant had recovered enough to look aggressively judgmental again.

“That's not a healthy fern,” Asher said.

“That's an employee with strong opinions about management.”

“I'm an exhibit in your kitchen and he's an employee. You have a complex organizational structure.”

“Neither of you is getting a pension.”

He stole a piece of popcorn. She leaned across him for another label card, and he caught her briefly at the waist, kissing the corner of her mouth before she could pretend to object. The kiss was casual now. That was somehow more dangerous than the first two.

They'd spent the earlier part of the evening trimming paper and arguing over whether the oral-history exhibition could include a photograph of the library's ancient cassette recorder. Luna wanted it because children kept asking what the object did. Asher wanted it because the machine had, in his words, the bearing of a disapproving naval officer.

Now the three remaining caption cards were scattered on her coffee table. One described a neighborhood seamstress who had taught apprentices to repair a zipper rather than replace a jacket. Another mentioned a transit mechanic who'd recorded his route announcements at home because he feared forgetting the names. The third belonged to the man whose voice had been captured giving instructions about a stubborn drawer, the story Luna had told Asher on their first proper date.

He picked up that card.

“His daughter gets to hear him tomorrow?”

“She's heard the digitized recording. Tomorrow other people will hear why she kept it.” Luna turned the card over, checking the attribution. “It took months to get everyone's permissions lined up. Priya thinks I'm going to wear a hole in the floor before we open.”

“You probably are.”

“That's the sort of support I came here for.”

He set the card carefully beside the others. “I like that you do this.”

Luna looked up. “Do what?”

“Make people feel like something they thought was small is worth preserving.”

There was no slickness in his voice. That was the problem with him. He could flirt with terrifying skill and then say something earnest enough to leave her defenseless.

She settled closer, tucking her feet under his leg. “You'd better be careful. I may put you on the wall next.”

“Under which category?”

“Unidentified object. Possible musical function. Frequently steals my snacks.”

His smile came quickly, then faded around the edges.

“Can I ask you something serious?”

“That's normally when I charge admission.”

“Luna.”

She heard the shift. She put down the marker and turned toward him. “Okay.”

He was watching her with an openness he rarely allowed to last for long. “My work gets strange. Next week is going to be busy, and sometimes I know exactly when I can leave a room and sometimes I don't. I'm not asking you to like that.”

“I know you're a musician.”

“I'm asking whether you can tell me when something matters enough that you need me there. Not hint at it until I guess wrong.” He paused. “And whether you'll believe me if I tell you I want to come, even when I have to check whether I can.”

Luna considered him. It was a bigger question than it sounded. She had grown fond of being wanted by a man who made elaborate time for her, yet most of the work he described existed outside her sight. She didn't need his calendar. She did need to know where she stood inside it.

“You could start by telling me when you've been called away,” she said. “Before I spend an evening wondering if I've done something.”

“I can do that.”

“Even if it's inconvenient?”

“Especially then.”

He took a breath, about to say more.

Her phone vibrated against the coffee table.

Luna meant to ignore it. Then she saw the subject line in the notification preview: VESPER SILENCE — TOUR RUMOR.

Somebody in the fan community had linked a grainy picture of a warehouse loading dock and claimed the May twenty-fifth concert might be in trouble. The image could have shown a dozen different buildings. She knew that. Still, her ticket was for Tuesday, Junia had rearranged her workshop schedule, and VESPER hadn't touched his public account since the release post.

“Wait,” she said, reaching for the phone. “There's something about the concert.”

Asher stopped speaking.

She opened the discussion, skimmed two contradictory replies, then checked the venue information she had saved with the tickets. No announced change. No supported evidence. She knew better than to trust the rumor. Yet her thumb was already looking for the next comment.

“Luna.”

She looked up.

“Did you hear what I just asked you?”

She hadn't. Not the second half. She remembered his first sentence, but not what he'd said after she reached for the screen.

“Oh.” She locked the phone. “I'm sorry. It's the VESPER account again. People are worrying because he's disappeared and somebody's decided that means the show is canceled.”

“The show?”

“Tuesday. Junia and I have tickets.”

He looked at the dark phone in her hands, not the screen. For a moment she could see the old joke forming behind his eyes. The mask, the competition, the petty remark that had sent her away from a coffee kiosk.

He didn't make it.

“You were answering me,” he said. “Then you weren't.”

The quiet way he said it hurt worse than a joke would have. Luna put the phone on the other end of the coffee table.

“I wasn't trying to dismiss you.”

“I know.” His jaw tightened. “But I was asking whether I can count on us to tell each other what matters. I don't want to have that conversation with the back of your phone.”

She felt a flash of defensiveness. “I have followed this music for years. I'm allowed to be worried about a concert.”

“I didn't say you weren't.”

“No, but you looked—”

“I looked disappointed.” He held her gaze. “I am disappointed.”

The words arrived without volume, and she had no clever way to disarm them. He hadn't asked her to stop loving an artist. He'd asked her to listen to a question she had said she was ready to hear.

Luna rubbed her thumb over a little ink stain on her wrist. “You did say something else after I picked it up. What was it?”

Asher watched her for a moment. “I asked whether you want this to be something we plan around, or something we keep fitting into the leftovers.”

She hadn't expected that to be the question. Her first impulse was to reassure him with a joke. Her second was to ask why he could be so maddeningly evasive about the job consuming his time. Neither would answer what he'd actually said.

“I want it to matter,” she said.

“Me too.”

“But I don't know how to make plans with a schedule I can't see.”

“Then ask me directly. I'll answer honestly about what I can do.”

She glanced toward her exhibition cards. There was something tomorrow she had been worrying over for months. Something she would rather he saw than read about afterward. She almost invited him right there, with the words sitting on the tip of her tongue.

Instead she said, “I have a day tomorrow that's important to me. Can I ask you properly in the morning, after I know the final timing?”

He nodded. “Yes. Please do.”

The answer wasn't a promise to attend. She was relieved he hadn't offered one he couldn't yet keep. The uncertainty remained, and so did the hurt of the interruption.

Luna reached for his hand. He let her take it, although neither moved closer at once.

“I don't want to make you compete with a notification,” she said. “But I don't want to pretend I won't care when something happens in that world either.”

“I'm not asking you to pretend.”

“I know.” Her fingers tightened. “I keep acting like the two things have to take turns being important. That's not how I want to do this.”

Asher turned his hand in hers. He gave her a small, tired smile. “Neither do I.”

He stayed another twenty minutes. They finished the last label together, checking the drawer recording's consent line twice. He made one joke about Fernando demanding his own audio guide, and she kissed him goodbye at the door without trying to make the evening seem entirely fixed.

After he left, Luna looked at the phone lying facedown on the sofa arm. The rumor was still there, unanswered by VESPER and unsupported by anyone who could know. Her exhibition cards were stacked neatly on the table, with tomorrow's opening date printed beneath the names.

She turned the phone off for the night.

Then she checked the final invitation time once more, wanting to ask Asher in the morning while she still had the courage to make a real request.