Chapter 2 New feelings

The next week following the concert was uneventful, but something in Ella's days felt different, not dramatic but small, barely perceptible things. Mornings were richer tasting for coffee, the city noises hurt less, and occasionally, when passing by a window reflection on the train, she looked softer.

She didn't know why.

Or maybe she did.

That night had replayed in her mind more than once , the dim lighting of the hall, the low hum of the guitar, the way Nathan had said her name. Not in a way that asked for more, but a way in which he appeared to already understand her silence.

She hadn't been looking forward to catching a glimpse of him again, though. Some people drift in like a melody, and you never hear them twice.

On Saturday, Ella strolled through the city's old town , a new ritual she'd adopted. The streets were packed with small stores and secluded nooks, places that didn't rush her along. It was a gray afternoon, muffled and cool, and there was the faraway smell of rain. She walked past a tiny bookstore sandwiched between a floral shop and a record store. It wasn't new, the window display was disheveled, and the doorbell rang with a sound like it hadn't been tuned in centuries. But inside, it was snug and homey. Ella walked over to the shelf of poetry, tracing her fingers over the smooth backs, pausing at the one she'd loved in college. She smiled to herself, and then she heard it, a voice that was known.

"Good taste," she turned and there he was.

Nathan.

He stood at the end of the aisle, his hand in his coat pocket, holding a small book in his other hand. His smile was just the same , low-key, steady, disarming.

For a heartbeat, Ella forgot how to breathe.

"Nathan," she said softly.

"I wasn't sure you'd remember me."

"I recall," she said, a touch of humor in her voice. "It's hard to forget a person with the name of destiny."

He smiled. "You recalled the meaning."

"Hard to forget that one, as well."

They stood for a moment, two people who had had a moment they couldn't even categorize.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Searching for something I'm not going to find," he replied, his eyes sweeping along the shelves. And then he turned to face her once more. "You?"

"Same, I suppose."

Something in the reply made each of them chuckle quietly, It was one of those natural ones, the kind of natural that shouldn't be between near strangers. They walked down the aisles, talking favorite authors, the coze of used bookstores, the way music and words would sometimes share the same vocabulary. At the checkout counter, Ella realized that she was carrying a book of poems in her hand and hadn't remembered picking it up and Nathan had a book gripped in his hand too.

"Coffee?" he thought to himself, as though the most normal thing to do.

She hung back, long enough to realize she didn't want to say no.

"Sure," the coffee shop just beyond the door smelled of vanilla and rain. They sat at a small table by the window. Outside the window, the sky turned silver, the kind of light that makes everything look like memory. Nathan cradled his coffee back and forth, "So, have you attended any other concerts since that first night?"

"Not yet," she said. "You?"

He shook his head, "No, I think I've been waiting for a good company." The air thickened, not uncomfortably, but long enough for Ella to feel a rhythm in her heartbeat. She smiled modestly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Smooth answer."

"Honest one," he said.

There was silence between them, quiet and complete, the he kind that didn't need to be filled. She gazed out the window, catching a glimpse of a couple of individuals rush by under one of those large umbrellas they share. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

"Neither did I," Nathan admitted,"but maybe that's what makes it nice, not expecting it."

She really did see him, the soft lines of his face, the comfortable stance he was in, the trace of sadness behind his smile.

"Were you at the concert because you enjoy music," she's asked quietly, "or because you needed it?"

He paused. "Because I needed it."

She nodded, and had understood it from the beginning. "Me too."

Neither of them said a word for an instant, the hum of the espresso machine, the quiet hum surrounding them, all of it melted into the background. Then Nathan leaned forward, his voice husky and low, "you know, I sometimes think that there are people in our lives to remind us that we're still capable of feeling."

Ella's throat constricted. "And then what?"

"Then it's our choice," he said. "To see if or if not we'll keep on feeling. or edge away again."

She smiled, though her eyes were warm. "You sound like a poet."

He smiled softly. "Maybe I hear too much."

They sipped their drinks, conversation ebbing and flowing back and forth through laughter and those other moments, those moments of silence, that said more than words. When finally they did stand to go, the rain had started again, soft, rhythmic, nearly music. Nathan opened his umbrella, reconsidered, then stepped out instead under it. "I'll walk you to your stop."

She paled for an instant, then nodded. "Okay."

They strolled side by side down the filled alley, the umbrella between them sheltering them from the drizzle. The smell of rain mixed with the light cologne she was becoming accustomed to. She halted at the corner and turned to him. "Thanks for the coffee. And the company."

"Thanks for riding shotgun," he said.

They paused there for a moment, the tension between them humming with quiet, then he stepped back, smiling in the same gentle, almost wistful way.

"Maybe I'll see you again, Ella."

"Maybe," she breathed, "but if not thank you for making me remember what it is to be looked at." His eyes stayed on hers another moment, "You deserve it."

And with it, he danced off, into the silver rain, until his shape dissolved and was gone.

Ella stood, her hand against her chest, her heartbeat pounding and intact, she had no idea what this was, "a coincidence, a beginning, or simply another passing melody", she asked herself but she knew this, it had changed her again, and this time, she didn't want to go back.