Page 8 of Bend

“You had a little spot of mustard on the corner of your mouth,” I countered. “I was about to point it out.”

Eli nodded solemnly. “With your tongue.”

“Nah. And even if I was, that was definitely a sign.” I jutted my chin up at the bells.

Eli’s smirk curved slyly. “I thought you didn’t believe in any of that.”

“Well, now I’ve seen the light.” I lifted my hands and shook them the way I remembered the congregation doing in the church I’d gone to as a kid—didn’t miss that a goddamn bit. “Hallelujah, give praise. The Lord spoketh and sayeth ‘as if.’”

“The Lord is hip to Valley girl speak?” Eli cocked his head.

“Yep, probably even did the eye roll and hair flip.”

Then Eli did such a spot on rendition of a hair toss that I gave in to the laughter bubbling up in my chest, and he joined in. I think in the back of our minds, we were waiting to hear that bell ring again, but it didn’t, and with a glance at my watch, I barely held back a sigh. “I need to get back.” I didn’t need to be messing around with Eli Warner anyway. That wasn’t what I was here for, and lord knew I didn’t enjoy being a hypocrite.

When I returned to my cabin later that afternoon to change before the show, my gaze snagged on a bright spot of color on my pillow. I stepped closer as I wrestled my belt from the loops, then stared down at the candy heart that read “Let’s Kiss.”

Trying to fight off the smile that wanted to spread over my mouth was as difficult as trying to straighten a cockeyed umbrella in the wind.

Clever fucker.

6

Eli

“So are you happy with how the tour has gone so far?” I checked the settings on the camera as I asked, then dropped into a chair beside the tripod I’d set up. Evan and Les were curled on one of the train’s leather benches across from me, their posture loose and comfortable. I loved interviewing them because they gave thoughtful answers, usually off the cuff between their verbal sparring, and they were as magnetic in person as they were onstage, the bond between them evident even when they weren’t speaking. Maybe especially when they weren’t speaking, which caused a little pang of jealousy in my chest. For all that I was surrounded constantly by people, loneliness was a frequent visitor, too.

Les pulled one knee up to his chest, resting a bare foot on the edge of the bench. “We didn’t even know if this was going to work, to be honest. You know how it is, sometimes ideas are better in theory than in practice. And you get a bunch of different personalities together—creative types, especially—and it seems like it’d be easy to descend into some drama pit…”

“But it hasn’t been like that at all,” Evan picked up, dropping a hand atop Les’s kneecap. I loved that about them, too, how they finished other’s thoughts and yet it never seemed like they were speaking over each other, but more in accordance with each other. It was the same way their harmonies worked on stage, just this easy flow back and forth between them. “It’s been nothing but constant music 24-7. God, we’ve probably come up with twenty random songs we’ve all strung together just by sitting there fucking around with our instruments.”

“Fucking around with our instruments,” Les echoed with a snort. “I do love fucking around with instruments. Especially yours.” He winked and clucked his tongue at Evan, who shoved him lightly.

“Ignore him, he’s on an innuendo kick and I can’t get him off of it.”

“Oh, you get me off, sweetheart.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Evan groaned. “Can we start over?”

I chuckled. “I have a good editor. Don’t worry.”

Les lifted his hands. “Fine, okay. I’m done.”

“That’s what she said,” Mars chimed in from the background, and Les and Evan lost it. I looked over my shoulder at him as he perked a smile in my direction that quickly flattened out, as if he’d just remembered he was supposed to have his surly, media-wary face on. I wasn’t buying into it as much as I had before. He’d wanted me at the bell tower. I twisted back around to face Evan and Les.

Les looked straight into the camera, “Hello, America, we’re twelve.”

Evan sighed. “Pretty sure they already know.”

Les made a show of slicking his dark hair back from his forehead and tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

I waited an extra beat just to make sure we were done with all the banter—Les’s grin said probably not—before continuing. “Will you do anything with these songs?”

“Maybe.” Les’s mouth twisted up as he considered. “We talked about putting them on a collective album and donating the proceeds to some charities. I could see us doing that.”

“But sometimes it’s nice to just let the music exist, free float around with no intention of trying to make it anything other than what it is. Kinda this spirit of collaboration and lack of expectation,” Evan mused.

“I think that morning meditation I pushed onto you is starting to have an effect. You sound like Buddha.”