19. Little Sarah

Lunch was at a cute deli restaurant a few blocks from the dance studio, instructor not invited. A few of the dancers introduced themselves to Sevan. “Nice to meet you, Sevan. I’m Raine,” the neon-haired man said. “What’s your position?”

I have no idea. And Sevan almost said it before Meika seamlessly filled in for him. “He’s new on the security team. We’re just dragging him around today.”

“Nice to meet you, Sevan,” Raine finished with a smile before moving away.

Sevan met eyes with Meika for a moment. That was one way to make sense out of a senseless situation: Lie some more.

Meika took pictures of every page of the menu. And then he was texting.

He’s consulting his nutritionist, Sevan concluded as he took a seat at the separate booth table where Farren, the second security guard, and the driver were sitting. He wondered if RedViolet provided the dietitian, also. If the “specific diet designed by a nutritionist” was voluntary or involuntary.

Sevan slipped his phone out, leveled it to his thigh, and snapped a photo burst of Meika while he was looking in another direction. He was just raising his phone to check what he had captured when Meika looked up suddenly, sending a near heart attack to Sevan’s chest.

Those dark eyes met Sevan’s. “No, sit here.” Meika gestured to the space next to him, then immediately noticed it was taken. His finger found an empty chair at the other side of the table. “There,” he corrected with a smile.

“Yeah, sit with us,” one of the dancers Sevan didn’t remember the name of agreed.

A little reluctantly, Sevan joined the noisier table. Then he was left watching across the table as Meika returned his attention to his phone.

His hair was loose again. Kept dry, somehow, in the shower at the dance studio. He had blasted it with dry shampoo, though. He had been brushing out the dust particles in the vehicle on the way to the restaurant. And it was undoubtably the source of the softly sweet scent Sevan had caught a whiff of a few times when he was closer to Meika.

The conversation at the table became tour dates, city stops, and travel schedules.

May 16th was mentioned, and Sevan glanced at the woman who said it.

“Memphis,” one of the others responded. He was looking at something on his phone, the schedule probably.

May 16th was Sevan’s cousin’s wedding. That’s why the date made his skin prickle.

“You know, I had the best burger I’ve ever had in Memphis,” someone provided.

“But have you had Chicago pizza in Chicago?”

“Oh, man, I love Chicago pizza.”

“Fresh crawfish. Southern Louisiana. I’m telling you.”

“Well, I like the street tacos here. LA has the best street tacos.”

“My mom’s spaghetti is better than all of that put together.”

“Marshmallows.” Several dancers glanced at Meika when he said the word. He was looking up from his phone, smiling faintly in a way that made Sevan think he wasn’t joking.

But the people at the table laughed like he was.

Meika’s smile brightened, his eyes curving silently with the expression—like he was owning the humor in something he hadn’t meant to be funny. “I’ll have to try your mom’s spaghetti, Raine.”

“You should. I’ll let her know.”

Then Meika was texting again, a frown on his face.

Sevan’s eyes lowered to his own phone. His fingers moved across the screen, attaching one of the pictures from the burst to a new text message. “Meikhyel at lunch with dance team. Possibly consulting personal nutritionist.”

Send.

“When’s Citi Field?” One of the dancers asked.

“Citi Field…” Someone else pulled out a phone.

“New York.”

“I know it’s in New York.”

Meika leaned suddenly away from the table, toward the booth Farren was sitting in. “Farren,” he whispered. Sevan read the name off his lips. Then, when Meika did not immediately achieve the attention of his bodyguard, “ Farren .” A little louder.

Farren turned.

“Do you have a pen?” Meika whispered.

A pen changed hands.

The server came around again and took everyone’s order.

“I am so sorry,” Meika said when it was his turn. “I’m a mess. I wrote mine down for you.” He handed the server a napkin with careful pen writing on it.

“No need to apologize, that’s very helpful.” The server smiled professionally.

There were people who recognized him. Sevan saw them looking. Some more discretely, others less. He saw some of them subtly taking pictures. But they seemed to know better than to approach. They would look away and hide their phones whenever Meika looked up.

The food came out.

Meika ate very slowly, as seemed to be his habit. He turned more reserved toward the end of the meal, and Sevan suspected he was tired.

They all were. Other dancers mentioned going to a sauna or catching a nap.

And then Farren stood up and announced that Meika was running up against time. Meika took a picture of his unfinished plate, then left the food there and followed Farren out to the SUV.

It was on the sidewalk—again—that someone approached.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Avis? I am so sorry to bother you…”

Sevan flinched out of the way of a man holding a little girl’s hand.

Farren automatically raised his arm like a barrier at Meika’s side. Meika raised a hand to block the sun off his eyes and shield his face from his breeze-whipped hair. He checked first the man, then the little girl beside him. Then he glanced at Farren.

“Callisto,” Farren whispered. His face was so close to Meika’s, Meika could’ve felt his breath.

“I am so sorry to bother you, Avis. I was wondering if you might have time to sign something for my daughter—she’s your biggest fan.”

“Callisto,” Farren said again. His other hand lifted to Meika’s back, prepared to press him toward the SUV.

Meika’s eyes traced back to the little girl gripping the man’s hand. “That’s your daughter?” His voice sounded different, faded.

“Yeah—this is my daughter, Sarah.”

It was evident in the little girl’s face as she stared up at Meika. Her eyes were pinned on him, glowing, despite the way she still shyly gripped her father’s hand.

Meika moved his bodyguard’s arm out of his way. Farren didn’t resist, but there was clear resistance on his face as he watched Meika start toward the strangers. His hand almost moved to catch Meika’s shoulder.

Meika passed Sevan, then lowered to a crouch on the sidewalk, making himself eye-level with the little girl. “Hi, Sarah.” He smiled at her.

She smiled back. Bright, big. She bounced on her heels a little.

“Do you have something for me to sign?” Meika’s eyes lifted to the man, squinting against the sun.

The man started rifling in his backpack.

Meika turned back to the little girl. “How old are you, Sarah?”

“Seven,” the girl said, her face shyly downcast, but her eyes still pinned on Meika.

“Um, I have a pen, I don’t have paper,” the man said. He glanced wildly around like he thought he might spot something to write on.

“That’s okay, we can do a picture instead,” Meika suggested. “Do you want to take a picture?” he asked the little girl.

Sarah nodded profusely.

Meika seemed to shy a little when the man aimed his phone camera at him. He lifted a hand in front of his face and glanced at the child standing beside him. “I—I feel like—” He broke off and smiled uncertainly, then tugged at the shoulder of his sleeveless shirt. “I should take out…cover my tattoos…” He laughed quietly, then lifted his face to the phone camera.

“I like your tattoos,” the girl spoke up. Her voice was quiet, almost erased in the background noise of the city, the onlookers that were gradually gathering closer to the scene. But Sevan was standing near enough to hear it. Near enough to see how she lifted her hand and lightly laid it on the sunflower tattooed on Meika’s shoulder. And how Meika flinched under her soft touch.

“You’re so pure, ” Meika laughed nervously. His hand brushed the sidewalk beside him, and he shifted like he wanted to move away from her touch. But he didn’t.

And Sevan suddenly remembered the photos in the box in Meika’s bathroom. Who was that little girl? A little sister? Did Meika have a sister who was adopted out to a completely different family? Was that why he was looking at this child like he saw someone else in her eyes? Like the memory of that person was burning the life out of him…

“I’m going to marry you some day,” Sarah said with a bold face.

Meika’s expression went blank with surprise.

“Um, Sarah…” The little girl’s father smiled awkwardly.

“Callisto,” Farren called. He was hovering closer, glancing at the encroaching crowd, the lifted phone cameras. He raised his wrist and tapped his watch.

Meika turned back to the little girl. “No, you won’t. I’m going to be ugly and gray-haired with two bad hips by the time you’re old enough to date.”

The girl planted a hand to her hip. “I’m prettier than Zhara.”

Meika’s face went paralyzed with surprise a second time. For a moment, he stared into the suddenly confident eyes of little Sarah. And then, slowly, a look of amusement relaxed Meika’s features. His eyebrows flicked. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Peace sign,” Sarah instructed. She raised two fingers in the air and showed them to Meika.

“Oh, peace sign,” Meika agreed with a sober nod. He raised two fingers, then smiled for the camera.

Then he was standing up, saying a quiet farewell to the little girl, and starting back toward Farren.

Only Sevan was close enough to catch the words Meika breathed as he passed the little girl’s father.

“Why is your child listening to my music?”

The look of confusion the man turned around with didn’t even have time to fully mature before Meika reached the SUV. The crowd of advancing strangers had grown, tripled or quadrupled in size. Some of them called out his name. A higher pitched voice asked for a photo “too.” But Farren’s arm was already around Meika’s back. Meika turned at the last moment and waved to the crowd before he ducked into the SUV.

Stunned, Sevan quickly followed. There was a respect in the surprise. Meika had a streak like Lacey’s. Meika was crazy.