CHLOE BAKER'S LOST DATE

Chapter Fifteen: His Side of the Story

What am I doing here? That's the question of the hour, isn't it?

"I ... I was looking for you."

"How did you find me?"

Is that disappointment in his voice?

"We have a mutual friend. Dave? You were at his engagement party last week. I saw the photos on Facebook."

"Oh."

"I was supposed to be at that party."

"You were?"

"Yeah, I ... You're not Jack. Your name is Ben." As the words leave my mouth, I feel stupid. Of course he's not Jack. He knows that.

"I know, I ..."

There's a massive crack above us, the sound of close thunder. The sky has turned dark the way it does sometimes, almost instantly, and the air smells like rain, that mix of moisture and grass, even though there's no grass in sight.

"We should go—"

"—Okay, I'll go," I say.

"Wait, no, Chloe. I just meant ... will you come inside with me? This is my office. We can go up there?"

"Okay."

He steps ahead of me and takes out a large set of keys. He finds the right one and opens the lock, then the second lock. "We have expensive equipment in here. I know I look like a janitor."

"It's fine." A drop of rain hits the top of my head, and then my hand.

Ben pushes open the door. "Come in, you don't want to get wet."

I dart through the door, wondering how long I'm going to be trapped here, with him. These sudden heavy storms don't usually last long, but sometimes they do.

"Hold on," Ben says. "Let me get the light." He reaches past me, and I catch a whiff of his scent, soap and something earthier, almost a heat. He catches the light switch with his fingers and flicks it up. The atrium fills with harsh light as Ben stares down at me. "Hi."

"Hello."

There's a beat as we stare at one another, but then Ben says, "Should we go up?"

"Sure."

He tugs on the edge of my shirt and I follow him up a narrow staircase. The air is full of the smell of roasting coffee and butter croissants.

"It smells amazing in here," I say, feeling awkward and stupid. The last time we met, the conversation just flowed. But then, I thought he was someone else.

"It can be distracting sometimes. Almost there." He gets to the top of the stairs and takes out his keys again. Two more locks, heavy and serious. "We got robbed, once, right after we got this space. Thank God I was insured."

"Got it."

He shakes his head at himself, but I don't know what it means. He opens the door and puts his keys away. "Come in?"

I follow him through the door and suck in my breath. I'm not sure what I expected, but it's not this—one massive open room with high ceilings and tall windows and old wooden floors that look like they come from the early 1900s. One corner of the space is cordoned off as a sound booth, presumably to record in. There's a small kitchen in the other corner, a brown leather sofa, and framed albums on the walls. "This is amazing, Ben."

"Thanks."

"How long have you had this space?"

"Couple years now. It belonged to another label that went under so we were able to take up the lease for something reasonable."