The Tree Remembers

The King Returns

I could tell he didn't recognize me. Which, honestly, wasn't that surprising. A lot of people didn't anymore, and I preferred it that way.

I focused on taking notes, making sure I remained as neutral as possible. I was annoyed with Gareth – he hadn't told me Eddie was back, which I now realize was why Corroded Coffin wanted their spot back. I thought they had found their new front man. Eddie winked at me from on stage and it took everything in me not to roll my eyes. I went back to my notes.

They weren't bad, and it frustrated me. They were even good enough to replace the band I had Saturday nights, which I was itching to do. The Saturday band's lead singer had gotten complacent and decided he was God's gift to women. He had started pursuing me, staying late after their gig and getting so drunk he could barely speak as he tried to grab at me. It was obnoxious, and he wasn't talented enough to behave like that.

They wrapped their third song, and I held my hand up. They stopped and Eddie was smirking at me, waiting for me to worship him. I organized my papers.

"You guys are decent. I can give you Tuesday nights on a trial basis."

"Tuesdays?" Eddie exclaimed, disappointed. Gareth glared at him, and Jeff told him to shut up.

"On a trial basis," I answered. Eddie glared at me.

"We had Tuesdays two years ago – we're much better now," he insisted. I crossed my arms.

"You mean two years ago before you abruptly quit your band and moved?" I asked, leaning back. His brows furrowed and Gareth snorted. I stood. "You guys are good. But I've worked my ass off for the last two years to make sure our weekly lineups are solid. We have bands who have a following, and I can't upset my customers because Eddie Munson batted his eyes at me and asked."

His eyes widened and I picked my papers up. I smiled brightly at Gareth.

"I assume you're acting as the de facto manager?" I asked. Gareth looked to them and shrugged at me. "Great – I'll get you a contract to review and once we have that, we're good to go."

I turned on my heel and started back to the tiny supply closet that the rest of the Hideout staff called my office. I heard a tromping of boots and bristled, knowing what was about to come.

"Elle, Elle – wait," Eddie asked as he tromped behind me. I stopped but didn't turn. He stumbled in front of me and held his hands up, smiling slyly at me. I raised an eyebrow. "I think you and I got off on the wrong foot."

"That's all you seem to be, Mr. Munson. Wrong feet and bad decisions," I replied. His face twisted into a genuine smile, and I felt my heart flutter.

A couple years ago, I would have done anything to get Eddie Munson to talk to me. I would have been bumbling and goofy, tripping over my words and bright red. And my stupid remnants of that crush were like a muscle memory, boiling up in spite of everything he had done to me.

"You're a spitfire," he said, his eyes crinkling. I felt those remnants rise up again but played it cool, keeping my face neutral.

"I'm just busy, Mr. Munson," I replied. He raised his eyebrows.

"Mr. Munson? That's so formal, I'd hope we could be a little more casual," he said, leaning against the wall and grinning at me. I knew what he was doing. I used to watch him do this all the time with other girls, making them feel pretty and that they were the only girl in the room. I knew better.

"As someone who is technically your employer, my goal is to remain as detached and formal as possible. Excuse me – I need to get your contract," I replied, stepping around him.