Dense grey clouds clung to the sky as students read aloud from Of Mice and Men. Amos sat behind a desk, swiveling ever so slowly back and forth in a creaky wooden chair. The wall-to-wall windows held his attention as he studied the eucalyptus trees swaying in the rain. It had been days since Amos last read Carmela's journal, and he couldn't bring himself to pick it back up after the last entry. He didn't condone cheating, and something in his gut said she was about to.

The situation was hitting too close to home with everything going on with Lorena.

"Mr. C," a student said. "Can you be our permanent teacher?"

"What?" He snapped out of daydreaming and swiveled in the chair. He'd gotten called that morning to substitute for an English class, which always came in handy between giving guitar lessons.

"You're just so cool and laid back. Stay with us forever."

"Yeah!" said a few others.

"Thanks. I appreciate that." He smiled, smoothing a tattooed hand over his fauxhawk. "But I'm not a real English teacher. Music is my thing."

"Did you mean what you said about giving me guitar lessons?" asked another student.

"I did!" Amos nodded. "That goes for all of you. If you want to learn, I'll teach you."

"Do you do one-on-ones?" asked a brown-eyed brunette, but her friend slapped her arm, prompting them both to go into a fit of whispers and giggles.

"Right..." Amos clapped his hands. "How about we get back to reading? Who's next?"

The students grumbled but continued with their assignment, and Amos returned to daydreaming while pretending to listen.

And he was doing a lot of pretending lately.

In the days that followed their date, Lorena played the role of attentive girlfriend and was sweet to him even after long workdays, which usually left her grumpy. When she came home, they would have dinner together, chat, then snuggle on the couch watching TV. However, anytime Amos returned from refilling popcorn, or a trip to the bathroom, he'd find her tucking her phone away.

It amplified his suspicion. But suspicion was all he had until he could unlock her phone. So Amos was taking his time, waiting for a window of opportunity.

His pocket buzzed, so he reached for the cell phone and glanced at the screen. It was Lorena in a black lace corset and a charcoal grey pencil skirt with a blazer draped over her shoulder. Judging by the photo's background, she was in the restroom at work.

Lorena: this is waiting for you.

Amos straightened and closed the photo, his eyes darting around. The students were still reading, so he tapped out a reply.

Amos: what time are you coming home?

"Mr. C," a student said. "Do we really have to write an essay about this chapter?"

"Yes, Ryan." Amos put the phone away. "Your teacher wrote it for today's curriculum, so that's what you must do."

"If you were our actual teacher, would you still have us write an essay?"

"No, he'd have us watch the movie instead because he's cool!" said another student.

"Actually, I would have you write an essay," Amos replied. "I had to do them when I was your age, so it's only fair I torture you with them too."

"Ah, come on, Mr. C, I thought you were nice," Ryan complained, but the bell rang, followed by the immediate slap of books closing and backpacks zipping.

"Looks like that's it for today." Amos stepped around the desk and hi-fived some of the students. "If I don't see you for a while, then I hope you all have a great weekend and take care."

There was a collective mumble of goodbyes as the students shuffled out of the classroom. One minute he was their favorite, and the next, chopped liver. Sighing, he gathered his belongings and exited with them. The hallway buzzed with teenagers chatting by their lockers, clogging traffic flow while others shoved their way toward the entrance. He rode the wave of bodies, his height towering over their sea of heads.

In high school, he and Lorena ran in different circles. She was the popular girl on the dance team, and he was the introvert who played guitar in a band of misfits. After college, it all changed. At twenty-three, he wasn't the shy kid anymore, and Lorena was lost in a business world that didn't cater to high school princesses. A mixup between their sandwiches at a local deli had them laughing after realizing they were old schoolmates, and the rest was history.

As Amos spilled onto the front steps with the students, he tugged the hood of his jacket over his head. Leaves from the eucalyptus trees rustled, a breeze ruffling his clothes.

How could things between him and Lorena change so much within five years?

Remembering the photo she sent, he dug out his phone but didn't see any new messages from her. So, he headed for his truck and drove home.

That evening, the rain dissipated and cleared the sky enough to catch the sunset as Amos prepped dinner by marinating steaks and chopping veggies. Lorena was usually starving as soon as she stepped through the door, and he needed her wined and dined to better the chances of going through her phone. Medium-rare steak, parmesan roasted veggies, and baked potatoes with the works would do the trick. He showered, shaved, put on a nice shirt, and set the table with candles and flowers plucked from the garden.

Satisfied with the setup, he checked his phone but still no word from Lorena.

"It's cool. You know how busy she gets..." he said and proceeded to the music room to replace the strings on one of his guitars.

He was deep in the groove of performing maintenance when he glanced up and saw how dark it was outside. Setting the instrument aside, he checked the clock on the wall, and it was an hour past the time Lorena usually returned home.

Snatching the phone from the couch cushion, he dialed her and paced the room as it rang and rang. When she answered, loud background noise greeted him, and he couldn't hear her as she shouted over it.

"Babe, where are you?"

"Out to dinner with the gang. Why?"

"Um..." Amos ran a hand over his hair, his fingers gripping the dark coils. "What happened to you coming home?"

"It was a last-minute business dinner with a client. I texted you about it earlier."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did."

"Fine," Amos sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to argue. What time are you coming home?"

"We just got our appetizers. So... Two hours. Maybe?"

"Babe, that means you won't get home till late."

"Amos! It's a business dinner, so I can't sit here and chat. I gotta go."

The line cut, leaving him with silence as he stood in the music room, gripping the phone and staring at the blinking time stamp on the screen. He exhaled slowly, but at the growl of his stomach, he swiped over to his contacts and dialed Carlos.

His brother answered on the first ring.

"Hermanooo, what's good?"

"Gonna do some grilling," Amos replied. "In the mood for some steak?"

"Always! Be there in ten."

∆∆∆

There was something soothing about twinkling string lights, the chirp of crickets, and the buzz of sporadic traffic zipping through the neighborhood. Amos sat in a rattan chair with a frosty beer and Carlos by his side—their bellies full while staring up at the moon.

His brother had surprised him by bringing his new girlfriend, and from the moment Cassandra walked through the door, Amos liked her. She wasted no time rolling up her sleeves and tossing her silky-straight, brunette hair into a ponytail before helping with the cooking. As they grilled, her bubbly laughter and animated storytelling filled the home with her energy. But what Amos liked most about her was the brightness in her eyes anytime she looked at Carlos. They made a cute couple, and her short, petite frame fit perfectly under Carlos's arm.

The night was going so well that, for a moment, Amos almost forgot Lorena had ditched him to have dinner with clients. He was at peace, sitting in the backyard with his brother and Cassandra.

"Whatcha thinking, Abe Lincoln?" Carlos poked him.

"Nothing." Amos shrugged.

"Still reading that person's diary?"

"Yeah..."

"Ooh, what diary?" Cassandra's eyes widened.

"My brother found some old diary in a guitar case, and now he won't shut up about it."

"Fascinating."

"I don't talk about it that much," Amos objected.

"Uh, yeah, you do," Carlos replied. "Just a few days ago, you were blowing up my texts about how her coke-head husband is an asshole. You're obsessed!"

"I am not!"

"Bro... when I called you, you were fuming because you think she's about to cheat on her loser husband with some dude named Ken."

"Ben," Amos corrected.

"I can't keep this shit straight," Carlos said to Cassandra, and she nudged him.

"Be nice!"

"I am nice." Carlos shrugged.

"I think it's fascinating," Cassandra directed at Amos. "I mean, whoever this person is, she's out there somewhere, right now. You could walk past her on the street and not even realize it. Yet, you know all these intimate details about her life. There's a word for this..."

"If she's even real." Carlos took a sip of beer. "For all we know, some teenager was bored, cooked up a juicy story, hid it inside her dad's guitar case, and then he sold it, and her little soap opera was lost forever."

"Oh, come on, Carlos!" Cassandra smacked his thigh. "That's absurd. She's real, and it's also quite romantic. Like a Hallmark movie. Two kindred spirits, drawn together by music and this mysterious diary."

"You're making it sound like we're soulmates or something," Amos chuckled.

"Well, she'd be an upgrade from Lorena. Coke-head husband and all," Carlos chortled but flattened his grin when Cassandra elbowed him.

"Babe, be nice."

"I am nice," Carlos insisted.

"But you know, Amos," Cassandra scooted forward in her seat. "It's not impossible to have a soulmate you've never met. I'm one of those people who believe we all have one. They're out there somewhere, and sometimes, we're lucky enough to meet them."

"Yeah, like me!" Carlos pulled her in close.

"Oh boy!" Amos laughed. "My brother has it bad for you, Cass."

"Hey. What's going on out here..."

The sound of Lorena's voice made Amos bolt upright, his skin prickling. Shifting in the chair, he spotted her standing in the open sliding glass door. "Nothing. We're just hanging out."

"I see that."

"I didn't want dinner to go to waste, so I invited them over."

"Sup." Carlos nodded.

"Hi." Lorena stepped onto the patio, her heels tapping as she shifted to Cassandra. "We haven't met, have we?"

"No. I'm Cassandra, but most people just call me Cass." She smiled.

"Good to meet you."

"Same! I've heard so much about you."

"I bet." Lorena cut her eyes to Carlos, but it went unseen by Cassandra as she rambled on.

"Yes! Amos has been gushing about you all night and the work you do. He says you help run a tech company that invented a blind dating app and a food delivery one! That's amazing."

"Oh..." Lorena dropped her scowl. "Yeah, it's a lot of work, but fun too. I actually just came back from a business dinner."

"Ooh, where did you go, and what did you eat?" Cassandra wiggled her fingers, eager for details.

"We went to the Waterfront, and I ordered lobster."

"Yum!"

"Yeah, and I'm pretty tired, so I'm going to shower and get ready for bed. Nice meeting you, though."

"Later." Carlos nodded.

"Maybe we should get going?" Cassandra checked her watch.

"Right. Get you home before you turn into a pumpkin."

"Thanks for coming over." Amos stood and hugged them. "It was great meeting you. My brother is a lucky guy."

"Don't I know it!" Carlos took Cassandra's hand.

As soon as they disappeared through the backyard's gate, Amos blew out a long breath with hands on his hips. It was time to nut up or shut up.

Stepping inside the house, he slid the glass door behind him with a click and made his way across the creaky hardwood floor. Shadows draped the furniture with faint, golden light trickling from the mounted microwave in the kitchen. He ran his hand along the hallway wall, the textured surface scratching against his callused fingertips, and paused in front of one photo.

It was a candid snapshot of Lorena with her arms tossed around his neck, her head tilting back, laughing. They were at a barbecue, gazing at each other like lovebirds, and their friends had finished teasing them about how obnoxiously perfect they were. So, where did the ease of their happiness go?

Had he lost bits of himself over the years?

In high school, he was shy, but in college, he found his confidence, and where he shined was on stage, with his band, shredding a guitar and singing into a microphone. Perhaps, they could have gotten a record deal and made it big if they had pushed harder. But then, he wouldn't have bumped into Lorena at that deli. He wouldn't have fallen in love.

The squeak of the showerhead pulled his attention towards the bedroom, where he still had Lorena to confront, so he continued down the hallway.

"Babe." He rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door and pushed through.

When he stepped across the carpeted floor and onto the cold tile, he found Lorena standing in front of the vanity, her phone in hand. Then, she set it face down.

"Amos, I'll be done in a few minutes."

"I haven't seen you all day." He smoothed his hands over her lace-covered hips and pressed a kiss to her neck, but she pivoted away.

"I smell like seafood and beer. I need to shower."

"Wait." He reached for her waist, reeling her in and squeezing her bottom. "Ever since you sent me that sexy photo..."

"Photo?" She quirked her brows.

"Yeah, you were in the bathroom, at work, and said, 'this is waiting for you.' Remember?"

"Oh!" Her eyes widened, but then she laughed and wiggled away, turning her back to him. "I forgot about that. A lot was going on today. Sorry, babe."

"No worries." He eyed her as she finished stripping down and pinning her hair into a bun. It wasn't like her to refuse his affection, so something was off, and the answers had to be in the phone sitting on the vanity. Enough was enough. He needed answers. "Babe, tell me something?"

"What?"

"Why would you get half-naked in the bathroom at work to send me a sexy selfie?"

Her fingers froze while tucking loose strands in place. "Why not?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you haven't sent me dirty pics in forever?"

"Just trying to renew the spark, that's all." She shrugged and stepped into the hot shower.

The steam fogged up the mirror as Amos stood there, his reflection disappearing—much like his faith in Lorena. His gut twisted and twisted with every inch of his skin screaming that she was lying. Even the hairs on his neck were erect, and the answers were right there, in the phone resting face down on the vanity. But he didn't know the passcode.

"Fuck it."

Taking a chance, he flipped it over, and his eyes widened at the unlocked screen.

Jackpot.