Chapter 276 - 276: 276 | A Date In Seattle

<🎧 Song Recommendation: Let Down - Choir by Eibell, Odd Era., fedo DJ>

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By six that evening, the rain had gotten worse. But Von didn't mind.

He had spent most of the afternoon inside the parked coach reviewing tomorrow's setlist until he walked into the rear lounge and found Emily sitting exactly where he expected her to be.

She had her laptop open before her, and her fingers flew over the keyboard like a telegraph operator in a crisis.

Von paused in the doorway.

"David said nobody's working tonight."

"David isn't my boss," Emily replied without her eyes leaving the screen.

Von strolled over. "Technically neither am I, apparently."

"You pay me."

"That's usually how employment works."

Emily finally glanced up at him, one brow raised.

Von reached down, caught the edge of the lid, and smoothly snapped her laptop shut.

"Von."

"No."

"I have Canadian customs documentation to finish."

"Vancouver is Friday."

"And that's exactly why I need to finish it now."

Von didn't argue. He simply scooped the laptop off the desk, tucked it securely under his arm, and took two steps backward.

Emily stared at him in disbelief, then held out both hands, flexing her fingers like a toddler denied a toy.

"Give me that."

"No."

"Von!"

"Come outside."

Emily blinked. "Outside?"

"Yes."

She turned her head toward the bus window. Thick sheets of rain were streaking sideways across the dark glass, illuminated by the amber glow of the parking lot lamps.

"It's pouring."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"And cold."

"Also noticed."

Emily stared at him for several seconds, clearly weighing whether she could tackle him for the hard drive.

"Where are we even going?"

Von offered a lazy grin. "Somewhere that doesn't have Wi-Fi."

That answer somehow convinced her.

Forty minutes later, nobody looking at them would have guessed they were responsible for an arena tour parked less than two miles away.

Von wore loose black trousers, an old hoodie beneath a heavy charcoal coat, and a dark wool beanie pulled down low enough to swallow most of his hair.

Resting across his nose was a pair of sunglasses. Under the heavy Seattle gloom, it looked completely absurd, the sort of look worn either by an undercover agent who had given up on subtlety or someone who forgot the sun went down hours ago.

Emily had kept it far more sensible: dark denim, waterproof boots, a cream knit sweater, and a long black wool coat.

She gave his face a critical side-eye as they stepped onto the glistening sidewalk.

"Those glasses make you look like you're trying way too hard not to be recognized."

"They're working," Von said while rubbing her shoulder with a smile and pulling her closer to him.

Seattle was a lot different from the other cities. The cold rain kept most pedestrians moving quickly, and that also meant Von could walk around comfortably without a single person asking him for a picture.

He liked it.

They grabbed two hot drip coffees from a tiny corner counter first and wandered with no real destination until Emily's stomach let out a faint grumble.

"Feed me," she said flatly, pulling her scarf higher. "Or I'm walking back to do customs."

A few streets down, they found it: a small basement restaurant tucked down a short flight of stairs beneath an old building.

There was nothing glamorous about it.

A weathered wooden sign hung over the stairwell, and inside, maybe thirty locals were scattered in the bar.

A handwritten chalkboard easel planted near the front entrance read:

[LIVE ACOUSTIC — 7 PM]

"Perfect," Von said, nudging the door open.

Emily followed him in, the warm aroma of grilled beef, melted cheddar, and toasted sourdough washing over them. She narrowed her eyes at the chalkboard, then up at him.

"You didn't pick this for the food, did you?" she whispered. "You smelled a guitar from three blocks away."

"I picked it because I am a connoisseur of local architecture," Von joked smoothly, guiding her toward an empty corner booth. "The live music is purely an unfortunate coincidence."

"Right. And I'm the Queen of England."

They took the corner table, and for the next hour, neither of them mentioned the tour once.

They ordered burgers, seasoned fries, and a basket of onion rings. They argued fiercely over whether Seattle coffee was actually superior or just served with more pretension, laughed until Emily choked on her soda about Max's inability to whisper and spent a solid ten minutes debating what went on inside Loki's head.

"She manages bus security," Von argued with total sincerity. "And she provides emotional leverage."

"She bites your ankles when her salmon bowl is empty," Emily countered, dipping a fry in garlic mayo. "The IRS would audit you on principle."

Over on the small wooden platform near the bar, the entertainment played through most of dinner.

He couldn't have been much older than Von. Brown shaggy hair, an oversized flannel shirt, and a voice smooth enough to keep conversations at the tables low and relaxed.

Then, midway through his fifth song, his right hand suddenly slipped off the strings, letting out a sharp, dissonant buzz.

"Ah, shit."

A few people chuckled good-naturedly.

The guitarist winced, shaking out his wrist. He blew on his fingertips, set his hands back on the fretboard, and tried to ease into the verse again. He barely made it three chords before his fingers locked up entirely.

The owner, a stout older man with a grey beard stepped over from the taps.

"You good, Ryan?"

"Yeah, I just..." Ryan flexed his fingers slowly, grimacing at the raw red skin beneath his calluses. "Hands are killing me, Artie. Four long sets in five days. Fingers are completely peeling."

He tried another chord. A muted thud came out.

"Yeah. I'm done."

The crowd laughed and applauded anyway as Ryan unplugged the cable, rested the acoustic guitar on its stand under the warm amber spotlight, and stepped off the platform to grab a drink.

The restaurant returned to normal conversation.

Von took another bite of his burger.

Emily stopped chewing. Her eyes shifted from Von's face to the lone guitar resting under the stage light.

Then her gaze drifted back to him.

Von swallowed and kept his expression entirely neutral.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm eating," Emily said innocently, resting her chin on her palm.

Her eyes flicked toward the empty platform again.

Von followed her line of sight. The instrument sat there, perfectly tuned, practically begging for someone to pick it up.

He looked back at Emily.

"No."

A small, wicked grin touched her lips. "I didn't say anything."

"You don't have to. Your big forehead is screaming."

"I'm merely observing an abandoned instrument," Emily murmured while rolling her eyes. "Though... a real artist wouldn't leave an audience hanging in silence."

Von snorted, dunking a fry into ketchup. "I'm on vocal vacation."

"You've been arguing about cat taxes for fifteen minutes."

"That was administrative dialogue. Completely different vocal cords."

Von ate the fry.

Thirty seconds passed in silence.

His gaze flicked toward the platform. Just for half a second.

Emily immediately burst out laughing, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"I knew it! Look at you! You're itching!"

"I am not itching."

"You're twitching, Von. You look like a golden retriever staring at a tennis ball."

"Shut up."

"Ten bucks says you can't play three chords without folding under pressure."

Von stared at her. "Are you daring me?"

"I'm stating a fact, Von... You're not prepared for this kind of stage."

Von held her gaze for some seconds. Then he wiped his fingers clean on a napkin, tossed it onto his empty plate, and slid out of the booth.

"Where are you going?" Emily teased with sparkling eyes.

"To collect ten dollars."

Emily buried her face in her hands, giggling as Von casually strolled over to the bar.

After a quick, low-voiced exchange with the owner, who looked startled, glanced back at the empty stool, and then broke into an enthusiastic nod, Von turned and stepped onto the tiny wooden platform.

He reached up, adjusted the collar of his coat, and picked up the acoustic guitar.