Page 9 of Lost Prince
Desperate to fill the silence, I start humming softly.
“What's that song?"
I blink, surprised by his sudden interest. "Oh, fromA Little Jazz Mass.”
“What is that?”
“I… ah… I don’t know.” I laugh. “I heard it one Sunday in a church. I was walking by and it drew me in.” I pull my phone from my back pocket. "Here, let me find it for you."
I scroll through my playlist. When I find the song, I hitPlay, and the uplifting melody fills the kitchen.
"It's beautiful," Lazaro murmurs, his expression softening.
Encouraged, I ask, "Do you have a favorite type of music?"
He shrugs, his answer vague. "I'm not sure anymore."
My heart aches at the uncertainty in his voice. I try a different approach. "What about hobbies? Is there anything you enjoy doing?"
Lazaro's brow furrows as he considers the question. "I… I'm not sure. I like cars. I like working on them.” He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why.
“Did you learn that from your dad?”
“I doubt it. I guess I learned it before because I’m good at it. I mean… that knowledge wouldn’t have come out of the blue, would it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve heard stories about people having a head injury and all of a sudden speaking in a different accent or language.”
“Really?” He seems genuinely surprised by that.
“It’s something I’ve heard.”
“Huh.”
“Or maybe it’s something you knew. Something about you that you still have. It could mean the rest of your memory will return too,” I say to give him hope.
He scowls. “I don’t want my memory back.”
Oh. Well. Thinking quickly to avoid his falling into despair again, I ask, “So, what do you know about cars?”
He dunks a cookie in his milk, taking a bite before answering. “Everything. Or… I’ve never met a car I couldn’t figure out.” As he speaks about engines and models, his entire demeanor shifts. His shoulders relax and he becomes more animated. I find myself captivated, not by the subject matter but by this glimpse of the man beneath the brooding exterior.
I keep the car-themed questions coming, delighting in the way Lazaro's eyes light up as he talks about engines and transmissions
"So, what was your first car?" I lean against the table next to him, abandoning my whipped cream.
Lazaro's brow furrows for a moment, but then he shakes his head. "I can't remember. I think it’s an old car. A classic. Maybe that Aston Martin Lana was driving when she found me.”
“James Bond, eh? It fits.”
He glances at me, his smile faltering. “Why? Because he’s a killer?”
I maintain my smile. “No, because he’s suave.”
He blinks. “You think I’m suave.”
Ah… how do I answer this? The guy is my boss. “I think you can be whatever you want. And if you’re looking for a car project, I’ll donate mine. I think it’s running on duct tape and fumes.”
A chuckle escapes Lazaro's lips, surprising us both. It's a rich, warm sound that sends a lovely shimmer down my spine.