Page 9 of Love Songs

“You good?” Kirk asked, brushing a lock of long, dark hair from his forehead to reveal curious hazel eyes.

I nodded, not wanting to talk too much, and made my way toward the stage door.

I heard voices as I approached. One I recognized as Brian’s, but the other—deep, authoritative, and as smooth as honey—was familiar yet not. I leaned in the doorway, staying out of the audience’s line of sight, and watched as a tall, fit-looking man dressed in navy pants that hugged a gorgeous bubble butt, and a same-colored tight T-shirt that strained across his muscular back, pointed out to Brian where the flash pots should go.

Was this Lieutenant Holliston, the firefighter who’d been giving me grief about having pyrotechnics for the last few months?

When the lieutenant turned to leave the stage, he caught me watching and froze mid-step. My heart froze for a second, too. The man was F-I-N-E fine, with his tousled blond hair and sharp blue eyes and sexy scruff on his jaw that I’d love to feel against my skin. I frowned. I wasn’t here to get down and dirty with the locals.

“Have a good show,” he said, flashing a smile that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I watched him leave.

“Dayum,” Kirk said at my side, and whistled low. I hadn’t noticed him approach, caught in Holliston’s snare as I was. “Tell me that wasn’t the firefighter who gave us the run around for pyro, and that he’s single.”

“That’s him,” I said, my throat feeling tight. “If he’s single, you can have him.”

“Meh. He’s probably straight anyway,” Kirk huffed, but after that brief heated exchange I’d had with him, I’d disagree. Kirk bounced on his toes, hot firefighters forgotten. “Just about show time. You ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, while my emotions bounced around like ping-pong balls.

“You got this,” he said, and squeezed my shoulder.

“Yeah. I got this.” I shook my hands out and jumped on the spot for a second, hoping to dispel my bout of nerves.

“Did you set up to record the show for Jaylin?” Kirk eyed me, then shook his head at my expression. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

I had.

“No,” I hedged, but not convincingly enough, because Kirk called Craig over—one of our long-time roadies—and asked him to set it up.

I handed him my cell phone so I could send the video to Jaylin later. “Shit. The battery is getting low.”

“No problem,” Craig said with a crooked grin. He’d met Jaylin when she’d come to a show not long after she came into my life and thought she was the sweetest thing. I couldn’t argue. I felt the same. “I’ll make sure to find the perfect angle for her.”

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, the rest of the band joined me as the town mayor, a short man with graying sideburns wearing a pink polo shirt and tan slacks, strolled across the stage to address the crowd.

“Our next act is a big deal for us here in Caldwell Crossing,” he said to cheers and whistles. “I’m sure they don’t need much of an introduction. So, please give a warm welcome to the Dallas Blade Band!”

He waved his arm in a sweeping gesture across the stage toward the door where we waited as more cheers and whistles rent the air, louder than I’d expected for a small town.

The thrill of performing pumped adrenaline through my veins, chasing away the rare jitters, and the four of us ran out onto the stage and to our respective places.

I sent a silent prayer out into the universe that all would go well and leaned into the mic.

“Hello, Caldwell Crossing,” I raised my voice to be heard over the cheering audience.

I scanned the crowd, not surprised to see the city park completely packed and spilling out onto the street. There’dbeen maybe a hundred people tops for the last couple of bands, much less for the polka band that opened the day. We’d asked the town organizers to keep our name off their promotions until the day before, knowing if word got out too soon that the Dallas Blade Band was playing a small local venue for free, the quiet little New Hampshire town could be overwhelmed.

“Are you all having a good time?” The audience roared in response. I bent down at the front of the stage and clapped a few outstretched hands. “What do you say we play some music?”

That got a resounding cheer as we launched into our first song—the least vocally demanding song in our repertoire. I’d arranged the setlist by degree of difficulty, with one of our more famous and challenging songs being the last. Though it wasn’t our most difficult song, which I was still hesitant to try. I hadn’t been able to hit the top of my range yet, and no way was I going to attempt it live.

The first notes sat comfortably in my midrange, my throat felt good, my voice strong, and my apprehension faded. With each verse and chorus and bridge, my voice held true, my confidence grew, and I reached up an octave for a smooth crescendo.

Maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

We launched right into the next track that took me back to the beginning with a song that had broken us into the mainstream. The crowd screamed and sang along, their voices mixing with mine, their energy feeding me. This never failed to amaze me. The sharing of emotion and joy, where for a moment in time we were all one.

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