Page 12 of Catastrophically Yours
"She's pretty," Jen murmured. "And she looks at you like you're the only person in the room."
"We're just—it's complicated." Drew grabbed her water bottle. "She's letting me stay at her place temporarily."
Jen's knowing smile said she wasn't buying it, but she handed over Piper's latte without comment.
They found a corner table near the stage. Drew started her ritual—checking tuning pegs, organizing chord sheets, adjusting her capo. Piper sat with perfect posture despite the wobbly table leg, hands wrapped around her mug as she watched the room.
"How long have you been performing here?" Piper asked.
"About three years. I was terrified the first time—my voice cracked, and I forgot half the words to my own song." Drew laughed. "But everyone was so encouraging. Marcus bought me a drink and told me the only way to get better was to keep showing up."
"And you have. Kept showing up."
Something in Piper's tone made Drew look up. Piper was watching her with an expression that seemed almost... proud?
"It's the only place I feel like myself," Drew said. "Like, completely myself. No compromising or second-guessing. Just me and the music."
Piper nodded slowly. "Everyone needs a place like that."
"What's yours?"
The question caught Piper off guard. She sipped her latte, thinking. "I'm not sure I have one anymore."
Before Drew could respond, the current performer finished to enthusiastic applause. Jen stepped up to the microphone.
"Next up, we have one of our favorite regulars. Please welcome Drew Callen!"
Drew's pulse hammered as she made her way to the stage. She'd performed this set dozens of times, but tonight felt different. Tonight, Piper's green eyes followed her movement, making everything feel more important and more fragile.
She settled onto the wooden stool and adjusted the mic. Luna felt familiar in her hands, but when she found Piper's face in the dim lighting, her mind went blank.
"Hi everyone," she managed. "I'm going to start with something I wrote last year."
The first chord rang out clear, but her fingers felt disconnected. Muscle memory carried her through while she fought to find her groove. The words came automatically, but her voice lacked its usual warmth.
"Found myself walking down these empty streets again
Looking for something I can't name
Every door I've opened leads to wondering when
I'll stop running from the blame..."
Halfway through the second verse, the café door chimed. Drew caught a tall figure with shoulder-length dark hair in her peripheral vision, and her fingers stumbled over the chord transition.
Chris.
He stood in the doorway—worn denim shirt instead of his usual leather jacket, some of his polished confidence replaced by something more uncertain. As his eyes found hers, Drew's voice wavered on the bridge.
"But maybe home isn't a place you find
Maybe it's something you decide..."
Chris moved through the crowd carefully, not commanding attention like he used to, finding a spot near the bar where he could listen without disrupting the performance.
Drew finished without major disasters, but she knew it had fallen flat. The applause felt polite, and she hurried off stage with Luna clutched against her chest.
"That was beautiful," Chris said, appearing beside their table before Drew had processed his presence. Up close, he looked good but tired, lacking some of the magnetic presence that used to turn heads. "You've really found your voice since we last played together."
