Page 17 of Betsy
Betsy did intimidate me. Although, maybe not in the way she meant to. The number of times I caught myself thinking of her was a bit frightening. But in a thrilling sort of way. All of her hard edges that she’d sharpened to keep people out made me even more interested in finding the soft center she tried so hard to protect.
“The equipment,” she said tersely.
“Over here.” I led her to our soundboard, set up to the side of the stage. One of the PA guys from the church had come to unbox the equipment and plug in all the mics, amplifiers, and keyboard, but so far, we hadn’t practiced with anything turned on. We’d been waiting for our engineer. For Betsy.
She ran her hand over the plethora of nobs and switches, a small smile dancing at the corners of her lips. An invisible band around my chest loosened. This was True North’s first tour. I wanted it to be a success, which was why I’d spent a small fortune on the new sound system. An investment in our future. Betsy’s facial expression hadn’t changed much, but there was approval in the subtle markers. I’d take it.
The side door to the sanctuary opened, and the rest of the band filed in, Tricia bringing up the rear with a waddle any penguin would be proud of. I clapped my hands together but stopped shy of rubbing my palms against each other like a villain with an evil plan that was all coming together. I did have a plan and it looked as if it would work out, but there wasn’t anything nefarious about it.
I peeked at Betsy out of the corner of my eye. At least,Ididn’t think my plan devious. Others could come to their own conclusions.
“Guys,” I called to get the newcomers’ attention. “We have a new member of the team. I’d like you all to meet Betsy Vargas.”
Jimmy stepped forward and shook Betsy’s hand. “I’m Jimmy. I play the keyboard, and this is my son Marcus, who plays bass.”
Betsy dipped her head to them both.
“That’s Dave at the drums,” I said.
Dave saluted the room with a stick to his brow.
“And Tricia is our female vocal.”
“Nice to meet you.” Tricia smiled warmly.
“You want to tell the group a little about yourself, Betsy? Help us get to know you better?” I knew she didn’t. I’d only interacted with her a couple of times, but that was all it had taken to read her like a book—though she thought she kept her covers closed tighter than a censorship zealot banning literature.
Sure enough, her jaw tightened as she worked to bite back a quick retort. “Kumbaya moments aren’t really my thing.”
I grinned at her, my smile widening at the surprise that flashed across her face at my response. She’d probably thought I would be offended or upset. Nothing could’ve been farther from the truth. “See? We’re already learning so much about you.”
She ignored me and shimmied out of a lightweight flannel overshirt.
Tricia snickered. “I love your tee.”
Betsy pulled at the hem of her shirt as she looked down. I followed her line of sight. Across her chest it readI can’t be held responsible for what my face does when you talk. I held back a burst of laughter.
Betsy lifted her head, a smug bow to her mouth. “No one can say they haven’t been warned.”
“How very, uh, kind of you?” Jimmy scratched at his temple as he shared a slightly scared look with his son.
“Now that we’re all besties, can we get started, or are we going to sit around and braid each other’s hair first?” Betsy’s hands found her curvaceous hips as she stood off in front of me.
I reached up and fingered one of my short curls. “Couldyou braid my hair?”
She rolled her eyes, the motion making me unexplainably happy. Betsy’s eye rolls could be turned into a drinking game—never mind the little detail that I didn’t drink.
She breezed past me to the cables that ran along the floor and hooked up to the inputs on the soundbar. “I’m going to get everything in order. Give me a few minutes.”
She worked with efficiency, the grace of someone who knew her business. Once everything was in place, she smiled. A real smile. A hit-you-with-an-anvil-to-the-chest-Wile E. Coyote-style kind of smile.
“I think we’re ready. Asher, I need you to check your mic for me.”
I jumped over the steps and straight onto the stage and took my spot behind the central microphone. “Testing, one, two.”
Betsy shook her head. “I need you to sing something. ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ should do.”
I stared at her.
