Page 45 of Betsy
My nose stung, and I sniffed back emotion. My family loved me. My sewing sisters loved me. But even they made comments.
“You should smile more, Betsy.”
“Maybe tone down the snark.”
“Don’t be so prickly all the time.”
Could Asher really like even those parts of my personality?
Tricia opened the door. “It’s time,” she said.
I gave her a wobbly smile and followed her back to the vestibule beside the stage. The guys were already there. Marcus was opening and closing his fists while Jimmy rotated his shoulders in a circular motion. Asher stared off into space, and Dave kept muttering something to himself under his breath. Every single one of them was keyed up on nervous energy and jittering in their own way.
The sanctuary acoustics absorbed the chatter and noise of people taking their seats and waiting for the concert to start, then spat those sounds right back out into the space.
Mona walked into the wing with a gentleman knocking on the door of fifty and wearing a pair of fitted jeans and casual button-up with the top button undone. “This is Pastor David,” she introduced.
He made the rounds of shaking each hand. “So glad you guys could be here tonight. We ready to get the show started?”
Heads bobbed, which made Pastor David smile wider. “All right, then. I’ll go out and introduce you, then it’s all yours.”
The crowd began to hush as the pastor walked out of the wing onto the stage. He stopped in front of Asher’s mic, gave a short intro for the band, then led the audience in a welcoming round of applause.
“This is it,” Dave said at the same time Marcus muttered, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Asher turned to face them, his back to the waiting crowd. “We’re really only playing for an audience of One, right?”
Marcus still looked green but answered, “Right,” with everyone else.
Asher gave them all an encouraging smile, then led them onto the stage. He took his place near the center and beamed into the audience. “Hello, Las Vegas!”
I focused more on the sound than his words, and in a few moments, Dave was counting down the beat and the opening set started.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I adjusted an EQ. It buzzed again. And again. Jimmy played a refrain. More buzzing. Who was blowing up my phone? I whipped it out of my pocket, the screen lighting up to show I had ten missed text messages. I was tempted to see, to make sure there hadn’t been an emergency, but instead, I powered off my phone. I needed to focus. To do a good job for Asher and the band.
Asher’s voice, rich and mellow, beckoned to me. He sang, and everything else faded away. The quality of his tone was hypnotizing, putting me under some sort of spell—the magic of a snake charmer, with me the cobra under the trance he’d put me in. He had thatthing. That unexplainable, couldn’t-quite-put-your-finger-on-it quality. Star power. And I somehow, against my will, had been pulled into his orbit.
The concert progressed with only a few hiccups. I was able to adjust so that I didn’t think anyone in the seats could tell. Overall, the band sounded great. They’d done an amazing job, and the crowd loved them. Asher may not have been the type of person to crave recognition, but I knew music. It wouldn’t take long before millions of people knew his name. Especially not with the rep from the label coming to hear him.
The band wrapped up its last song, and everyone came to their feet in a roar of applause. Asher thanked them, embarrassment tingeing his cheeks and humility in the duck of his head. His sincerity only seemed to make them love him more. My heart swelled.
Stop that. But I wasn’t sure I even meant it. Asher wasn’t who I’d thought he’d be. Hadn’t he proven that over and over? He was true and honorable. Loyal, with a kind heart. So what was stopping me from admitting that I’d developed feelings for an American who poured out his heart and his soul for everyone to see and hear in his music? My own stupid rule? Logic dictated, if I made the rule, then I could break it. Besides, I wasn’t exactly known for following every letter of the law to a tee anyway.
Energy pulsed from Asher as he strode from the stage toward my little area. His eyes were so bright he nearly glowed. I stepped out from behind the soundboard ready to hand out some well-deservedgood jobsto all of them—even Dave, who’d managed to push beyond robotic mechanics on his drums and actually feel the beat at the nucleus of his being.
Asher barreled forward, pushed by the high he rode from the music lifting him to elevated levels he’d probably never experienced before. Instead of stopping in front of me, he swallowed up the distance and devoured my personal space, wrapping his slightly sweaty arms around my body and pulling me hard into his chest. He lifted me off my feet, and for a moment I was weightless. In more ways than just the physical sense. He laughed, and I felt his warm breath against my ear, the rumble in his chest vibrating against my entire body. He was joy, and it spilled over, filling that internal cup I hadn’t even known I possessed until it overflowed into a puddle.
Iwas a puddle.
As if coming to his senses, he set me on my feet, the band of his arms slowly loosening from around me. He leaned back. Looked down into my eyes. His pupils dilated, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
My gaze dipped to his lips. They glistened as if he’d recently licked them. What would they feel like? Taste like? Would I hear the sounds of a string quartet or the overwhelming pounding of my heart in my ears like a Japanese taiko drum?
“We should talk,” he said, the movement of his lips mesmerizing me.
I managed to pull my gaze away and lift my eyes back to his.
There was a juxtaposition of opposites there. Both tightly held control waiting to be released and relaxed confidence. Serious intent and playful mirth. A promise of things to come, and a forfeit of the present.
