Page 394 of One More Kiss

He shakes his head before swiveling on the barstool to face the stage fully, though I have a feeling our conversation is far from over.

Dove is one of the shyest, most introverted people I’ve ever met. The fact that she’s on stage in front of a good chunk of strangers is huge. And makes absolutely no sense. I might’ve pretended that this is the norm to Hawthorne for Gibson’s sake. But the truth is, this is so out of the ordinary that I feel like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone.

Dove grabs the microphone and licks her lips before bringing it closer to her mouth. Squeezing her eyes shut, she sings the first set of lyrics, her voice shaky but also gorgeous before I catch Gibson weaving his way back through the crowd.

What are you doing?

He takes the stairs two at a time, grabs the microphone in front of Stoker, and joins her. On stage. In front of everyone. Singing. Together.

Holy shit, Batman.

This. Is. Huge.

Gibson can sing? What is happening right now?

With my mouth hanging wide open, I watch them sing the duet of a lifetime, their voices growing louder and more confident with each passing lyric until the final note is played.

The crowd goes wild as the mysterious Fen jumps on stage and yells, “Did you see that?! Did you freaking see that?! Let’s give these two another round of applause!”

Gibson guides Dove off stage, his hand on her lower back, while Fender straps on his guitar and dives right into the next song in their set. Like the whole thing was planned when I have no doubt it was the opposite. And all the while, I can feel Hawthorne watching me.

Again.

Me.

Not the stage, which is the entire reason he showed up at SeaBird tonight.

But me.

The realization makes me squirm.

“Why’d you buy me this drink, Sammie Norris?” he demands, not quite frustrated but hardly amused, either.

Avoiding his gaze, I rest my elbows against the counter and lean forward, making sure he can hear me over Fender’s talented voice.

“Speaking of drinks, do you need another?”

His calloused palm grips my forearm and keeps me in place before he closes the last bit of distance between us, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Do you know who I am, Sam?”

“Not exactly,” I hedge.

“And what do you know?”

“Not much.”

“Sam.”

“Fine,” I huff, crumbling under his hypnotic stare. “All I know is that you were here to watch Broken Vows play, but they were a little late in starting, so I was supposed to keep you from leaving before you had a chance to listen to their awesomeness. That’s it.”

Damn those baby blues.

“And the pretty girl who just sang?”

My eye twitches as the compliment slips out of him.

He smirks but doesn’t comment on my jealousy. “Does she normally sing with the band?”

“Pretty sure you should ask Gibson that question.”

---