Rafe frowned. “No way. The Key is its own brand of ridiculous, but notthis.”
“You’re telling me Deputy Horowitz doesn’t give off a strong Littlejohn vibe? Or that the lady who wanted to french me didn’t remind you of Lorenna McKetcham?”
He hesitated. “But the people on the Key don’t feel like sharks in a feeding frenzy, though. Do they?”
“No. But only because we care about them and they care about us. They’re a bunch of seriously odd ducks, but they’reourodd ducks.” I hadn’t been back in five years, but Whispering Key still felt like home in a way that Alabama and Manhattan never had. Claiming them as mine felt right.
“I suppose that’s true.”
We stepped into a darker room lit only by multicolored neon signs. At a stage to one side, a woman crooned a spectacularly terrible rendition of “I Will Always Love You”while the words flashed like a warning on the giant screen behind her.
“Speaking of odd ducks and the things they do…” I motioned to the stage. “Is you karaoke-ing a cry for help? Because I’m here for you, Rafe. You don’t need to do this.”
Rafe’s lips curved. “Yeah, I do.” He pointed to an empty table close to the door. “Sit there. Then we can make a fast escape when the time comes.”
“A fast escape?” My eyes widened. “Singing’s maybe not your best skill, but I don’t think it’s bad enough to incite mob violence.” Even the Whitney-wannabe was generating polite applause. “What’s going on?”
He stepped closer to me and ran a single finger over my knuckles, too fast for anyone to catch. My whole body shivered at the simple contact. “You’ll see.”
“Wait!” I grabbed his elbow when he turned toward the stage. “What are you even going to sing?”
He gave me a lopsided smile and a wink that felt like a caress, then headed for the stage.
I took the table he’d pointed out and settled in, somehow ten times more nervous than I got when I was doing my own shows. Normandie must’ve pulled strings, because Rafe cut the line and got onstage immediately, and my stomach turned inside out when he stood in front of the mic with the spotlight on him.
“Hey.” Rafe scratched the back of his neck. “So, I apologize to all of you in advance for my singing, but I’m making a point here—”
“You lose a bet?” someone in the crowd hooted.
Rafe grinned. “More like I’m hoping to win something.” His eyes cut to where I sat, though I wasn’t sure he could see me through the glare. “Y’all might have to help me out if I get stuck, okay?”
I thought maybe he’d never looked more heartbreakingly adorable…And then the intro to “Pretty Girl” came over the speakers, and I stopped thinking entirely.
Rafael Goodman, the first and only man I’d ever loved, was standing in front of a crowd of people, singing the song I’d written him—singing every damn word without having to look at the lyrics on the screen even once—and he was singing it tome.
By the time he got to the second verse, I considered pinching my own wrist just to make sure this was really happening, but then I stopped. If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.
Daydreams and legends and lyres
Drowning in sunshine like fire
And the truth of you and me became apparent
When winter came, I figured out what love meant.
And it wasn’t any pretty girl.
Hearing him sing those words in a voice that was rough and pitchy and utterly sincere, knowing he knew the true meaning behind them, felt like the best part of Christmas morning—the part when someone opens the present you made them, and you know you’ve gotten it just right, and you’re not sure which of you is more delighted.
(Me. It was definitely me.)
He made it to the last verse, to the line that went “I got myself the world, but I still wanted stars,”and he got a little choked up. Fortunately, the crowd was already singing along by that point, and they took over the chorus for him.
Rafe walked off the stage before the last note faded, and I got what he meant about us needing to make a quick exit, because when he paused in front of me, I wanted to kiss him so badly, it was hard to remember all the many, many reasons why Jayd Rollins couldn’t do that in public without causing a riot.
“Come on,” Rafe said gruffly. “Before Normandie wants an encore.”
“You saying you couldn’t give her one?” I kept pace with him as we strode past the gift shop and the bar toward the lobby. “You knew every word of that song,” I whisper-accused. “I bet you know the whole damn album by heart!”
