“I want to talk to you more.” The honesty felt strange on my tongue, but right. “Busing tables seems like a reasonable excuse to do that.”
That laugh again. It hit me right in the chest, made me want to spend the rest of the day finding ways to make her do it again.
“Okay, firefighter.” She grabbed a tray from a nearby table and shoved it into my hands. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
We fell into a rhythm. She took orders, I cleared plates, and we met in the middle whenever we could—quick exchanges by the kitchen door, brushed shoulders as we passed between tables. Each time we crossed paths, I learned something new. She’d grown up in Wildwood Valley, never lived anywhere else. She and Meghan had been best friends since kindergarten. She worked part-time at a craft store in town but was looking for something more.
“More like what?” I asked, stacking dirty glasses on my tray.
She shrugged, but there was something wistful in her expression. “I don’t know. Something that feels like it matters, I guess. Something that uses…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Uses what?”
She met my eyes, and for a second, I saw something vulnerable there. Something she didn’t show most people.
“My voice. I’ve always wanted to do something with it. Sing professionally, I mean. But Wildwood Valley isn’t exactly Nashville, and I’m not the type to pack up and chase a dream that might not go anywhere.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is home.” She said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Meghan’s here. My whole life is here. I’m not going to throw that away for a one-in-a-million shot at something that probably won’t happen.”
I understood that more than she knew. I’d spent years chasing things—deployments, assignments, always moving, never staying. And now here I was, in a tiny mountain town, finally feeling like I might have found a place to land.
“There are other ways,” I said. “To make it work. You don’t have to go to Nashville.”
She gave me a skeptical look. “What, like karaoke at the local roadhouse?”
“Like the internet. People build whole careers online now. Recording from their bedrooms, posting covers, building audiences. You don’t need a record label. You just need a decent mic and something worth listening to.” I gestured vaguely toward the stage. “And you’ve definitely got something worth listening to.”
She stared at me for a long moment, and I couldn’t read her expression. Then she shook her head, but she was smiling.
“You’re serious.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because we just met. You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you have a voice that stopped a room full of cranky, stranded travelers in their tracks. I know you walked into chaos and immediately started helping instead of complaining. I knowyou stayed in your hometown because you love the people here, not because you were too scared to leave.” I held her gaze. “That’s not nothing.”
The flush was back on her cheeks, deeper this time. She opened her mouth to say something, but Elsa’s voice cut through from the bar.
“Teddie, I need you at table six. And Knox, your burger’s been sitting there for two hours. Either eat it or let me toss it.”
Teddie laughed, the tension breaking. “Duty calls.”
“I’ll be here,” I said. “When you’re done.”
She held my gaze for another beat, something shifting in her expression. Then she nodded and headed toward table six, ponytail swinging behind her.
I watched her go, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something other than exhaustion and frustration. I felt awake. Alert. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
My phone buzzed again in my pocket. I pulled it out, saw the screen lighting up with notification after notification.
I held down the power button and turned it off completely.
Whatever was happening with my family could wait. Right now, I had more important things to focus on.
3
