She carried plates of food in the dining area. Because of the low lighting, he squinted to get a better look. He wasn’t certain, so he lowered his sunglasses slightly.
Ivy.
His jaw dropped. His heart thudded.
He blinked to see if he’d imagined her. When he refocused, she was still there. Working as a server, but why? She should be on stage performing not waiting on tables.
Granted, he didn’t know her story—and everybody had one—but she was a hundred times better than the band performing tonight. She could sing the socks off the opening acts of his tour.
Someone needed to tell her…help her.
This had to be a sign he was meant to come back and seek her out. Yes, he wanted a date, but he’d mentored performers in the past. Years ago, he’d guest judged on a reality TV show, and one of his team members had won.
Whether or not Ivy listened to his advice was up to her. But if she was game, he could help her. Even get her song, or songs if she’d written others, in front of the right people.
That meant he would stick around.
He hopped onto the barstool he’d vacated moments before. “I’ll take another.”
A questioning expression crossed Maggie’s face. “Coming right up.”
Nash sipped his water slowly. At the end of the song, he clapped, hoping this would be the last one the band played. It wasn’t. They played longer than Ivy had, or at least that was how it seemed.
Time dragged. On and on and on.
Nash sneaked peeks at Ivy, doing his best not to draw attention to himself because Maggie kept eyeing him. He didn’t have the best vantage spot, but from what he could see, Ivy’s smile never wavered. She chatted with customers, kept drinks refilled, and cleared empty plates quickly. Too bad he hadn’t eaten dinner at the pub, though who knows if he would have been seated in her section.
After the show ended, the band packed up their equipment. Rock music played from a sound system. A few people danced.
Nash drank his soda water. Before he finished, a new full glass appeared. He acknowledged Maggie with a nod. Later, he would show his appreciation with a big tip.
Finally—not as soon as Nash had wanted—people left the pub. One group after another. The band, too.
As the place cleared, he opened his wallet, pulled out a hundred, and set the bill in front of her. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.” Eyes wide, Maggie beamed. “I hope your night turns out as well as mine has.”
“Me, too.” He slid off the barstool.
What was the worst thing that could happen?
Worst-case scenario? Ivy could shut him down again.
Nope. Not going to happen.
Nash wiped his damp palms against his jeans before walking toward the dining area where Ivy cleared a table. Something fluttered in his stomach. Man, he hadn’t had butterflies like this since his first time at the Grammys.
Approaching Ivy as she worked wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t want to wait for her outside and miss her if there was more than one door.
Ivy picked up plates. She hadn’t seemed to notice him, so he cleared his throat.
She glanced his way. The dishes she held clanged together. “Oh, it’s you. I mean, hello.”
Nash had no idea if her surprised reaction was good or bad. The feeling of uncertainty intensified. His breath caught, but he couldn’t stand here silent. “You didn’t perform tonight.”
Not the most eloquent of openings, but it was a start.
She eyed him warily. “I only fill in when someone cancels.”
