The emcee steps onto the stage, a wiry guy with a man bun and a blazer two sizes too small.“Next up, we’ve got someone special for you.You may have seen him on much larger stages, but our man is back to his hometown, and we managed to snag him for tonight.Give it up forJoel Price.”
My chai nearly slips out of my hand.
No.
Not possible.
But then I see him.
Joel strides onto the stage with the kind of effortless confidence that makes you want to trip him.The dim lights catch the slight wave in his dark hair, falling into his eyes just enough to make it look intentional.He’s wearing a leather jacket over a plain black tee, fitted just enough to hint at the muscles beneath.
He looks good.Annoyinglygood.Like the universe is playing a cruel joke on me.
I sink deeper into my chair, my pulse quickening despite my best efforts to stay detached.
He adjusts the strap of his guitar, his movements unhurried but deliberate, like he owns the room—or maybe just doesn’t care if he doesn’t.Honestly, that’s worse.
“Thank you for coming out tonight,” Joel says into the mic, his voice smooth and confident, drawing the room’s focus effortlessly.He adjusts the guitar strap on his shoulder and leans into the stand, his green eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease.“It’s good to be back in Duluth.It’s been too long.”
The crowd murmurs their agreement.
Meanwhile, I sink lower into my chair, silently willing the dim lighting to work some kind of miracle and render me invisible.No such luck.As his gaze sweeps the room, it catches on me.
Fuck.
His eyes widen slightly—just enough for me to notice.
Oh yeah, he’s surprised to see me.Good.That makes two of us, you sanctimonious troglodyte.
I arch a brow, lifting my chai in a mock toast.“Congratulations, you have eyes,” I mutter under my breath, the words drowned out by the hum of the café.
For a moment, he looks like he’s debating something, his fingers gripping the neck of his guitar just a bit tighter.Then he clears his throat, recovering fast, and shifts back into Mr.Perfect Performer.
“And since it’s Valentine’s Day,” he says, his voice back to that annoyingly smooth tone, “this one’s for the lovebirds out there.”
The room lets out a collectiveawwas Joel strums the first chord.Couples lean into each other, their hands brushing over tabletops, their heads tilting just so.
I resist the urge to gag.Barely.
But then the melody kicks in, and my stomach flips.
No.Notthis.
The song pulls at memories I’ve spent years trying to bury.My chest tightens as the opening notes wash over me, and I clutch my chai cup like it’s a stress ball.
Joel starts singing, and the weight in the room shifts.His voice, raw and deliberate, wraps around every corner of the café.
It’s too much.Too familiar.
And then it happens—his eyes find mine again.
Oh, for the love of—seriously?
His gaze lingers, steady and deliberate, like he’s trying to say something.Like this whole damn performance is some kind of message meant for me.
Absolutely the fuck not.
The air between us feels heavier, charged with something I refuse to acknowledge.My heart thunders as I sit frozen in place, his voice pushing and pulling at emotions I don’t want to feel.
