Andie’s eyes went wide. “You were smoking?How old were you?”
“Fifteen, I think.”
“Fourteen,” Betty corrected.
The teen seated at the table chuckled and tugged the brim of his cowboy hat. “What else did he do?”
“I didn’t smoke again, I can tell you that much,” Trenton said.
“True, but he did plenty to keep me up at night,” Betty assured. “I caught him sparking under the moonlight plenty of times. Wooing the gals who came through town.”
“Sparking?” the kid asked.
“Means making out,” Emmitt said with a grin.
Andie couldn’t help but envy the girls Betty mentioned. She’d never done anything of the sort in all her travels across the globe. Sure, she’d seen the world, witnessed exotic animals, tasted extravagant food, and experienced every luxury her parents could afford. What she hadn’t had were real-life youthful experiences like that.
As the conversation continued, the group sharing tales of their own, Andie wondered what it would feel like to sneak off and kiss Trenton in the moonlight. The mere thought caused swarms of butterflies to whirl wildly about in her tummy.
“Hope you’re all enjoying yourself,” came a male voice over the crowd. Andie glanced up to see it was Don with the mic. Married to Mable, the top chef at the inn, Don had a list of duties—playing DJ, he’d told her when they first met, being his favorite. “Who’s ready for a little harp action tonight, huh?”
The crowd responded with whoops and cheers.
Andie furrowed her brows as she scanned the area for a tall, golden harp. Not that anyone could hide such an instrument. “I don’t see a harp.”
“It’s a slang term for the harmonica,” Trenton explained.
“The management at the Homestead Inn would never ask y’all to do something they wouldn’t do themselves. To prove it, and to encourage you to sign up for an open mic slot, we have a couple of our finest ready to warm up the crowd with their rendition of ‘Orange Man Blues.’ Betty, Trenton,” he said with a wave. “Come on up.”
Already the guests were rearranging themselves in the space. A few on picnic tables spun on the bench to face the action while those at the round tables dragged their chairs until they were front and center.
“Where would you like to sit?” Trenton asked as he came to a stand. He glided his hand along her lower back as he’d done earlier, the pleasant sensation raising goosebumps over her arms.
“She wants to be right up here,” Betty assured with the flick of her head toward the mock stage.
Trenton gave her a questioning glance. She was half-tempted to say she could see from where she sat just fine, but then Andie caught sight of Linda and Billy. The two were close to the waiting barstools. Very close; they’d likely touch feet with whomever took the seats.
“Yes, up front would be good,” Andie decided.
Trenton lifted the chair high over his head as he weaved through the small crowd, then lowered it into place once it was close to the front. But he didn’t walk off right away. Instead, he took hold of her hand as she took a seat, then leaned in to whisper something into her ear.
Andie tuned in to the heavenly feel of his warm breath on her cheek, the smell of his heavenly after shave, and the deep raspy sound of his low, masculine voice as he spoke.
“Don’t sneak away, now,” he said. “You promised me a dance, remember?”
Goosebumps rose along her arms as the tummy flutters picked up once again. “I’ll be right here waiting,” she assured.
Trenton pulled back, set his brown-eyed gaze on her, and flashed her a grin so ridiculously handsome that her heart nearly screeched to a halt.
Betty was already seated before the mic, her high heels propped onto a speaker box of sorts as she cradled the harmonica, or harp, as they’d called it. She handed Trenton a small wooden case as he neared, and he was quick to flick it open and retrieve the instrument.
It was darker beyond the porch now, which only added to the lovely effects of the strung lights and their glowing bulbs. Andie leaned over her lap during the quiet pause, anticipation stirring within her.
The two lifted their harps and gave one another a look. Trenton began a slow and steady tap with his foot. After the third beat, Betty brought her harmonica to her lips and piped out a series of short, introductory riffs. Like the chugs of a train.
The crowd started a slow clap as the bluesy rhythm filled the space. Andie did the same, eyes fixed on Trenton as he swayed, foot still tapping out the beat. At last he cradled his harp with both hands, brought it to his lips, and played along, whaling a peal before breaking into the song’s melody.
Someone whistled out a cat call. A few standing along the outskirts broke into slow sways of their own, hips tipping from one side to the next as the tune played on. The number created a mood, alright. A deep and soulful vibe that had her journeying into a foreign space. One she only hoped to get back to once the night was through.
