Later in the evening, the live auction kicks off.
DeShawn ends up bidding a ridiculous amount for a lunch with a famous author “to impress a girl.” Lucas wins a signed guitar from a blues legend. Someone in the back wins the one-on-one songwriting session with me—which, apparently, I agreed to.
But the real highlight?
The original blueprints for the 1897 Carnegie Library branch, hand-restored and framed.
Bidding starts modestly. Then doubles. Then climbs again.
I watch Nora light up as the final bid closes at triple what she expected.
When she turns to me, eyes shining, I lean down and murmur, “You did this.”
“No, we did.”
She’s wrong, though. I was just the amplifier. She’s the music.
***
The buzz from the night still hums in my bones.
We’re back at Nora’s place—her shoes kicked off, the faint scent of vanilla tea in the air. The charity gala wrapped hours ago, but I’m still in my shirt and slacks, jacket draped over a chair, tie long gone. My fingers drum idly on the countertop, too wired to sit, too full to eat, too stunned to sleep.
Because we did it.
The event didn’t just go well—it crushed.
I’d seen the numbers before we left. Between ticket sales, the silent auction, the donations from our label and a few well-timed surprise pledges afterStorm & Silenceplayed their acoustic set, the total shotpast expectations. Enough to restore the roof, modernize the heating, replace the busted elevator—and then some.
That moment after our set, when Nora ran into my arms backstage—grinning, overwhelmed, gorgeous—I thought: I’d play every dive bar in America again if it meant I got to see her that happy.
I sink into the couch next to her. She leans against my side without hesitation, her head finding its place beneath my jaw like we’ve been doing this for years. My arm wraps around her instinctively.
“You were amazing tonight,” I tell her.
“I didn’t trip over the podium, so that’s a win.”
I reach for her hand, twining our fingers together. “No, I mean it. You shined. The whole city saw it.”
She lets out a disbelieving huff. “Please. You guys are the reason it made headlines.”
“We added noise,” I say, brushing her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “You gave it heart.”
She looks up at me—eyes warm, full of something I can’t quite name but feel all the way down to my bones. “The library’s getting its roof. The heating system. The tech center. All of it.”
“Damn right it is.” I grin. “You saved the roof. Librarians with capes and all that.”
She laughs softly, curling closer. “And rockstars in leather, apparently.”
I pause, let the silence stretch.
“You know,” I say, “I’ve done a lot of shows. Big ones. Wild ones. But I’ve never felt more proud of what we did up there than tonight.”
We saved a roof tonight.
But somehow, I think she saved something in me too.
29
