He laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “That…I haven’t figured out yet.”
“Josh, it’s midnight. Don’t you think getting a place to stay should’ve been one of the first things you did?” I cross my arms over my chest, but I’m smiling.
He nods, pushing his lips together. “Yeah, probably. I didn’t plan on staying here this long and now it’s late.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. I can’t believe what I’m about to say next.
“You could stay with me,” I offer, eyeing him cautiously. “As long as you didn’t turn into a predator in the past twenty-five years.”
Josh barks out a laugh. “Who, me? You’ve known me since I was in diapers. I should’ve known we’d pick up right where we left off.”
I laugh with him, both of us eyeing each other, years of bottled-up feelings threatening to spill over. I wait for him to speak first. Where we left off was a lot more than…this. At least it was to me.
“Okay,” he says, shaking his head. “If you insist.”
“Well, I’m not going to beg you or anything.” I roll my eyes. “But I also don’t want you sleeping in your car.”
“Oh, I brought my tour bus,” Josh deadpans.
We stare evenly at each other for a beat before I let out a peal of laughter. Then we’re both cackling and wiping tears from our eyes.
After a moment, Josh quiets and holds out an open palm to me. A gesture of unspoken apology. Maybe even an invitation. I slip mine into his, and the shock of his skin against mine is like static—unexpected and electric. I don’t let go, and neither does he.
“Are you still playing music?” he asks.
I push my lips together and shrug. “Sometimes. Just for myself though.” I look down at our locked hands.
“You were supposed to go to Nashville,” Josh says, his voice husky.
“That didn’t work out,” I mutter. “Clearly.”
My chest constricts when I think of all the reasons why it couldn’t have worked out between us.
He chews on his lip. “But you still play.” He says it more like a statement than a question.
I gesture to my ax, leaning against the wall in the corner. “I do. I always bring my guitar to open mic nights, thinking maybe if it’s slow enough, I’ll get up there and play a cover song.” I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Josh scoffs. “It’s slow right now. Get up there and play,” he urges. “I’ll man the bar.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to go check on those guys.” I gesture to three older men who come in weekly.
Josh quirks his eyebrows, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. “They look fine to me,” he says, nudging me with his foot.
My ankle sizzles. Josh is so much like Cara. Both always had the power to make me do anything they wanted. I’m not sure what that says about me, but his encouragement brings me right back to our youth. Memories flood through me and I have to fight back the sting of tears. Tears for the past and everything we both lost. And tears for the present.
“Come on, no one else is coming in here tonight.” Josh glances toward the door. He’s probably right. There are only about ten patrons left in the whole place and most of them are at tables, being taken care of by our closing server Lexi.
Before I can answer, Josh hops off his barstool and heads for the now-empty stage. He takes the mic, and at first, I’m sure he’s going to sit down and play one of his songs. After all, he’sJosh Cotenow—rising country music star. No longer the boy I once fell in love with. Instead, I’m flabbergasted when he speaks.
“Hey everybody, we have a special guest here at The Ugly Mug tonight. She’syourfavorite bartender and mine—your own, Melanie Glick!”
It feels like everyone in the entire restaurant has their eyes on me, and the three older gentlemen in the corner of the bar start clapping and hollering my name. I have no choice but to go up on the tiny platform stage.
I look at my feet the whole walk to my guitar I left leaning in the corner. My palms are slick on the guitar neck, and I’m shaky, like I just downed three espressos. I glare at Josh as I pass, though really it’s myself I’m mad at—for being terrified and yet still wanting to impress him. Josh steps off to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, amusement dancing in his eyes.
I lick my lips, my cheeks burning, and adjust the mic. Then I clear my throat. “I, uh, I haven’t played anything for anyone in areallylong time. But Josh wouldn’t let this go,” I murmur into the mic. A chuckle from the small crowd.Okay, I can do this.
My pulse is racing with stage fright but for the first time, I look up and there isn’t a face in the bar that isn’t turned toward me, smiling. “Let’s see if I remember this one.”
