“I’m not singing karaoke.”
“You’re always so serious. Live a little.”
“I recently rode a mechanical bull. I’ve lived plenty for one week.”
But then Wyatt’s name starts being chanted, and he good-naturedly climbs up on the small stage area we’ve cleared out. He picks some country song I don’t know, but that everyone else apparently does, because the whole bar is singing along. He’s not a great singer. His pitch is questionable at best, but he’s confident and fun and completely unselfconscious. Watching him, I feel something shift in my chest.
This man. This place. This life.
When did it become so easy to imagine staying here forever?
When he finishes to a big round of applause, he comes straight to me at the bar.
“Your turn.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on. You rode the bull. Compared to that, singing karaoke is nothing.”
“Those are actually not equivalent challenges.”
“Scared?” He says it with that small smile that means he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“I’m not scared. I’m just…”
“Scared?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Fine, but you’re doing it with me.”
His eyebrows rise. “A duet?”
“A duet. Take it or leave it.”
He grins. “I’ll take it.”
We end up choosing Islands in the Stream. It’s the only duet in the karaoke catalog that I know most of the words to. Presley cues it up, and Wyatt takes one microphone while I take the other. The opening music starts, and I immediately regret every decision that has led me to this moment.
But then Wyatt starts singing Dolly Parton’s part in this ridiculous falsetto, and I can’t help but laugh.
Suddenly, we’re doing it.
Singing to each other, hamming it up for the crowd, being completely ridiculous and completely free. I’m terrible, and Wyatt is not much better. We’re off-key and laughing through half the lyrics, and neither of us can remember the bridge. But The Rusty Spur loves it. They clap along and cheer us on.
When we get to the chorus, Wyatt pulls me closer, and we’re singing into each other’s faces. His eyes are bright with laughter, and I think this might be the most fun I’ve ever had in my entire life.
The song ends, and the crowd goes wild. Wyatt’s arm is around my waist, and we’re both breathless and grinning like two idiots. And for a moment, we just stand there in the middle of The Rusty Spur looking at each other.
“That was…” I start.
“Amazing?” he suggests.
“I was gonna say humiliating, but sure. Amazing.”
He laughs. “You had fun, though.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Then my work here is done.”
