She shrugged. She wasnotthinking about that. “You know me,” she murmured. “I trust you.” That was true. Reed was one of the good guys. A pillar of the community, widowed early, he’d somehow raised his daughter through high school on his own. He made solo parenting look easy and often had words of wisdom when she needed them.
“Play the way you do for Cora,” he advised. “They’ll eat it up.” He moved to the stage for the transition between the trio and her.
As if this crowd wants a blues-rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”.Then again, if she did that, maybe Willow and the others would ease up on all the talk of performing more often.
Her pride, her own passion for music that she kept under wraps most of the time, wouldn’t let her do such a thing.
The trio bustled by, wishing her luck, as Reed announced her with far more acclaim than she deserved. And then, riding a wave of cheers and applause, she found herself on stage. Her, the guitar, a stool, and the microphone.
She could do this.
Had to do this.
If she ran off or bombed, it would be all over the island by morning. And if she didn’t? Well, that news would also be common knowledge before the Bread Basket sold out of strudel tomorrow.
The only way is through.
One of the phrases Cora’s father used to toss around. Why was she thinking of him now?
Scarlett mustered a smile, aiming it at Charity, the safest face in the crowd. She took a breath. She’d envisioned this moment dozens of times since putting her name on tonight’s list, waffling between offering her own introduction or just launching into the first piece.
As soon as her fingers touched the strings, the decision was made. Music flowed, easy and soft, one note into the next, until she felt cocooned in the melody. Safe from all those folks watching her. Hope surged and excitement swelled. The first song came and went, a glimmer of joy connecting her guitar to her heart.
The applause caught her off guard and when she dared to look at the audience, it was Willow she saw first. Then Charity’s wild cheers registered. Daring to glance beyond her friends, she saw the smiles and felt the wave of approval washing over her.
Heat climbed up the back of her neck and emotion clogged her throat. Thank goodness she wasn’t singing. With a nod of thanks, she started in on her second choice for tonight, a soulful cover of an old Delta blues track.
She needed these twenty minutes where she wasn’t a school administrator or the sharp-edged woman with the funky approach to home decor. A few minutes where she was more than a single mom with a past she didn’t discuss.
She leaned into it, accepting how much she just needed the music.
Shifting into her last piece, something more upbeat, she was grateful that the few rudimentary stage lights blinded her to what had been a full-capacity crowd when she began her set. Maybe when she was done, she’d see only her closest friends remained. If so, she’d be okay with that. Other musicians had chased off paying customers on open-mic nights long before she dared to show up.
Her foot tapped the scuffed oak of the stage as she began a finger-picking melody she’d composed herself, a quirky rambling piece reminiscent of the tide going out over the marsh. The wind in the grass, the shorebirds chasing fish and frogs. As she played, the background chatter stilled and the light seemed to burn brighter. This was the magic of performing that she’d never been able to explain to anyone. She didn’t love the spotlight, but the shared experience music created.
Halfway through, her eyes lowered as she focused on a particularly tricky transition, she felt a shift in the room. It wasn’t a sound, but a presence. Almost like a change in the atmospheric pressure.
For a moment that love, intense and exhilarating, the love that brought Cora into this world flooded her, as real as it had been when she’d lived it.
But Cooper Moss wasn’t here, no matter how her heart yearned for what might’ve been.
She finished the song, letting the last note drift away over the rapt audience.
There. She’d done it. Her friends could leave her alone for a while.
Hugging her guitar close, she took a bow as her friends surged to their feet in a ridiculous standing ovation that rippled through the pub. Their delight was contagious, making her brave, and her gaze swept over the room, picking out familiar faces.
The light changed as Reed dimmed the stage lighting and brought up the house lights a bit. Enough that she could see folks more clearly. And there, standing at the far wall between the last booth and the narrow path between the bar and the kitchen, a man cheered.
She nearly tripped down the steps in her shock.
The tall, lanky frame was unmistakable. He towered over the other patrons nearby. Even in the soft amber glow of the pub, the height and the set of his shoulders acted like a physical blow, stealing her breath. She clutched her guitar, the strings pressing hard into her skin.
It was him. Cooper Moss. Cora’s father.
The light caught the silver at his temples. Different, yet only more appealing. Even from this distance, she felt the weight of his gaze. The intensity made her heart race. Those sea-glass green eyes weren’t just watching her; they were analyzing her, deconstructing the music just the way he used to deconstruct her calculus proofs.
He started moving in her direction, though with the crowd, it would take some time.
