Page 19 of Art of Love

Chapter Six

As his last song in the hour-long set came to an end, the guests erupted into applause, but he barely heard it. His gaze drifted over the crowd, searching for the one person he wanted to see. His chest tightened slightly when he spotted Dylan sitting quietly near the edge of the large room.

She wasn’t clapping.

She was just watching him.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt like someone was seeing more than just the famous man on stage.

When their eyes locked, he stilled, realizing the sad look in her eyes wasn’t because of his lyrics.

He saw her blink once, twice, then she jumped up and made a beeline towards the doors.

“That’s it for me tonight, but don’t worry,” he said as the crowd booed, “the band still has plenty of songs left in them and will get things moving and shaking.” He set down the guitar. “Kick it up a notch,” he told the guys, and quickly exited the stage.

To avoid the many well-wishers and fans, he sidestepped through the kitchen and exited through the back door, circling around the building in search of Dylan.

He found her sitting on a swing near what appeared to be the smoking area.

“Need a light?” he asked, sitting next to her.

“I don’t smoke. You?” She glanced at him and then set the swing moving.

“Nope.” He sighed and glanced up at the stars. “Nice night.” She remained quiet. “Was I that bad?” he asked, sparing a glance at her.

She stopped the swing and turned towards him, a questioning look on her face.

“You left pretty fast,” he pointed out.

“The room was stuffy.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Right.” He set the swing moving again. “It’s funny, after my third album, I stopped worrying if people would enjoy my new songs.”

Dylan tilted her head slightly, studying him in that way that made him feel like she was peeling back layers he hadn’t even realized he had. “Why?”

He exhaled, watching a cloud shift in front of the moon, dimming its light for a moment. “Because at some point, you stop chasing approval. You realize you’ll never please everyone, so you stop trying.” He shrugged. “I wrote that new song for them.” He nodded towards the reception, where the sound of laughter and music still drifted through the night. “But if they’d hated it, I wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before shifting her focus back to the sky. “That’s an interesting way of looking at things.”

Abe shrugged. “You don’t agree?”

She gave him a half shrug. “I think people tell themselves they don’t care what others think, but deep down, everyone does. At least a little.”

“Even you?” he challenged.

Her lips quirked, and she shrugged slightly, but she didn’t answer.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of the wedding festivities. The night air was cool, carrying the salty scent of the ocean.

He glanced at her, the way the wind teased a loose strand of hair across her face, the way she sat calm, collected, unreadable. She intrigued him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“I may not really care what others think about my set, but I really want to know what you think,” he admitted

She hesitated, as if weighing her words. “Everyone seemed to enjoy it.”

He grinned. “That’s not an answer.”

She sighed. “Fine. It was good.” She gave him a side-eye. “Very good.”