Chapter 3
MELANIE
NOW
As the night wears on, I keep waiting for Josh to wave me over and ask for his check, but he never does.
He settles in, picking at his food and nursing his soda.
I can’t help wondering why he didn’t order a drink, but that’s hardly the only thing I’m curious about.
Every time I sneak a look at him, something catches me—how his hand drums the counter, how he seems settled here, like doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
He looks older, sharper around the edges, but somehow still the boy who used to sit on his porch with a guitar and make me laugh until my stomach hurt.
Around midnight, the crowd in here thins, and I find myself able to breathe a bit. I hover, debating whether I want the solitude of the office closet or the chance to talk to Josh. He’s been here for hours, and even with my check-ins, he doesn’t look like he’s in any rush to leave.
I duck behind the center of the bar where he can’t see me and reapply my lip gloss, sticking a piece of gum in my mouth while I’m at it.
I don’t usually mind these late-night shifts, but I always end up leaving here smelling like food and beer.
I smooth my hair, like that’ll undo hours of grease and fryer smoke clinging to it.
I never cared what anyone thought before—not really—but with Josh, it feels different.
It feels like being seventeen again, waiting for him to notice me.
I can’t help thinking about the way he said goodbye.
Or, rather, didn’t say goodbye. He left me a stupid note in my mailbox.
Didn’t even have the courage to give it to me himself.
I thought we were close and that he’d at least respect me enough to come by and tell me to my face that he was moving.
I was stuck at home with a broken leg. I should be mad at him.
Part of me still is. But watching him now, it’s hard to hold onto it.
He’s here. After all these years, he’s here, and something in me can’t stop wanting to know why.
I let out a sigh. I saunter over to him, hands in my back pockets.
“I thought you’d be heading out by now,” I say, fighting the twitch of my lips.
Josh lifts a brow. “I could say the same for you.” He nods toward the other patrons at the bar. “You’ve been hustling.”
I laugh. “I’ve still got two more hours till we close.” I duck under the bar and pull out the stool next to Josh. Surely, I can sit for a minute. “Ugh, my feet ache.”
“I bet they do,” he says, glancing down and then slowly raking his eyes up the rest of my tired body. “Do you always close?”
“Andrew and I take turns,” I say, resting my head on my hand and peering up at him sideways. “His kid had a track meet tonight, but usually I’m off on Fridays.”
Josh nods in understanding. “Got it.”
“So how long are you in town for?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t give away my desire to see him again.
“Indefinitely.” His lips quirk and he gives me an easy shrug.
“Indefinitely?” I repeat, curiously. “Well, where are you staying?”
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’s Josh Cote now—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’s your favorite 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 a really long 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.”
My hand is shaking as I strum the first chords to an old Dashboard Confessional song Josh has never heard me sing.
It comes back to me, and I remember how to play it in the same way that I remember to breathe.
Second nature. Suddenly, I’m right back there in the Cote’s living room, playing with Josh for the first time.
Halfway through the song, I look toward him.
He’s in the same position, but his blue eyes are piercing straight through me, and I wonder if he’s remembering the first time too.
I force myself to look away. I can’t sing the song to Josh. That would be weird.
When I finish, everyone left in the bar claps and cheers. The men in the corner start shouting “Encore, encore!” to which I roll my eyes and shake my head.
I pull the mic to my mouth murmuring, “This was a one-time gig.” I grin and lean my guitar back against the wall, brushing past Josh with a teasing glance. “I hope you’re happy.”
He follows me back to the bar, perching again on his stool. “Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
I duck back behind the bar and pick up his glass, refilling it with Coke. I set it in front of him and turn to check on my three regulars.
“I can’t believe you’re still here,” I tease them.
“Yeah, well, we can’t believe you can sing and have never gotten up there before.” Carl, the older man in the middle says with a finger wag in my direction.
“I just don’t sing too much anymore,” I say, waving him off and diverting my attention to their empty glasses.
“Didn’t look like that to me,” Bob, the balding grandfather type says.
I decide a change of subject is needed. “You boys ready to go home and go to bed?” I give them a pointed look.
They all laugh. Carl groans with a stretch. “Yeah, let’s cash out boys.”
“I’ll be right back,” I smile and turn toward my kiosk.
It’s nearly one a.m. before the rest of the patrons leave, and Josh and I are the only ones left. “You don’t have to wait for me, I’m going to be at least an hour,” I say cautiously. “Maybe I could give you my key.”
Josh waves his hand. “Naw, I’ll help you. I’ve worked in my fair share of bars. Just tell me what to do.”
I hesitate, bite back a grin, and finally hand him my sticky, laminated closing task checklist and a wet rag. “You can start by wiping down the counters and the bottles back behind the bar.”
Josh cocks his head at me. “You’ll let me back there with you?” There’s a sultriness to his voice that sounds vaguely flirtatious. I force myself to ignore it. Josh couldn’t possibly be interested in me, and I don’t dare let myself hope otherwise.
I roll my eyes, stepping around him. “I’m going to dry storage to get some more bottles for tomorrow.”
Lexi is in the back, perched on a stool, rolling the last of the silverware. Her eyes flick to me and she grins when I push through the door. “Who’s your friend?”
I frown. “I’d hardly call us friends now. We were a long time ago, in high school… He moved away. I haven’t seen him in years.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me—he’s hanging on your every word,” Lexi says with a smirk.
Leave it to the young twenty-something to pick up on everything I don’t.
The truth is, I thought Josh seemed interested, but I don’t want to let myself go there.
All it will do is give me false hope for something that died a long time ago.
“Pshh, he is not. We’re just catching up.”
“What’s his name?” Lexi asks, and it sounds like a challenge.
I whirl on her just as she’s putting her last roll of silverware in the bin and standing.
“Josh Cote,” I say, silently wondering if the name will ring a bell. I head for the walk-in.
Lexi follows me. “Josh Cote?” Her jaw falls slack in disbelief.
I spin around and narrow my eyes at her.
“The country singer?” Lexi asks, her eyes bulging out of her head.
“Maybe?” I push my lips together. Is Josh really that recognizable now? I mean, I know all about him, but for Lexi to know who he is? That’s…unexpected.
“Maybe? Melanie. He’s like…a celebrity. Maybe like a C-lister, but still. Tell me you knew this.” Lexi puts her hands on her hips.
I fumble for words. The truth is, I paid attention to Josh’s career for a long time when he first moved to Nashville. Then I stopped because seeing him follow his dream when I so lacked the courage to follow mine was just too painful. I guess I hadn’t realized just how famous he is.
“I might’ve heard something like that,” I admit, throwing my hands up.
“Jesus, Melanie. You live under a rock.” Lexi spins around to go. “Have a good night,” she calls over her shoulder.
When I walk through the door to the bar a few minutes later, Lexi is getting Josh’s autograph and asking him for a selfie. He happily obliges her, eyeing me from across the bar with a slight upturn of his lips.
It’s another forty-five minutes before Josh and I leave.
He follows me two streets over to my apartment above an antique store.
The building is sky blue and old. The creaky wooden steps that were once painted white are now chipped and splintering, but it’s home.
It’s been home for the past five years. I unlock the front door to the shared foyer space and place my finger to my lips, signaling for Josh to be quiet so as not to disturb my neighbor.
Then I push open the front door to my apartment.
It’s cozy enough with a gray sofa and navy-blue armchair.
A TV sits on a small catty-corner entertainment center.
Beyond that is a dining area and a kitchen to our left.
I head right to the linen closet and pull out a pillow and blanket for Josh. He drops his duffel bag at his feet and kicks off his shoes.
“I’m sorry. This is a two-bedroom, but the second room is now my closet.” I wince as I say it, assuming Josh will think I’m ridiculous.
He chuckles. “All good, I’m fine with the couch.” He sits down on it and hugs the pillow to his chest, inhaling. I have to stop myself from wondering if it’s my scent he’s looking for.
“Okay, well, wake me up if you need anything.” I chew on my lip and fumble with my hands instead of meeting his earnest expression.
“I’ll be just fine. Night, Mel.” He shoots me a reassuring smile.
I return it and turn to go. “Good night, Josh.”
“Sleep well.” I hear him say just as I close my door.
Then
Josh,
Cara was grilling me on the way to school.
She keeps asking what is going on with us and no matter how many times I say NOTHING!
!!! She doesn’t believe me. I don’t know what else to do.
She’s acting kind of mad but saying she’s not, you know her typical huffy passive aggressive way.
Maybe I should just mess with her and tell her we’re banging and see what she says.
Mel
Mel,
Banging…
No, don’t do that. I’ll handle Cara. She’s just being nosy. I doubt she even really cares. I don’t want to stop hanging out.
Josh
PS – Thanks for the visual.