Chapter 17
DASH
Iordered us drinks at the bar. Something sweet and fruity for her, whiskey neat for me. We found a corner table where we could still see the stage but weren’t quite in the thick of the crowd. Krista was glowing.
Her cheeks were flushed, whether from the heat of the cafe or from watching me make an absolute fool of myself, I didn’t know. But she looked beautiful. I had to reexamine my definition of the word. My whole life, I’d thought I knew what beautiful was, but now I knew I was wrong.
She was beautiful.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she said.
“I told you I would.”
“You really went for it.”
“I’m a Blackwell. We don’t half-ass anything.”
She laughed and I realized I would run through a brick wall to hear that sound again. I was in trouble.
A group of women approached our table. They were the same ones who’d been cheering from the bar earlier. One of them, a brunette in a tight dress, leaned in close.
“You have to sing again,” she said in a French accent. “You were amazing.”
“I was terrible,” I corrected.
“We’ll cheer you on,” she said.
I glanced at Krista. She was watching with a small smile. “Go for it,” she said.
“Alright,” I said, standing up. “One more.”
The women cheered and followed me back toward the stage. I could feel Krista’s eyes on me as I requested my song from the DJ. Elvis. If it worked for Briggs, maybe it would work for me too.
The opening notes of “Hound Dog” filled the cafe. I grabbed the microphone with both hands.
I gave it everything. Every ridiculous hip swivel and exaggerated gesture. I channeled every Elvis impersonator I’d ever seen and cranked it up to eleven. The cafe went wild. People were dancing, laughing, and singing along. The women from earlier were practically screaming.
But I only cared about one person’s reaction.
Krista stood out in the crowd. She had her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter. That was all I needed. I finished the song with a final dramatic flourish, dropped to one knee, and pointed directly at her for the last note.
The place erupted. I handed back the microphone and made my way through the crowd, ignoring the hands trying to grab me, the numbers being offered on napkins. I only had eyes for the woman in the corner who was still laughing so hard she had tears streaming down her face.
“You’re insane,” she said when I reached her.
“You love it.”
“I really do.” She wiped at her eyes. “I don’t even have words. Elvis is probably rolling over in his grave.”
I grabbed my whiskey and finished it in one swallow, feeling the burn all the way down. I was buzzing now, from the alcohol and the performance and the way Krista was looking at me like I’d just hung the moon.
“Your turn,” I said.
“No way.”
“Come on. I sang twice. You owe me.”
She bit her lip, and I could see her wavering. “I can’t.”
“You can. And I’ll make you a deal.” I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “If you’re really that awful, I’ll make a scene. I’ll cause such a massive distraction that you can flee and never see anyone here again. I’ll knock over tables if I have to. Start a conga line. Whatever it takes.”
She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “You’d do that?”
“Without hesitation.”
A smile broke across her face. I felt like I was floating. Maybe she wasn’t as impenetrable as I’d thought. Maybe beneath all that armor was someone who wanted to be seen.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “But you pick the song. I can’t handle that responsibility.”
I walked with her to the DJ booth and scrolled through the available songs.
I needed something that wouldn’t be too challenging, something that would let her ease into it.
My eyes landed on a title I recognized from childhood, something my mother used to play on repeat during Sunday morning breakfasts.
“This one,” I said, pointing to “Torn” by Natalie Imbruglia.
Krista nodded in approval. The DJ queued it up. I squeezed her hand once before she took the stage.
The cafe was still buzzing with energy from my performance, people talking and laughing. As Krista stepped up to the microphone, all eyes in the room were drawn to her. She stood there for a moment, clutching the mic with both hands, and the room gradually fell quiet.
The acoustic opening started, soft and gentle. Krista closed her eyes, took a breath, and began to sing. I nearly fell off my chair.
What the fuck?
Her voice was incredible. Not just good. Incredible. Rich and powerful and achingly vulnerable all at once. Every note was perfect, like she’d been born to do this. The entire cafe fell into a stunned hush, everyone captivated by the sound filling the speakers.
Karaoke was all about being silly and bad but Krista was neither of those things.
And it wasn’t just her voice. All that rigid military posture had melted away. She swayed slightly with the music, her eyes closed, and she was completely lost in the moment. This was not the woman I met a few days ago. This was someone soft and open and breathtakingly beautiful.
I watched her, unable to look away or even blink.
I saw her in a way I’d never seen anyone before.
Not as a conquest or a challenge or even just a beautiful woman.
I saw her as someone complex and real. I wanted more.
I wanted to know every version of her. The soldier and the singer.
I wanted to peel back every layer until I understood exactly who Krista Hedley was beneath all that armor.
When she hit the chorus, her voice soared. Several people in the cafe had their phones out, recording. A couple of women were crying. The bartender had stopped pouring drinks to watch. No one was talking. She had their full attention.
I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anyone before.
The song ended, and for a moment, there was absolute silence. Krista opened her eyes, looking startled, like she’d forgotten where she was. Then the cafe exploded. People were on their feet, cheering, whistling, demanding an encore. The DJ was grinning like he’d just discovered a superstar.
Krista’s eyes found mine across the room.
I saw panic flash across her face. She wasn’t ready for this attention.
I was already moving. I jumped up on the stage, grabbed the microphone, and launched into the most obnoxious rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” that had ever been performed, without any music to accompany me.
I was so off-key it was painful, but it worked. The crowd’s attention shifted from her to me, half of them laughing at my terrible Celine Dion impression, the other half booing.
Krista slipped off the stage and disappeared into the crowd. I kept singing and making a spectacle of myself until I was sure she’d made it safely back to our table. Only then did I mercifully end the song and escape the stage myself.
I found her in the corner, her face buried in her hands.
“You okay?” I asked, sliding into the seat beside her.
She looked up, and her eyes were shining. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding that voice.” I signaled the bartender for another round. “You said your mom sang. You didn’t mention you inherited her talent.”
She smiled. “She was always trying to get me to sing with her.”
“You have a gift.”
She shook her head. “It’s not a gift. It’s just something I used to do.”
“Used to?”
“Before. Before I decided I needed to be taken seriously. Before I became…” She gestured at herself, at the practical clothes and severe hairstyle. “This.”
“This is pretty incredible too.”
She looked up at me from across the table with wet eyes. I felt something crack open in my chest. It was so unfamiliar it took me a second to process the feeling. It wasn’t the pull of attraction or the heat of wanting someone. This was different. Deeper.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
She laughed, clearly embarrassed. She pressed her fingers under her eyes. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m just checking in with you.”
“You’re looking at me like that.” She shook her head.
“Like what?”
Krista didn’t answer with words. She leaned in and kissed me. Her hand came up to my jaw and I let her take what she wanted. She controlled the tempo in that moment.
When she pulled back, her eyes were still glassy.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what? You did all the work.”
“For pushing me to do that.” Her voice was steady but she was smiling and crying at the same time. “It’s been so long since I sang. So long.” She shook her head slowly like she was still processing it. “I haven’t felt that close to her in over a decade. You picked the perfect song.”
“I have to say, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Krista shook her head. “They’re happy tears. I don’t know how to explain it. It was like she was right there. Like she was listening.” She pressed her lips together. “You gave me that. Thank you.”
She sipped her drink and slowly pulled herself back together.
In my life, people thanked me for things constantly.
For picking up the tab. For getting the table.
For knowing the right person or making the right call or showing up to a party and making it worth attending.
Thank you, Dash, you’re the best, you’re so fun, what would we do without you?
I’d heard it a thousand times and it rarely ever meant anything.
Her gratitude meant everything.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “I’m glad I could be here to share this moment with you.”
She wiped her eyes one more time and straightened up, pulling herself back together. But the armor didn’t go all the way back on. Her shoulders stayed soft. She looked at me differently now. I knew I was looking at her differently too. It was like I was seeing a totally different woman.
“We should go,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Unless you want to sing again,” she said with a laugh.
“I don’t know if my adoring fanbase can tolerate a third performance.” I smiled. “And I’m not topping my Celine Dion.”
She popped her lower lip in the prettiest pout ever. “I was hoping for some Justin Bieber.”
“That’s blasphemy.”
“John Fogerty?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“CCR!” She slapped a hand over her chest. “You need a music education.”
“I’m your willing student.”
I tossed enough cash on the table to cover the drinks twice over.
We made our way out of the cafe. I put my hand in the small of Krista’s back to guide her through the crowd.
She didn’t move away from it. That felt important.
I didn’t think she would ever let a man guide her anywhere—but she was letting me.
Outside, it was still warm. She bumped her shoulder against mine. I caught her hand and she let me keep it.
We didn’t talk much on the walk back. There wasn’t a lot that needed saying. Our fingers stayed loosely threaded together as we walked. I was aware of every point of contact. I didn’t know what she wanted, but I knew what I wanted.
By the time the hotel came into view, the tension between us had shifted into something charged. I was no longer wondering what she wanted. I felt it. Her hand squeezed mine just a little tighter when we stepped into the elevator.
The doors opened on our floor.
We held hands as we walked down the hall. My door was first. I paused, not dropping her hand. It was a silent question.
She stopped and turned to look up at me. There was an entire conversation that happened in that single look. She just reached out and grabbed the front of my shirt.
“Don’t say a word,” she murmured.