Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
As I walk up to Shannon’s, I pull my hair into a hasty ponytail. I’m a little late again, but this time, I just dawdled, not in the mood to go to work on a busy Saturday. Standing in front of the doors, I notice a big flyer hanging there, announcing a poetry slam happening tonight.
My brows furrow in confusion.
I’m sorry, what?
Shaking my head, I push open the door and step inside, where I find Tim and Mac rearranging boxes from the sound system, placing them next to a little stage that has miraculously appeared on the side of the restaurant. The tables are all lined up on the opposite side, creating some space.
I’m still taking everything in when Tally approaches with a smile, her eyes sparkling excitedly. “How do you think it’s looking, Sloan?” she asks, seemingly oblivious to my confusion.
I raise an eyebrow and look around. “What’s going on here?”
Tally chuckles. “You didn’t know? We’re hosting a poetry slam tonight,” she announces with a mischievous grin. “Did I forget to tell you?”
I frown at her, making her grin even broader. “Seems like it.”
Something’s up.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, but her face says everything except that she’s sorry.
What is she scheming again?
“It’s okay,” I say slowly, feeling anxious. “What do you need me to do?”
Tally shakes her head, her smile never fading. “Don’t worry, it will be fun! We’re only serving drinks tonight, so no kitchen service. We’ll put some crackers and snacks on the tables. Could you help me with that?”
I nod and follow Tally as we set up the tables. As the evening progresses, people start to fill the restaurant, taking their seats at the tables, and more keep pouring in, leaving them to stand along the walls. It’s a much larger turnout than I anticipated.
Where are all these people coming from?
At least two ghosts came in with them. I can tell by the chill running down my neck, but I do what I have been doing for the last year with ghosts I encountered during my everyday life.
Ignore them.
A guy I’ve never seen before steps onto the makeshift stage and announces, “Welcome to the first Lubec poetry slam! I’m thrilled to see so many faces here tonight.”
I watch from my position near the kitchen, still stunned at what is happening here. Glancing around, I spot some familiar faces in the crowd, including North, Hunter, and Lio, who are all standing near the entrance. But there is no sign of Nash.
Why would he, of all people, miss a poetry slam happening in his town?
Maybe because he’s still wrapped up in someone’s sheets.
Hunter catches me looking at them and waves with a smile, breaking me out of my thoughts.
Sure, I’m one to talk, having called one of his brothers to share my bed and kissing him.
This morning, I woke up wrapped in Hunter’s arms, his lips on my forehead, when we both were woken by North calling him.
He wanted to know where Hunter was since he needed him to be home to watch Lio when he came over for our run.
Hunter held the phone so close to me that I heard North asking, so I told him I would skip our run today, feeling too cozy to do anything but go back to sleep for a bit longer.
North was silent for a moment before he apologized for disturbing us and hung up, but there was a hint of hurt in his voice.
This whole thing is getting more complicated by the second.
But when my eyes find North in the crowd and see he’s already watching me, the side of his lip rises in a slight smile, alleviating some of the guilt I’ve felt since this morning.
He’s not mad.
Why am I feeling guilty for not going on our run?
Fuck if I know.
The first participant of the slam takes the stage, reading what he has prepared for tonight. The poems Nash wrote for me are better, though.
As the evening continues, I find myself busy serving beers and sodas to the tables while one participant after another takes the stage.
Some are incredibly talented, capturing the audience’s attention with their powerful words and emotions.
Others, however, are less impressive, and I have to stifle a laugh or two at their attempts.
Saylor would have loved this, laughing his ass off at the cringy lines.
After what feels like an hour, I make my way to Lio with an apple juice, having noticed he’s looking a little droopy.
His eyes light up when he sees me, and North, standing behind him with a hand on Lio’s shoulder, looks at me with a mixture of emotion and longing that makes my heart race and me run back to the kitchen.
Too much to unpack there for the evening.
The moderator, who has been talking between the performances, takes the stage again and announces that the last participant is about to speak.
I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that it’s already over.
It was fun, something else, and I understand why Nash likes to go to these things so much.
I stand near the kitchen with my arms crossed, watching the speaker talk as Mac suddenly grabs my shoulders and gently pushes me toward the stage.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at him in protest, but he smiles and ignores me, walking us in front of the stage, where Tim is waiting with an empty chair. Mac pushes me to sit on it, placed front and center.
Oh my God.
Anxiety courses through me as I realize that all eyes are on me now.
I’m not used to being the center of attention, and I’m ready to bolt.
But before I can move, Tim leans in and whispers in my ear, “Don’t you dare.
I’ll come after you and drag you back here.
Nash worked his ass off for this, and the least you can do is listen. ”
I look at Tim with wide eyes, and he winks before positioning himself behind me, ready to pull me back if I attempt to escape.
The moderator chuckles from the stage, having watched my struggle.
“Now, let’s welcome the person responsible for tonight’s event.
We all know him. We all love him, some more than the others…
” he winks, and some of the women in the back start to giggle, making my stomach clench, “… but we have never heard his words before since he played coy. Not anymore! He has something to say, so please welcome Nash Jones, everybody.”
Nash emerges from the crowd, making his way to the small stage as everybody starts to clap, everybody but me, too perplexed to do anything but gape at him.
He looks as handsome as ever in his black jeans and a dark red sweater, his eyes locking onto mine the moment he steps in front of me on the stage.
My hands grip the side of the chair tightly as a slight tremor washes over my body.
What is happening?
Nash clears his throat, his gaze never leaving mine, and he begins, his voice and hands a little shaky on the microphone.
“Thank you all for being here tonight, for making the long trip from the city to our little town. Like I told you guys, I need to tell the woman of my dreams something, the woman sitting in front of me right now. I need to scream it from the rooftops if I’m honest. But since that’s not my style…
” Tim and some others chuckle behind me, and Nash’s voice is warm and filled with emotion as he continues, “I wrote these words for her, and tonight, I want to share them with all of you. So everybody knows. Especially her.”
As Nash begins, his voice is firm again, but I can hear the raw emotion. It’s as if he’s baring his soul, and his eyes never leave mine.
“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,
Played enough poker to recognize a queen.
You’ve glimpsed heaven without dying, tamed Satan without trying,
In your presence, my heart’s flying, defying.
As your hero, I'll don the cape, Prince Charming to the rescue,
But what you haven't grasped, it's my heart you've quietly withdrew.
Words escape me now, a surprise for one so word-wise,
With verbs, nouns, and similes, I usually devise.
What's happening, I can't surmise.
Yet, by your side, my eloquence dies.
It's likely true, if I share my heart, you'll think I've lost my head,
How can I explain this to a woman I’ve just met?
I don’t know if it’s your coconut skin, or the way you carry yourself with such style and grace,
or that smile. That smile can light up the darkest of days.
I was a charmer, playing hearts like a card,
But now I’m a ship, anchored, no longer sailing far.
For I found my North Star in the midst of the night,
No more games to play, as you’re my guiding light.“
My nose is burning, and my eyes are brimming with tears as he finishes. The room falls silent, and my heart beats loudly in my ears, my hands damp with sweat.
I’m speechless, fucking speechless.
“Sloan…” Nash continues, “… from the moment I met you, my world shifted. You’ve become my muse, my inspiration, my friend, my anchor, and so much more. I needed everyone to know how much you mean to me.”
He steps back from the mic and jumps off the stage, standing in front of me, reaching out a hand to grip mine, pulling me to my feet.
My nerves almost get the better of me when my legs shake slightly.
“I love you, Sloan Wilson,” Nash confesses, and butterflies flutter in my chest. “There will never be anybody else again.”
His hand comes to cup the back of my head under my ponytail and pulls me closer to him, kissing me. I freeze for a second before sliding my arms up around his neck, pulling him even closer, and the crowd goes wild with hoots and cheers, making Nash grin against my lips.
“Come on,” he whispers, breaking away and grabbing my hand, leading me to the exit. “Night, guys,” he yells, making everyone laugh and cheer.
The moderator returns to the mic, announcing, “Well, if that didn’t go well—” before getting cut off by the door shutting behind us.
Instead of pulling me forward, Nash turns and presses me against the wall beside the restaurant’s doors, kissing me some more. It’s like the first time as he tastes and savors me, and my head is spinning with thoughts, but I can’t seem to grasp one, drowning in his ocean scent and skillful touch.
“Nash,” I start when he lets me come up for breath while he kisses down the side of my face.
“Shh, Siren.” He finds my ear, whispering, “Don’t tell me no yet. There’s more.”