Chapter 1
STELLA
I close my eyes, pulling in a long, deep breath. A burst of orange behind my eyelids signals the spotlight hitting me. I’ve timed it perfectly, my eyes flying open the second the light hits me and I open my mouth to sing.
“You’re no good for me.” The words roll from my tongue just as they have a hundred times before. The sultry tone comes natural to me; having a bit of a lower register as a woman comes in handy as a lounge singer at Freddy’s Jazz Bar.
I let the music consume me, the slow thump of Terrance’s upright bass keeping time with Julio’s muted trumpet as Clyde tickles the ivories. I smile over at him as the song picks up, his head bopping along with his fingers as he smiles back at me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the beautiful Miss Stella Porter,” Clyde’s smooth voice says into his microphone, a few claps echoing through the room. I smile, giving a small bow before launching into my second song. My eyes scan the room but I already know what I’ll find—the same four men that are always here sitting in their regular spots. My fingertips gently slide up the microphone stand, my body swaying with the music.
Oh, Mr. Ozanski brought a date tonight. Must be the woman he was telling me about last week.
The older woman next to him leans against his shoulder, her head listing to one side as she enjoys the music. The smile on his face that looks like he slept with a hanger in his mouth tells me that he’s in heaven right now.
My eyes continue to scan the room. Mr. Percy is sipping his old fashioned that he nurses every single Thursday night. Jack Aiden is probably on his fourth whiskey of the night already, sitting in the front seat, his glassy eyes staring up at me like they always do.
And then my eyes spot him. The mysterious man who sits perfectly out of my view, obstructed by the bright light staring back at me. His silhouette barely visible, my eyes drop down to the only thing they can make out—a pair of expensive-looking shoes.
This is my happy place. It’s a hole-in-the-wall, but for the last two years, it’s been my escape. The place I can lose myself for a night and forget that come tomorrow morning, I’ll be back at my full-time job. Shift manager at a coffee shop isn’t a bad gig but it’s not exactly my dream of being a full-time singer. The problem, this establishment isn’t exactly upscale or inviting so living off tips from the “regulars” isn’t going to cut it and the owner, Freddy, has a penchant for inappropriate advances that have become so overt I’m questioning how much longer I can continue to work here.
The song ends and Clyde walks up onstage to kiss my cheek and hand me a rose, the same thing he does every single night I sing. I glance past the light, lifting my hand to shield my eyes as I try and catch a glimpse of the mysterious stranger who’s been attending my performances for the last few months, but it’s no use; he’s already gone.
“You look beautiful tonight.” His whiskers scratch my cheek, the smell of stale smoke on his lips.
“Thank you.” I hug him a little tighter. Clyde took me under his wing the night I auditioned to sing at Freddy’s. I don’t know if he could sense my loneliness at the time, but the two of us became friends almost instantly. Since then, he’s become like a grandfather to me. “How’s Violet doing?”
“Oh, she’s perfect.” He smiles, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone and show me the latest round of photos of his first great-grandbaby. “She is my pride and joy,” he coos, looking at the phone screen. You can see the love he has for her in the way he stares at the photos. “You know she just started tummy time this week.”
“She is just so darling.” My hand rests softly against my chest as I flip through the photos. Her cherubic cheeks practically make her eyes nonexistent in some of them, her toothless smile taking over her face.
“Your time’s a’comin pretty soon.” He bumps my elbow. “You’re not gettin’ any younger, Miss Porter.”
“Soon?” I laugh, tossing my arm around his shoulders as we walk off the stage together. “I just turned twenty-four. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not even thinking about babies for another ten years.”
“Ten years! I might not be around that long, sweetheart.”
“Oh please, you’re a spring chicken. You’re the youngest seventy-one-year-old I know.” I reach down and pull off my high heels, tossing them onto the floor of the run-down break room. I plop down onto the pale-blue couch that’s littered with stains, a thought I push from my head as I massage my foot.
“You just wait; you’ll meet Mr. Wonderful someday and all of that will change.” He pats my knee, his eyes growing a touch glassy. “And I can’t wait to see that day. You deserve to be happy and loved, young lady.”
My hand settles over his and I give it a squeeze, unsure what to say because I’ve never allowed myself to have that daydream, and even though I’ve never said it out loud, Clyde knows. I’ve shared bits and pieces of my life with him, but he’s never pressured me to even if he was curious.
“The past is the past, Stella. You don’t live there anymore and it doesn’t define you—and neither does how you were raised. What matters is who you are now.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him at the time that I wasn’t raised by anyone, unless you count my parents bringing me home from the hospital only to have Child Protective Services take me away less than six months later.
Survival was the only thing on my mind when I was passed from home to home, with some distant relatives, some complete strangers. I felt like a broken heirloom that was relegated to the fringes of these people’s lives, passed down over the years until finally someone realized that I was no longer just an inanimate object they could ignore; I was now a burden. So at sixteen, I had enough. I packed the few items I had into a garbage bag and ran away from my small town in Indiana to Chicago—never looking back.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” He cocks his head at me. “Have you seen that guy who’s been coming in the last several months? He always sits near the spotlight in the back.”
He furrows his brow. “I have. Nice man, quiet.”
“Who is he?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know much about him, just said hello in passing. Rich men like that don’t usually come to Freddy’s, at least not anymore.”
“How do you know he’s rich?”
“The suit he wore was bespoke, tailored for him. My daddy was a tailor for forty-three years, only a few places left in Chicago that make a suit that fine.”
I guess my assumption about his shoes was spot-on.
“Why do you ask? Got a crush on the gentleman?” His scratchy laugh makes me giggle as well.
“No, I’ve never even seen his face.” I playfully push against Clyde but my smile falters the second Freddy rounds the corner into the break room, his signature smarmy grin in place already.
“Evening. You two seem awfully chummy tonight.”
“Evening, Mr. Freddy,” Clyde nods toward him before placing his hands on his knees and slowly standing up from the couch. “We’re just having a good time is all.” He pats Freddy on the shoulder twice before exiting the room, tossing me a wink over his shoulder before disappearing.
“Stella.” His grin widens, making my skin crawl as he takes a step toward the couch. I stand up abruptly, afraid he’s going to sit next to me, but he holds out his hand to stop me. “Please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing toward the couch. I sink back down slowly just as he reaches over and closes the door behind him.
My throat constricts, my chest tightening in anxiety as he closes the distance between us, taking a seat next to me.
“Yes, Mr. White?” I keep my voice steady, not wanting him to sense my discomfort. Freddy is exactly the kind of guy you’d expect to own a dive bar—greasy, pudgy, and balding, with the audacity of a man who looks like Jason Momoa. If my creep-o-meter didn’t give him away, his brazen gawking at my breasts every time he’s within a hundred feet of me did. “What can I do for you?”
“That’s a loaded question.” His smile turns sinister, showing his crooked yellow teeth. I don’t respond and his smile falters as he clears his throat. “Look, kid, we both know you’re the star attraction for this place and now that my dearest granny finally kicked it, I can get moving on my plans to turn this place into a fancy establishment and start making some real money.”
My stomach churns at his callousness. “Meaning?”
“Meaning out with the old and in with the new. Tonight is Clyde’s last night, all of them actually. We need some young sexy blood in this place.”
“His last night?” I shoot toward the edge of the couch, then to my feet. “You fired him?”
“Yeah, the entire band. Look it’s not personal, it’s business. They’re old and tired. Nobody wants to look at a bunch of decrepit old men all night. We need some fresh young meat in here.”
The way he keeps referring to it as blood and meat makes my stomach churn even more. “We’re not commodities, Freddy. This place is Clyde’s life. He’s played here for two decades and you’re just going to take that away from him?”
“I don’t know why you’ve got your panties all up in a bunch; you’re not fired.” He hoists himself up from the couch, tugging his pants back up under his belly. He points his fat finger in my face. “And you, of all people, should be fucking grateful because I’m about to make you a very rich girl.”
“I’m not a girl.” I grit the words between my teeth, my fingers balling into fists at my sides. “I’m a grown-ass woman, Freddy.”
His eyes drop down my body slowly. “Yes, you are.” He leers. “And you should start dressing more like it.” He turns toward the door. “I want you here four nights a week and start dressing sluttier. Show your tits more. It’s time we bring in the big fish.” He sticks his tongue out, wriggling it at me before laughing maniacally as he walks down the dark hallway.
Tears prick my eyes as my chest burns. I picture Clyde’s weathered face, his bright smile and the way his eyes light up when he plays. I can’t let this happen, but I don’t know what to do to stop it.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Matilda, my coworker who quickly became a best friend after only a few weeks of working here, looks over at me as she steams some milk.
“Yeah.” I smile at her reassuringly. “I’m fine.” I’ve said the same phrase five times this morning, not only trying to convince her but myself as well. “Just a long night at Freddy’s.”
“Oh, speaking of, I was actually planning on coming by next week. It’s been forever since I’ve heard you sing and my little sis, Chloe, who you met last Christmas, is staying with me for the weekend and she’s dying to see you. I told her we should do a girls’ night to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.”
“That sounds great.” I try to be enthusiastic but the gravity of last night weighs on me. “How is Chloe doing? About to graduate, I assume?”
“Yup, she has one more semester left, then she plans to move up to Chicago with me. Since I’ll be starting my clinical rotations soon and no longer able to work part-time, it’ll be so nice to have someone else help with the bills.”
I nod, grabbing a large bag of coffee beans and pouring them into the grinder as the morning rush continues. Pushing another not so fun thought from my head that my closest friend and favorite coworker is about to be quitting.
“I’ll be right with you,” I say with a touch of frustration in my voice when I hear a customer tap the bell on the counter. I grab another massive bag of beans that’s probably over half my weight and drag it over to the other grinder. “I thought closing shift was supposed to handle these,” I mutter.
“I got it,” Matilda says as she scurries up to the counter from the espresso machine. “Good morning, what can I get for you today, sir?”
I stand back up too quickly, dizziness making me unsteady. I grab the edge of the counter and close my eyes for a second when I hear a deliciously deep familiar voice.
“Coffee, black,” he says sharply.
My hands dart up frantically, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from my upper lip and shoving my wild hairs that have fallen from my braid back into place. I turn around, keeping my eyes cast down so I don’t meet his gaze. My stomach coils tightly, just like it does every Friday when he comes in.
“Good morning.” I don’t have to look at him to know he’s speaking to me; I can feel his gaze on me. Every Friday, it’s the same thing… I pretend to be busy while he watches me until eventually he catches my eyesight and my face flushes and my stomach flip-flops.
“Good morning.” I smile, the words sounding rushed and way more chipper than I intend. I grab a towel and busy myself with cleaning off the counter before calling out the last two orders that are still sitting at the pickup area.
I don’t know a single thing about this mysterious man, not even his name… I take that back; I know his coffee order. After seeing him every single Friday for the last nine months or so, I can still barely bring myself to make eye contact with him.
“So, how’s your Friday going?” Matilda asks the man as I pour his coffee. “Got any fun date plans tonight?”
My face flames at Matilda’s overt attempts to find out if this man is single. Last Friday she asked him if he was taking his wife out for dinner. Somewhere along the way, Matilda decided this man has a thing for me and she’s determined to find out why he hasn’t asked me out.
“Date plans?” he says slowly, repeating the words back to her like he doesn’t know what they mean. His eyes burrow into me as I try to remain focused on not spilling his scalding coffee. I finish, turning to grab a lid, and my eyes finally meet his just as he replies to her question. “Afraid not.”
The lid snaps into place and Matilda grabs it from me with a coffee sleeve already in her hand. She slides it onto the cup and plasters a huge grin on her face.
“Coffee, black,” she says, handing it to him. “Well, date or not, TGIF.”
“TGIF,” he says, lifting the coffee toward us before turning to head toward the door.
“Hi, welcome in. What can I get you today?” I step up to the register after he’s left, an instant wave of relief washing over me.
“So, no wife,” Matilda whispers as she steps around me to start making a latte for the woman at my register.
“That’ll be six fifteen.” The woman taps her card and steps away from the counter.
“And no girlfriend.”
“He didn’t say he didn’t have a girlfriend,” I correct.
“He said he didn’t have plans. ‘ Afraid not ,’” she repeats his answer back to me. “That means he wishes he did, so obviously single.”
“What about a boyfriend?”
“What is with you? This man is out of this world sexy and he’s clearly attracted to you.” She props her hand on her hip, her question certainly not a rhetorical one.
“I’m just saying it’s not out of the question.”
“It’s not, but trust me, he’s into you.”
“Into me? Matilda, he comes here and orders coffee from us once a week. I think you might be reading into things in this situation.”
She gives me that look. “You know damn well that he doesn’t just come here for coffee. Please. The way he looks at you.” She fans herself and I roll my eyes. “What? You seriously wouldn’t go out with him?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” I try to hide my exasperation but it’s too late, the weight of what Freddy told me last night weighing on me. This silly conversation with Matilda just feels so unimportant to me in this moment I feel like I’m going to cry. I’m so overwhelmed at the thought of how I’m going to make working there four nights a week work when I don’t get home till after one in the morning and have to open the coffee shop at six.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, it’s just?—”
“Grande toffee latte,” Matilda calls out, placing the cup on the counter and turning back to face me.
“I think I’m done singing at Freddy’s.” My shoulders drop, my chin quivering.
“What? Why?” She glances over her shoulder to double-check there are no customers in line before grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the back. “What happened?” Her arms cross over her chest, her chin jutting out like she’s ready to fight someone for me.
“He’s firing Clyde and the entire band.” I shake my head, choking back tears, but it’s no use. A giant one rolls right down my cheek to the floor. To most people, this would just be a simple inconvenience or maybe a small bump in the road, but Matilda knows what this singing job means to me, what Clyde and Terrance and Julio mean to me. “They’re my fa—family.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She pulls me into an embrace, her long arms wrapping around my short frame so tightly. “I’m so sorry. Why now?”
“Because Freddy is a piece of shit. His grandma died and left him some money so he wants younger talent which I get, but this is a jazz bar and these guys are legends. This is their life.”
“And your life,” she says, grabbing my shoulders. “Listen to me. You tell that asshole that unless he brings back Clyde and the rest of the band, you’re not singing. Or go to a better club.” She gives me that look, the same one she’s been giving me for over a year whenever I talk about Freddy’s. “I know you don’t want to entertain the thought, but you can still see Clyde and sing at another club, a better, safer one that isn’t run by a fucking goon.”
“I know.” I squeeze her hands, not wanting to try to explain again to her that it’s not just about a better club or more money; it’s about singing with these guys who have become my friends. And it’s about my long-term plan to own Freddy’s. I don’t have a clue how, when I barely make enough to pay my bills now, but someday, I’m going to buy Freddy’s and restore it to what it used to be.
“I’m sorry if that was harsh,” she apologizes. “I just worry about you there.”
“I know and you’re right, though. I’m just going to tell Freddy that unless he brings back the band, I’m not singing.” I toss my hands in the air with a huge smile, feeling a little silly I didn’t say that the second he told me he was firing them.
“Good. There’s that beautiful smile.” She playfully pinches my cheek. “Now, I have some other good news to tell you.”
“Oh yeah? Good, I need it.”
“Trust me, you really need this.” Her lips curl into a suspicious grin.
“What?”
“I gave him your number—wrote it on the sleeve when you were filling the cup.”
“What?” I say again, laughing in confusion as her comment doesn’t register. “You gave my number to som—” Then I realize who she’s referring to.
“Mr. TGIF.”