Chapter 19 #2
“We’re nearly ready for you,” Mei announces, sticking her head around the door.
I offered to set up the stage myself, but she was happy for the chance to do it, so I didn’t argue.
Given it’s only me going up there, it won’t have been much work.
The band was supposed to bring their own equipment, and I’d worried that meant Bowman’s wouldn’t have anything of their own.
I needn’t have been concerned. Shortly after Esther and Thomas left to fetch my guitar, Austin asked me if my guitar was acoustic or acoustic-electric.
A few minutes later he returned from the office with an amp and mic for Mei to set up.
“Thanks,” I reply, but she’s already vanished.
A couple of minutes later, the door opens again. I’m expecting Mei, but without turning around I can tell it’s not her who’s come to fetch me.
“Are you ready?” I hate to admit it, but his deep voice is soothing when he’s not using it to yell at me.
“I’m nervous.” Shit, why did I admit that? Now he’s going to think I’m not up for this.
“Cassie, look at me.” Reluctantly, I turn and lean against the edge of the desk. “May I?” He nods to the space next to me.
“Sure.”
His arm brushes against mine as he settles beside me. He’s warm, probably from all the running around he’s been doing to make sure everyone’s having a good time.
“You don’t have to sing, you know that, right? Shit happens, and everyone out there will understand if I tell them why there’s no live music tonight. This isn’t your responsibility.”
“I know, and I appreciate you saying that, but I owe you one.” I lightly bump my shoulder against his arm.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. It’s been a minute since I performed to a crowd like this, that’s all.
” I usually perform to a crowd of well over ten thousand people who already like my music, and if they don’t enjoy the show, there’s no risk of me running into them while getting coffee the next day.
“It’s packed out there, but everyone’s in good spirits. They’re not a hard bunch to please, I promise.” He smiles, and I’m once again struck by how it softens the harsh angles of his face and brings something calmer to his intense presence. It’s… oddly comforting.
I inhale slowly to settle myself, regretting it the moment Austin’s cologne registers.
His warm, comforting blend of bergamot and cardamom really does smell unfairly good.
Worse, it reminds me of how I woke this morning to find his shirt gripped tightly in my hand.
My cheeks heat. Now is not the time to be thinking about that.
On the bright side, I’m not focused on my nerves anymore.
“Come on, let’s do this,” I say, standing before my thoughts get any more muddled.
All my focus needs to be on performing and trying not to sound like my usual self when I sing.
The second part won’t be hard since I have a much lower range than anyone at the label likes me to explore.
Country princesses are supposed to sound young and sweet.
The last time I brought up wanting to explore more of my vocal range, nobody appreciated me reminding them I’ve not been a teenager for years.
Shaking my head to dispel the negative thoughts and pasting a smile on my face, I open the door, stepping back to wave Austin through first since he’s going to introduce me to the crowd.
“Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for coming out to celebrate with us. Most of you know this bar has been in my family for three generations now. I’m honoured to be taking over from my mum who did a wonderful job caring for this place for so many years.
” A few hoots and cheers sound out around the room.
“Now, some of you heard we’d have a live band tonight.
I’m afraid car trouble means they won’t be joining us, but don’t worry because our very own Cassie is going to share her talent with us tonight instead. Please give her a warm welcome.”
Austin moves his hand in a sweeping gesture, inviting me to join him on stage. Well, it’s less of a stage, more of a raised platform that will accommodate extra tables during the day and on evenings when there’s no entertainment scheduled, but still. Tonight it’s a stage.
The crowd claps and Mei draws my attention by giving a whoop of encouragement from over by the bar. Her wide grin and overenthusiastic thumbs-up make me chuckle, banishing the last of my nerves.
“Good luck,” Austin murmurs, giving my shoulder a light squeeze of encouragement before hopping down from the stage.
I settle onto the tall stool someone—probably Mei—set up for me, plug in my guitar, and adjust the mic to the correct height.
“Hi everyone. I’m Cassie and I’ll be singing for you tonight.
I’ve been told a lot of you are country fans, so let’s start with a classic.
” The familiar chords of a Dolly Parton song come to me with ease.
Some of the crowd go back to their conversations, some sing along, and some, like Austin, watch intently.
As the first song ends and I seamlessly transition into another, I’m filled with a sense of comfort I thought I’d lost forever.
Nobody stands up and shouts “It’s her!”.
Nobody heckles me. Molly looks like someone shoved a lemon wedge in her mouth and made her suck on it, but whatever weird territorial thing she has going on over Austin doesn’t matter.
Nothing does, not while I’m playing. This right here is home.