Teaser epilogue
CASSIE
Every time my name slides a space higher on the karaoke lineup, my stomach squeezes a little harder.
I haven’t experienced this kind of performance anxiety since a couple randomly asked me to give a toast at their wedding.
Making an impromptu speech in front of three hundred guests is worthy of a bout of nerves, but karaoke in a bar?
I’m both amused by the stage fright and deeply annoyed with myself.
I want to be here. I willingly put my name in the song queue app an hour ago, along with an ABBA selection I can sing in my sleep. The back room at The Stumpjumper is packed, the crowd joining in with every song. I’ll probably be drowned out from the first “My, my.”
Still. I’m nursing my old fashioned alone at my table for two, wishing I’d invited Rose to join me for some moral support.
This seemed like something I needed to do on my own as I systematically reclaim the things I used to love before Aidan convinced me they were too cringe, beneath me, or even more importantly, beneath him.
But now that I’m here, I could use a friend. I was so focused on belting out a song my ex-husband used to shush me for singing, I forgot how many people get on stage in groups. Even if not everyone up there has a mic, very few are alone like I am.
You know what? It doesn’t matter. The nerves in my stomach can pipe down. I’ve learned about being alone this past year, especially since I moved to Sunshine. I miss my support system in Portland, but it’s liberating to do things on my own. Including channeling those disco-clad Swedes.
I take another sip of my cocktail, leaning to one side as a group of women pass me on their way to the front.
In another minute, they’re singing “Livin’ on a Prayer” like they were alive in the 80s and followed Bon Jovi around on tour.
I bop along, too, lifting my hands and shouting on every Whoa-oh with the rest of the crowd.
When they wrap up, my name ticks up again. Two more songs to go. I can do this.
A figure slides onto the chair across from me, and I’m confronted with my next-door neighbor. I swear the room gets brighter when Nathan Bridger unleashes his mega-watt smile.
“Hey, Cassette Tape.”
I laugh at the nickname he’s adopted for me.
When I moved into the house next to his two months ago, Nathan came over to introduce himself.
We hadn’t done more than exchange first names before one of the moving company employees hefted a box from the van, saw “Cassettes” scrawled on top, and asked me if that was my full name.
To be fair, the guy looked freshly out of high school and has probably never seen a cassette tape in real life.
Reminds me a bit of Nathan, who’s firmly on the young side.
Not firmly, but…well, yeah. He’s that, too.
“Have you been here the whole time?” I ask.
“Yup.” He points at the song queue still pulled up on my phone. “I’m with a couple of my coworkers from the firehouse. We’re Hunka Hunka Burning Love. When I looked over my buddy’s shoulder a few minutes ago and saw ‘Cassie’ on the list, I had to do a lap to see if it was you.”
His white teeth shine. “And here you are. You’re singing?”
I nod, taking another sip of liquid courage. It’s mostly water at this point, but I believe in the power of placebos. “Yeah, but it’s been a while.”
He grins harder, like his only goal in life is to fluster women with what I’ve privately started calling The Dazzler.
That smile is dangerous, and he brandishes it indiscriminately.
His curly dark hair helps nothing, especially the springy lock that falls over his forehead like he’s Superman’s baby brother.
“I bet you’re amazing,” he says.
If he were several years older and not so obviously the town flirt, I might let The Dazzler do its work on me.
But I’m not interested in fun flings that go nowhere.
Along with the I Do What I Want side quests, I’ve set out on a Get Marriage Right This Time mission.
I colossally messed up last time, setting aside everything I wanted to suit someone else’s timetable.
Not to be too blunt, but I want a husband and babies. The dating scene at thirty-three feels an ocean away from when I was twenty-three. This cutie whose default setting is Extreme Flirtation? Adorable, but not my speed anymore. Not sure he ever was.
“What did you choose?” Nathan leans closer so I can hear him over the group of guys getting rowdy with “Friends in Low Places.” His forearm slides on the table to within a millimeter of my hand, heat radiating off him. I swear the hairs on his arms are charged with tiny electric currents.
“ABBA.”
“Awesome.” He glances around. “Are you by yourself?”
“I would have asked Rose, but she’s been occupied lately.”
Fun fact: my new bestie, Rose, is dating Nathan’s older brother.
Well, one of them. He has three. I know because several women in town are trying to set me up with the single ones.
Mostly, they mention the oldest—Luke, the one who runs the hardware store and has the adorable daughter.
But sometimes the ladies get sidetracked and toss out Graham, the high school biology teacher, as a possibility, too.
Nathan has never come up in those conversations.
To be clear, I haven’t followed through on any of the set up attempts.
The brothers are all great, and the family clearly won the genetic lottery.
But as much as I want another shot at love, my heart hasn’t been in the game yet.
I think about going out with anyone specific and all I hear is crickets.
“I’ve never seen Reed so whipped.” He tilts his head, smiling all the wider. “Or so happy.”
Agreed. I’ve only known Rose about a month, but they’re wild for each other.
My jaded heart wants to chalk it up to infatuation, but they’ve got the real thing.
They uplift and support each other, and always have each other’s backs.
They also can’t stop touching each other, which can be awkward to witness.
The Garth Brooks song finally comes to a rousing close. My name slides up on the app. Last song before I take the stage.
Nathan ghosts his hand over mine, but he doesn’t linger. “Hey. You’re going a little green.”
I shake my head as if there’s any way my face doesn’t have a sickly cast right now. “I haven’t done karaoke since college. I’m probably going to be really rusty.”
Kitchen concerts don’t count.
“That’s the best part of karaoke. Nobody wants someone on stage who’s good.” He gestures over his shoulder at the group of people singing “Love Shack.” They’re not what I’d call talented, but they’re having a blast up there. “It’s better when it’s real.”
A lump forms in my throat. I really need that to disappear in the next two-and-a-half minutes.
This is an absurdly stupid time to get emotional.
I’m with my cute, way-too-young neighbor, surrounded by excited, slightly drunk people singing off-key.
But that simple statement, “It’s better when it’s real,” sums up so much of what went wrong in my marriage, and what I’ve been trying to create for myself this last year.
I want real. Good, bad, ugly, and everything in between. When my heart finally kicks back into gear, anyway.
“Want a back-up singer?” he asks.
“No.” I shake off the tightness in my throat. “I need to sing this one by myself. For reasons.”
The reason being figuratively shoving it in my ex-husband’s face. I trust he’ll sense it through the cosmos.
“Mysterious. I’m intrigued.” One side of Nathan’s smile tilts higher. “You know, I make a pretty good back-up dancer, too. If that would help.”
I laugh. “You’d seriously get up there and disco for me?”
“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie.”
The shimmer of something in my stomach is nerves, and nerves only.
“I’m always serious about disco,” he says.
I roll my eyes, but he’s legitimately too cute to resist. He’s probably got a long line of women out the door, but he’s offering. And I could use the support.
“Come on.” I stand, and he immediately follows, beaming like letting him dance next to me is a major award.
On stage, “Waterloo” is cued up. I grab the microphone, relaxing already as people in the audience cheer through the opening notes. At my side, Nathan grapevines, lassoes, and grooves like a disco queen. And I sing my heart out.
It’s cleansing. Freeing. And the most fun I’ve had in years.
Halfway through, Nathan catches my eye, rocking full Travolta moves worthy of platform shoes and extra-wide lapels. He grins at me, and my heart kicks. Flips. Pounds.
Oh, no. Not good.
Add another goal to my list: I really need to work on my immunity to The Dazzler.