7. Embeth
Embeth
The Daily Grind hasn't been this full since...
Well, ever. Every chair is occupied, people stand three-deep against the walls, and I had to turn away at least twenty more at the door.
The hand-lettered PRIVATE EVENT: SOLD OUT sign I made yesterday was worth the effort.
I guess Mel was right when she said Cade had a bit of a following around here back in the day.
"Told you people would come," Melody whispers as she helps me arrange fresh pastries on the counter.
I check my phone for the fifteenth time in ten minutes. Cade's still not here, and we're supposed to start in fifteen minutes.
The past week of practice sessions has been complicated, to say the least. Musically, it’s been nothing but magic.
We developed a shorthand of signals and cues to work around his hearing challenges.
It was quite honestly surprising to mesh so well with someone like that creatively.
But personally, we've been dancing around what happened between us, pretending the chemistry is just about the music.
That the night we spent together was just about two people needing release in the moment and nothing more.
"He'll be here," Melody says confidently as she catches me checking my watch again. "Cade doesn't break promises."
Miss Edie approaches the counter, eyeing the crowd with approval. "Quite the turnout. Your young man must be something special."
"He's not my young man," I correct automatically, though my cheeks warm at the implication.
"Mmhmm," she hums, unconvinced.
Before I can defend myself, the door opens and conversations hush as Cade steps inside, guitar case in hand.
He's wearing dark jeans and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled up, showing his forearms. His hair is styled.
All I can think of is how good it felt to have those forearms against my body, how wonderful it was to tangle my fingers in his hair. Damn. He looks good. Too good.
Our eyes meet across the room, and for a second, it's like everyone else disappears. Then his gaze shifts to the crowd, and I see a flash of panic cross his face before that stoic mask slides into place.
"Excuse me," I say to Miss Edie, already moving toward him.
I intercept him before anyone else can approach. "Hey. I was afraid you weren’t gonna show," I say playfully.
"There are a lot of people here," he says quietly, his right hand making the smallest movement toward his ear before stopping.
"Too many?" I ask, genuinely prepared to send people home if he says yes.
He seems surprised by the question, searching my face. "No. Just... more than expected."
"Come on," I say, touching his arm briefly. "I set up a quiet space in the back."
I lead him to my small office in the back hallway. The distant murmur of the crowd is audible but muffled.
"A few minutes of quiet before you go on," I say. "I'll keep everyone away."
Relief washes across his face. "Thank you."
I turn to leave, but he catches my wrist. "Embeth."
My heart does a little flip at the sound of my name in his voice. "Yes?"
"You look stunning tonight."
I glance down at my navy dress with tiny white stars peppered all over it, chosen specifically because it's more subdued than my usual colorful attire. I didn't want to distract from Cade tonight.
"Thought I'd tone it down for once," I say.
"I like your usual too," he says, his thumb tracing circles on the inside of my wrist. "All of it. The bright colors. The combat boots."
"Even the purple hair?"
The corner of his mouth lifts. "Especially the purple hair."
The moment stretches between us, charged with everything we haven't said. His eyes drop to my lips, and I think he might kiss me, but instead he releases my wrist.
"I should tune up," he says. “Take that breather.”
"Right. Of course." I step back, suddenly flustered. "Ten minutes, then showtime."
When I return out front, Ronnie from the local radio station waves me over.
"This is genius, Embeth," he gushes. "Local military hero turned musician? People eat that stuff up with a spoon! We could get this viral for sure."
"Absolutely not," I say firmly. "No recordings. It's on all the signs."
He raises his hands in surrender. "Just an idea. Help drum up business."
"Word of mouth will do that on its own," I say, moving away to check on other guests.
When Cade finally steps onto the small corner stage, the room falls silent. He looks tense, his knuckles white around the neck of his guitar as he settles onto the stool. I take my place beside him, knowing we planned for me to sing on only a few songs, but ready to jump in if he falters.
"Evening," he says simply into the microphone. "Thanks for coming."
And then he begins to play.
The transformation is immediate and stunning. As his fingers find the strings, his entire body relaxes, the music flowing through him like water. He starts with a folk song, something gentle and familiar, and the audience leans forward collectively, drawn in by the raw emotion in each note.
When he transitions to a Johnny Cash cover, his voice joins the guitar, low and rich and slightly rough around the edges. It's perfect. He is perfect.
As planned, I join him for the third song, our voices blending in harmony. When his tempo falters slightly, a reaction to someone dropping a glass, I catch his eye and tap my hand against my thigh, giving him the visual cue we practiced. He follows my lead, never missing a beat.
By the halfway point, the audience is completely captivated. Even Miss Edie is dabbing at her eyes during a particularly moving ballad. I've never seen the café like this. People connecting, feeling, being present instead of staring at their phones. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted for this place.
For the final song, Cade plays something original, a hauntingly beautiful melody that speaks of loss and hope intertwined. When the last note fades, there's a moment of complete silence before the room erupts in applause.
The look on his face, a mixture of surprise, relief, and a flicker of joy, makes my heart ache. He's been hiding this gift away, sure that he’d lost it forever when he lost part of his hearing, and now, watching people respond to it, he seems almost overwhelmed.
As we gather at the counter afterward, accepting compliments and selling more coffee and pastries in an hour than I typically do all week, I can't stop smiling. This worked. We worked.
But then I notice Ronnie in the corner. My stomach drops at the way he’s leering at his phone. I excuse myself from a conversation and march toward him.
"Tell me you didn't," I say through clenched teeth, but I already know deep in my gut that he did.
He looks up, flushing. "People need to hear this. He’s amazing. Think of the attention he could bring to this area."
"You recorded him? After I specifically said no?"
"Just the last song... The original one. It's already got fifty views on my channel and it’s only been up a couple minutes."
Before I can respond, Cade appears beside me. "Everything okay?"
The look on my face must give it away, because his expression immediately darkens. "What?"
"This shit for brains recorded the last song," I admit, furious and sick with worry. "He posted it online."
Cade goes completely still, his eyes flicking between us. When he speaks, his voice is dangerously quiet. "Take it down. Now."
"I will, man, I swear," Ronnie babbles, fingers fumbling with his phone. "But it's already been shared a bunch of times. People are loving it."
"I don't care," Cade says, each word precise and cold. "Remove it."
As Ronnie scurries away, Cade turns to me, betrayal written across his features. "Did you know about this?"
"Of course not. I told him not to do it.”
"But you knew he might? I guess if it helps your business, that’s all that matters, right?" he says, voice hardening. "Free publicity. The struggling café saved by the tortured soul of a broken vet with a guitar."
His words sting like a slap. "That's not fair. I would never exploit you like that."
"Wouldn't you?" His eyes are cold now. "This whole thing was your idea. Get me to perform, bring in customers, save your business."
"Yes, we did this to help my business. I never lied about that." I'm aware we're creating a scene, but I can't stop the words tumbling out. "But I also wanted people to hear your music because it's beautiful, Cade. Because you're beautiful."
Something flickers in his eyes. Vulnerability quickly buried under anger. "I trusted you," he says quietly. "I let you in."
"And I never betrayed that trust," I insist, fighting back tears. "I told him not to do it. He said he wouldn’t. I thought that was that. If I thought he’d do it anyway, I would’ve kicked his ass out."
But I can see he doesn't believe me. Whatever connection we built over these past weeks is unraveling before my eyes.
"This was a mistake," he says finally, reaching for his guitar case. "All of it."
"Cade, please."
"I'm done, Embeth." He steps back, shutting down, the wall between us growing higher by the second.
As he walks away, the room still buzzing with excitement over his performance, I feel something breaking inside me. It's a familiar pain. The realization that once again, I'm too much, too intense, too everything for someone to stay.
But this time, it hurts worse than ever before.