Chapter 48
Mike turned the corner at the end of his quiet residential street and stepped onto the livelier commercial stretch.
The shift in energy was immediate. String lights glowed in storefront windows, laughter spilled onto the sidewalk, and every restaurant hummed with Valentine’s Day traffic.
These cafés, boutiques, and small businesses were the heart of the neighborhood, and he usually passed them by without much notice.
He’d worked straight through the afternoon and into the evening, barely stopping long enough to stretch.
Now, at eight o’clock, he was too tired and too hungry to cook.
His favorite pizza place had quoted him a ninety-minute wait for delivery, blaming the holiday rush.
When he’d groaned, the order taker had cheerfully informed him that it would only be thirty minutes for pickup.
He’d placed the order, clipped Buddy’s leash in place, and headed out.
A line of customers spilled out the door of the neighborhood ice cream shop as he and Buddy passed. The sounds of laughter, clinking spoons, and hushed talk created a weekend atmosphere, despite it being a weeknight.
Buddy trotted happily at his side, tail swaying.
Up ahead, The Friendly Bean came into view. The doors were propped open. People clustered outside, bundled against the cool evening air, chatting in animated groups as they waited to get in. The rise and fall of amplified voices drifted to the sidewalk.
Mike slowed down to read the sandwich board announcing the fundraiser.
He stepped to the side, guiding Buddy around a knot of people gathered near the door.
Inside, a voice crackled faintly over a microphone. Then music started, followed by a woman’s voice, velvety and rich. “At last,” she sang, the second word drawn out.
Mike froze. The leash slipped from his hand as Buddy jerked forward, ears perked, body suddenly alert. “Hey … Buddy,” he called, too late.
The dog surged toward the open doorway, weaving through legs and slipping effortlessly into the café.
“What the …” Mike muttered, already moving. He pushed through the small crowd, murmuring, “excuse me … sorry … coming through … ” as he went.
The host at the door lifted a hand to stop him.
“My dog,” Mike said quickly, gesturing inside.
The host glanced past him, then nodded and waved him on.
Mike darted into the room. It was packed. The air was warm, charged, and expectant.
Buddy sat between two tables near the front, perfectly still for once, gaze locked forward.
Mike followed his line of sight. And saw … her. She stood in the glow of the stage lights, wrapped in a column of red satin that shimmered with every subtle movement. One hand curved around the microphone, while the other rested lightly against her chest.
He knew that voice. Recognition hit him like a wrecking ball. His mind flooded with memories of absurd Christmas pajamas, a dog in the woods, and a night that had felt both fleeting and strangely permanent. And now there she was! Lauren.
Buddy let out a soft, breathy woof, his tail sweeping dangerously close to a chair. “Easy,” Mike murmured, though his words barely registered to himself. He couldn’t look away.
Her voice filled the room. The crowd quieted, drawn in.
Mike felt the end of the song before she reached it, noticing the way she gathered breath. The room leaned toward her without knowing it. She released the last note and let it settle into the space.
Silence greeted her, like one suspended heartbeat. Then the room erupted in applause, whistles, and a ripple of delighted laughter.
Buddy barked louder this time.
Her head turned. First to the dog, then to Mike. Recognition came in stages. He saw it happen. First confusion, then shock, followed by understanding. And, finally, joy.
He nodded, as if to say, Yes, it’s me.
Buddy leaned forward, straining toward her, signaling his intent to cross the distance between them if given the chance.
Something shifted inside Mike. He stepped toward the side of the stage where the karaoke jockey was already preparing for the next singer. “Hey,” Mike said.
The KJ glanced up.
“I know I’m asking to jump the line, but, if I make an extra donation, could I go on stage now?”
The KJ hesitated.
Mike glanced toward Lauren, still standing under the lights, still watching him. “I need to say something to her.”
The KJ followed his gaze, then gave a small, knowing smile. “Well,” he said, “we are here to raise money. Name?”
“Mike.”
“Song?”
Mike didn’t look away from Lauren. “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
The host nodded, already typing. “You’re up.”
Mike stepped forward. Buddy moved with him, settling at the edge of the stage as if he belonged there, tail curled neatly around his feet.
“Next up—Mike,” the KJ announced.
A polite ripple of applause ran around the room.
Lauren didn’t move.
Mike took the microphone.
The first notes began, instantly recognizable and familiar enough to quiet the room again.
Mike didn’t look at the crowd, but only at her. His voice came in low and steady, his tone warm and rich. The lyrics weren’t for the room. They were for her.
Lauren’s gaze didn’t waver.
The room shifted again as people leaned in, sensing that something was happening that had nothing to do with karaoke.
Mike took a small step forward, not toward the audience, but toward her.
Lauren’s breath caught.
He saw it. Felt it. The final phrase approached. The one that mattered. He let it land simply. Honestly. The last note faded.
Then Buddy barked. The crowd laughed, the spell easing just enough before applause broke out again.
Mike lowered the microphone. Still, he didn’t look at the crowd, but only at Lauren.
She stepped toward him.
She was close enough now that her voice didn’t have to carry. “You found me,” she said.