"Maybe if a certain mechanic Walkers on in?" Ellie teased, wiggling her eyebrows with exaggerated mischief.
I laughed despite myself. "You're terrible."
"I need to laugh about something," she replied, leaning back in her chair and stretching. "It's been a week from hell."
I glanced around the café, noting how the festive decorations seemed to shimmer in the soft light. The anticipation for tonight's event hummed in the air like an unplayed chord. Customers filtered in and out, some greeting me with warm smiles and others lost in their own thoughts.
Ellie started scribbling furiously in her notebook, muttering under her breath about historical inaccuracies and impossible deadlines. I watched her for a moment before turning my attention back to preparing for the night ahead.
The thought of performing made my stomach twist into knots, but there was also a small spark of excitement. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe I'd finally muster the courage to share one of my songs.
Ellie glanced up from her work and caught my eye. "Seriously though, you should totally do it. You've got a great voice, and your songs are amazing."
I blushed, shaking my head slightly. "We'll see."
"Beth Morrison, always so modest," she teased again before returning to her notes.
The clock on the wall ticked closer to showtime. The café buzzed with activity as regulars found their favorite seats and newcomers looked around curiously.
With one last glance at Ellie, who was now fully immersed in her homework, I took a deep breath and stepped behind the counter to make sure everything was ready for another memorable open mic night.
As the clock struck seven, I felt a familiar flutter of nerves in my stomach. The café had filled up quickly, with regulars and newcomers alike taking their seats. The holiday lights twinkled merrily, casting a warm glow over the room. I took a deep breath, smoothing down my apron as I stepped onto the small stage.
"Good evening, everyone," I said, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. "Welcome to our open mic night! We're so glad to have you all here. We've got some fantastic talent lined up for you tonight."
The crowd responded with enthusiastic applause, and I smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. My eyes scanned the room briefly—no sign of Daryl, but that was no surprise. Still, the thought of him lingered at the back of my mind.
"First up, we have an amazing singer who's been coming to our open mic nights for a while now," I continued. "Please give a warm welcome to Sarah!"
Sarah, a young woman with bright red hair and a shy smile, made her way to the stage amid cheers and claps. She adjusted the microphone stand and gave me a grateful nod before strumming her guitar. Her fingers danced over the strings with practiced ease.
As she began to sing, the room fell silent, captivated by her soulful voice. It was moments like these that reminded me why I loved hosting these nights. The connection between performer and audience was electric, almost tangible.
I moved back behind the counter but kept my eyes on Sarah. Her song flowed effortlessly, each note wrapping around us like a comforting blanket. The crowd swayed along, some mouthing the lyrics they knew by heart.
Ellie looked up from her books and caught my eye, giving me a thumbs-up. I grinned back at her, feeling a surge of pride for our little community.
When Sarah finished her song, the café erupted in applause and cheers. She blushed deeply but smiled wide as she took a small bow before stepping off the stage.
"Let's hear it for Sarah!" I called out, clapping along with everyone else.
The energy in the room was infectious. As Sarah made her way back to her seat, several people reached out to congratulate her or give her high-fives.
"Next up," I announced once the applause had died down, "we have Tom with his poetry reading."
Tom stepped onto the stage with his usual confident stride. The night had only just begun, but already it felt like something special was in the air.
Tom’s poetry was a hit, his words painting vivid pictures of small-town life and the beauty in everyday moments. The crowd responded with heartfelt applause, and I felt a swell of pride for the diverse talent that frequented my café.
“Let’s hear it for Tom!” I called out, clapping along with the audience. He waved sheepishly as he returned to his seat, clearly pleased with the reception.
I glanced down at my list of performers. “Next up, we have… Jenny with her ukulele.”
I scanned the room, expecting to see Jenny making her way to the stage. But no one moved. The murmurs from the crowd grew louder as moments passed without anyone stepping forward.
“Jenny?” I called again, hoping she might just be running late or momentarily distracted.
Still nothing. The silence stretched awkwardly.
