From the back of the café, Ellie’s voice cut through the murmurs. “It’s your turn, Beth!”
My cheeks burned as every eye in the room turned to me. The audience started chanting my name, encouraging me to take the stage. My heart raced; I hadn’t planned on performing tonight.
“I don’t have anything to play with,” I said, blushing furiously and looking around for an escape.
“I’ve got something.” Daryl’s deep voice rumbled from behind me.
I spun around, eyes wide as he approached the stage holding an old guitar—his guitar. My breath caught in my throat as our gazes locked. He looked hesitant but determined.
“Thank you,” I managed to say, taking the guitar from him.
Our fingers brushed in the exchange, sending a jolt through me that left me momentarily speechless.
The room seemed to fade away as I stared at Daryl, feeling a mix of surprise and gratitude. And honestly? I was just happy he was here.
He nodded slightly before stepping back, giving me space on the stage.
Taking a deep breath, I adjusted the guitar strap over my shoulder and settled onto a stool. The familiar weight of the instrument was comforting, though my hands trembled slightly as they found their positions on the strings.
The crowd hushed in anticipation. I glanced at Ellie, who gave me an encouraging nod and a thumbs-up again. Then I looked at Daryl again—he stood near the back now, arms crossed but eyes fixed on me.
With one last deep breath, I strummed a chord and began to play.
Chapter12
Daryl
The clang of metal against metal echoed through the empty garage. I wiped my hands on a rag, leaving smudges of grease on the worn fabric. The Impala's engine hummed. The hours had slipped by unnoticed, swallowed by the work that kept my mind at bay. I glanced at the clock—almost time for Beth's open mic night.
Not that I was paying attention.
Connor’s voice drifted into my thoughts, taunting me.Fucking pussy.He always knew how to hit where it hurt. Shaking it off, I turned to the cluttered workbench, where the battered guitar rested against the wall.
I didn’t owe her anything. Yet, there was something about her smile, persistent and warm, that made me feel… something.
"Dammit," I muttered under my breath. Before I knew it, I was heading out of the garage and into the crisp evening air, guitar in hand. I had to get Ellie her grandfather’s car back, anyway. At least, that was what I told myself.
The Hearth & Harvest Café stood aglow in festive lights. Through the windows, I saw folks mingling, their faces painted with holiday cheer.
I stood outside the café, my breath visible in the cold night air. Through the window, I watched Beth approach the microphone. Her voice, cheerful and clear, introduced the next act. The crowd inside cheered and clapped, but I barely heard them. My focus was on her, on the way she moved and smiled as if she carried a light that could chase away any darkness.
The warmth inside hit me as I stepped through the door. Beth was calling out a name—Jenny—but there was no response. Murmurs spread through the audience, uncertainty growing with each passing second.
"Beth! Beth!" The chant started softly but grew louder as Ellie’s voice rose above the rest. Soon, everyone joined in, their encouragement filling the room.
Beth’s cheeks flushed. "I don't have anything to play with," she said, her voice tinged with shyness.
My feet moved before my brain caught up. In a few strides, I stood at her side and held out my guitar. Her eyes widened in surprise as our fingers brushed.
"Thank you," she murmured, her touch sending a jolt through me.
Beth took the guitar gently, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before she turned back to the expectant crowd. The noise faded into a low hum as she settled onto a stool and adjusted the guitar on her lap. Her fingers strummed the strings experimentally, producing a soft melody that seemed to calm her nerves.
I stepped back into the shadows of the room, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn’t quite explain. The café fell silent as Beth began to play in earnest. Her voice, delicate yet strong, filled the space and wrapped around everyone like a comforting blanket.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past or the pain or the loneliness that had driven me back to this town. There was only Beth and her music—a fleeting moment of something pure and good in a world that had so often shown me its harshest edges.
I watched as she poured herself into each note, her eyes closed and face serene. And for once, I allowed myself to be part of it all—part of this simple yet profound act of connection.
