Beth's fingers moved over the strings, coaxing a soft, melancholic melody from the guitar. Her voice followed, delicate and tender, filling the café with a warmth that seemed to counteract the chill outside. The song she sang was one I hadn't heard before—a Christmas love song, but it felt different. Personal.Raw.
She sang of love lost and found again, of cold winter nights made warmer by a touch, a glance. Her words painted pictures in my mind—images of snow-covered streets and cozy firesides, of two people finding solace in each other’s arms. It wasn’t the typical saccharine holiday tune; it had depth, a sincerity that tugged at something deep within me.
The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Even the clinking of cups and murmurs of conversation had ceased as everyone became entranced by her performance. My eyes never left her. I couldn’t tear them away if I tried.
Her voice was like an angel’s—pure, clear, and hauntingly beautiful. Each note resonated within me, reverberating through the walls I’d built around myself. She made me feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to be in years.
Then she looked at me. Just for a moment, her eyes met mine across the crowded room. It was like she was singing to me and only me. The words seemed to take on new meaning as if she understood every hurt, every regret that had led me to this point.
Her gaze lingered, soft and searching, before she closed her eyes again and lost herself in the music. But that moment hung between us like an unspoken promise—a connection neither of us could deny.
As she continued to sing, my grip tightened on the back of a nearby chair. I wanted to move closer but felt rooted to the spot, afraid that any movement would break whatever spell she had woven around us all.
When the last note finally faded into silence, there was a collective breath from the audience, as if everyone had been holding it in anticipation. Then applause erupted, loud and enthusiastic, breaking the trance but not the memory of what had just transpired.
Beth stood up from the stool, handed me back my guitar with a shy smile that made my heart skip a beat. "Thank you," she whispered.
I handed the guitar back to Beth, feeling an odd mix of relief and something else I couldn’t quite name. "Keep it," I mumbled, looking away.
Her eyes widened, shimmering with surprise and gratitude. Before I could step back, she threw her arms around me, pulling me into a hug that was warm and unexpected. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon from the café clung to her, making my heart race.
"Thank you," she whispered in my ear, her voice soft and sincere. "It's the best present I've ever gotten."
My cheeks burned hot. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention, this kind of… kindness. I cleared my throat, trying to pull away without seeming too eager to escape.
Ellie appeared out of nowhere, tugging Beth away gently but firmly. She started talking to Beth about the performance, her voice a low murmur that I couldn't quite catch. I stepped back, blending into the shadows of the room once more, my gaze still fixed on Beth.
The applause had died down, but the buzz in the café remained electric. People whispered among themselves, casting curious glances in my direction. I could feel their eyes on me—burning holes into my back—but I ignored them. The stares made me uncomfortable, itching under my skin like an old wound that never quite healed.
Beth laughed at something Ellie said, her face lighting up with that same infectious joy. My chest tightened watching her. There was something about her that drew people in—made them feel like they belonged, like they were part of something bigger than themselves.
I turned away, focusing on a spot on the floor that suddenly seemed incredibly interesting. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too thick to breathe properly.
“…isn’t he the mechanic?” someone asked, their voice carrying across the room.
“Yeah, the one in and out of jail?” another chimed in, louder this time.
“No, that’s the brother,” a third voice corrected. “Those Walker boys have never been good.”
The whispers grew, threading through the crowd like a noxious weed. I felt each word like a punch to the gut. My grip on the guitar case tightened, knuckles whitening. The noise blurred into a cacophony of judgment and suspicion.
“How did Beth get caught up in that one?” someone else murmured. “She’s so young. He’s so much older. Why’s he preying on her?”
The weight of their words pressed down on me, suffocating and relentless. They didn’t know me—didn’t know my story or why I’d come back to this town. But part of me thought they were right. What was I doing here? Why did I think I could just walk into Beth’s world and not leave a trail of ruin behind?
I glanced at Beth, who was still chatting with Ellie, her laughter ringing out like a beacon in the darkness that seemed to follow me everywhere. She was everything bright and hopeful in this place—everything I wasn’t.
I didn’t deserve her kindness, her warmth. Hell, I didn’t deserve to be standing here in this cozy café with people who looked at me like I was a ticking time bomb. My stomach churned with self-loathing and regret.
What was I thinking, coming out here anyway? This wasn’t my world—it was hers. She belonged here with her friends and family, with people who saw her for what she was: a light in their lives. Not with someone like me, tainted by past mistakes and shadows that refused to let go.
Who did I think I was?
The thought echoed in my mind as I took a step back, then another, retreating toward the door. The warmth of the café felt suffocating now, each breath harder to take than the last.
I needed to get out.
I reached the exit and slipped outside into the cold night air, feeling the chill cut through my jacket. The noise from inside faded to a dull hum as I leaned against the wall, trying to steady my racing heart.
