“I think I’d rather let bygones be bygones,” Eleanor said softly, her voice like the slow strum of a guitar string after the chord has faded.
“Well, if you change your mind…” Shep leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple. “You let me know, darlin’.”
The opening notes of “Light My Fire” filtered through the park like smoke—velvety, intoxicating, impossible to ignore.
Eleanor straightened, mischief back in her spine. “Enough of this melancholic moping,” she said. “Dance with me.”
“You got it.” Shep didn’t hesitate. He caught her hand like a spark, twirled her once, and pulled her in close.
And for one blissful, untethered moment, Eleanor forgot about her aching joints, her fraying memory, and the looming return to New York. Her world became this music, this man, this dance. The cool breeze kissing her cheeks, the grass tickling her ankles, the drums vibrating through the soles of her sandals. She was twenty again, reckless and laughing and dizzy with possibilities.
“Come on, baby, light my fire,” Shep sang into her ear, low and teasing. “You can pretend I’m him if you want.”
Eleanor scoffed. “Thousands of much younger women would be thrilled to help you with that little fire of yours.”
“Sure,” he said with a shrug, “but I don’t want to be put on a pedestal. I don’t want to be worshipped. Well…” He grinned. “Not in the way they want to worship me.”
“Oh, poor you,” she teased.
“You’re the first woman I’ve met in a long time who didn’t give a damn about all that. You saw the music. You heard it. And you shared it. That means more to me than anything.”
“Musicians are people too, you know.”
“Exactly,” he said, like she’d just solved a puzzle no one else could crack.
Eleanor shuffled her feet in time with the beat, her hips giving aplayful sway as she winked at Shep. He mirrored her move, letting out a deep laugh that made her cheeks warm.
“Careful now, Ellie,” he warned, twirling her again. “You keep that up, and you’re liable to break my heart.”
She flashed him a grin full of life and sass and something dangerously close to love. “I was breaking hearts before you were even a thought.”
They were drawing attention now —festivalgoers slowing, forming a loose circle around them. Some clapped along, while others simply stared, their smiles wide.
“We’re being watched,” she murmured, breathless.
“Then let’s give ’em something to talk about.”
Before she could so much as arch a brow, Shep dipped her low and kissed her.
And not just a stage kiss. Not a chaste little peck for show. No—this was akiss. One that short-circuited thoughts, silenced years, rewrote history in one molten, unapologetic press of lips.
Eleanor froze. Startled. Stunned. But then she felt the slide of his fingers through her silver-streaked hair, the warmth of his hand against her spine, and the unmistakable truth of his mouth: bold, unhesitating, hungry in the most humble of ways.
She remembered that kind of kiss. Not from her husband. His had always been polite, gentle. As if he was afraid to let his passion show. But this…
This was the kind of kiss she’d once believed in. The kind that made her toes curl in her sandals. That reminded her she was still here, still worthy of desire, still made of heat and hunger and every damn note in a musical line.
Shep kissed like he played guitar—reckless in all the right ways. Fingers dancing with instinct, rhythm in his bones, soul in every motion. And Eleanor, caught between memory and electricity, kissed him back with everything she had left to give.
When they finally broke apart, the crowd erupted in whoops and applause. A whistle cracked the air, and there came a shout. “Get it, Mama Lightning!”
Shep grinned like a fool, dazed and delighted. “Who-eee,” he breathed, eyes glassy. “Now that was some kiss.”
Eleanor’s fingers lingered at the collar of his linen shirt, steadying herself. She wanted to say something witty that reminded him she wasn’t just an old lady playing pretend—but the words tangled in the warmth still radiating through her.
So she let the silence hold.
Finally, she exhaled a smile and said, “Thank you for letting me relive my younger days, Shep.” She met his gaze, softer now, something almost solemn beneath the sparkle. “I’ll never forget it.”
