He opened his mouth to speak just as I asked brightly, “What are you going to sing?”
He blinked at my sudden topic change. “Oh. Um. I don’t know. You want me to sing?”
“I love your singing,” I said honestly, even if I never admitted it before.
He smiled like I’d never seen, full face, brightness turned all the way back.If you give an actor a compliment…
He sat up and snapped his fingers. “Good sir! Your finest karaoke menu,” he called loudly to nobody in particular.
I laughed as he made his way to the DJ. He flipped through the book, and as the ladies finished up, he grabbed the mic and went to the stage. He got the attention of one of the ladies and whispered something in her ear. She cackled loud enough to be heard across the bar and gestured for her friends to come back on stage.
I wasn’t jealous at all.
As soon as the song started, I understood why he kept them on. It was “Love Shack” by the B-52s. Harrison sang the guy part with a goofy eighties affectation, bobbing his head not unlike a rooster strutting.
“Cocky,” I mumbled.
The women all sang the backup vocals, including the little yells. It was pretty cute. Soon, the whole bar was laughing and clapping and singing along. This was the draw of karaoke. Okay, I got it. If people recognized him as Harrison Evans, they weren’t making a big deal out of it.
“He loves this,” I said out loud, but it was lost in the cheers.
Was he being cheeky referencing our own “love shack”? Not that it had been completely christened as such.
Not yet.
I flushed at my own thoughts.
The performance was great, but I was slightly disappointed he wasn’t using the opportunity to show off his incredible talent. Of all the times to show restraint …
When the song ended, he made the ladies all take a bow. They gestured to him in return, and he bowed deeply. He was about to hop off the stage when I yelled without thinking, “Encore!”
It was as though everybody went silent, so my shout rang loudly through the air. Half the bar snapped their heads to me, and I wished I could melt into the earth. But then Harrison looked at me, he held my gaze, and for a moment, there was only us. The rest of the crowd began to chant in support of another song. He nodded slightly and went back to the DJ.
He chatted with the man in headphones, who looked at the stage and nodded. He gestured to an acoustic guitar sitting next to a stool. Harrison took off his hat and scrubbed his hands through his hair as though shaking out nerves. This surprised me because I would have never in a million years guessed he had any sort of hesitation. He had been weirdly shy about his practicing, though.
“This is a song I’ve been learning.” He cleared his throat as he strummed and tuned the instrument. “I’m not brilliant at the guitar, so bear with me.”
The women from the previous performance wooed calls of support. He nodded at them with a nervous chuckle. “Cheers.” He blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders. “Here goes nothing.”
He started strumming notes of a familiar tune, but I couldn’t quite place it. His eyes were squinted in focus, almost closed. As soon as his voice rang through the air, the hairs all over my body stood on end. He sang low and quiet at first. A somber lyric about being in the way if he stayed. I frowned, and after another line, there were a few chuckles as people started to realize the song. They whispered to each other with nods of understanding and would smile and clap.
His voice was incredible. The song was so melancholic, and his rich voice was tentative and beautiful.
Then he got to the chorus, and the bar went silent. Any trepidation vanished as the song went on. The air was sucked from my lungs. “I Will Always Love You,”closer to the Whitney version than Dolly’s original, even though it was acoustic with a rock edge. All his own. His voice rang out so clear and gentle, yet powerful through the air. When he hit a particularly long note, his voice cracked. He shook his head, but the crowd cheered so loud he grinned and went on.
He sang on about loving this person forever, and I couldn’t remember the last breath I took. It was wholly his own version of the incredibly popular song. His voice was unlike anything I’d experienced. When he hit the highest, longest notes, the strain of his neck muscles did something to me. I loved how his mouth pulled to the side when he sang the high note on the word “please.” The way he strummed the instrument, as he poured his soul into the song, was enthralling. Not only to me.
Harrison should be charging for this. Every person was awestruck. Soon, couples paired up to rock to the song. Some sat in their chairs, rocking and watching, eyes gleaming.
It was absurd to think he chose this song for any other reason than he wanted to show his vocal chops—and, my God, the man had chops—but a part of me, a very big part of me, wished this was for me. I wanted it more than anything to be for me. The climax of the song had the whole bar swaying, and I couldn’t look anywhere else. The way his hand held the microphone. The way his eyebrows contorted as he sang. His hips that rocked gently to the soft melody. Even when he fumbled over the mini guitar solo he was going for in the middle, not a single person stopped watching.
This man had offered himself to me. Had told me I could take from him anything I needed at any time.
What sort of idiot would I be not to take the offer?
A big one.
I was entranced. We all were. The song was an absolute classic for a reason, but I was convinced no other person could sing it like Harrison did.
