My gaze snaps to a redhead moving through the crowd.
She’s wearing jeans and that pretty blue top that slopes off her shoulder. Her hair falls in soft, loose waves. Her hazel eyes are locked in on me, and she looks like she’s just unearthed buried treasure.
For a moment, I stumble over the next words. But I’ve got to get my shit together—because I have an audience that suddenly includes Chloe in the front row. Arms crossed. Smile smug. Eyes absolutely dancing with utter glee.
And fuck—my secret is out. All I can think, as I hit the next words, is that if she’s here, the whole team is probably behind her, and the “Where should we have drinks?” convo ended with Pour Decisions.
Talk about a poor decision on my part.
But if I’ve learned anything in my ten years performing karaoke in off-the-beaten-path dive bars, it’s this: try to stay off the beaten path, and the show must go on.
So with Chloe here, shimmying her shoulders and wearing a cat-ate-the-canary smile, I go full Steve Perry, and I sing my music-loving heart out until the final note of the famous song.
“Thank you. It’s good to be back,” I say to the audience, avoiding her—absolutely avoiding eye contact.
“Dothe one!” a woman shouts.
“The one? You sure about that?” I ask.
“So sure,” she shouts back.
I hum doubtfully. “I need to know you’re really sure.”
A new voice pops up. Chloe’s, as she says, “Positive. Dothe one. Do it, do it.”
She’s egging me on. She doesn’t even know what tunethe onerefers to. But she doesn’t care. She’s here to play with her food. But no one else has come in from work, which leaves me wondering if she came just for me. And how did she know?
Duke is already queuing up the next tune, and I go for it, launching into the classic karaoke number about Tommy working on the docks. And as I sing the Bon Jovi crowd-pleaser, Chloe looks more pleased than she does after she comes—and that’s saying something.
I stop thinking about why she’s here, or that she’s clearly a cat playing with a mouse and enjoying every second of busting me, or the potential fallout from her learning my secret.
I’m just a guy giving the crowd what they want—five or six songs they know by heart. Sung well. I roll through Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come,” making sure I don’t look too hard at Chloe during that tune, since we were smashing mouths the lasttime it played in my car. Then I take a turn with “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” and close out with a changeup: “I’ve Got a Crush on You.”
With this one I go a little lounge singer, a little crooner, and I’m not gonna lie—the ladies go wild. It’s so fucking satisfying. But the clock is ticking, and I know the second I step off the stage, I’m going to have to answer for my jeans, my name, and my alter ego.
When I finish, I say, “And now it’s your turn. Thanks again.”
Duke bounds back up to the stage, taking the mic and saying, “Give it up for the one, the only, Sam Silversmith.”
The crowd cheers and claps, and I wave as I head offstage while Duke invites audience members to step right up and pick their tunes. A woman in the front row who comes every week eagerly waves her arm, probably ready to belt out her favorite anthem, “Love is a Battlefield.”
I make my way to the bar, saying hi and thanks to a few people on the way.
“That was great,” a woman with a tight perm says.
“Thank you,” I reply, still amazed anyone comes to theseshows—it is karaoke, after all, not a performance people come to just for me—but grateful nonetheless. I try to keep my interactions friendly and brief—I’d rather blend in and disappear at the end of the night, returning to my regular life.
Trouble is, my regular life’s caught up with me, and as I get closer to the bar, I count in my head. Three, two, one…
And there’s my regular life tapping on my shoulder.
“I believe you left this at work,” she says, waggling my phone.
Ah. That’s the answer to why she’s here. I don’t listen to music before I perform or even podcasts. They distract me. I didn’t realize I’d forgotten it till I got to Duck Falls. Once I realized I’d forgotten it, I’d already arrived. I’d planned to swing by Dog Tails later to grab it. But she brought it to me, and I like her thoughtfulness far too much.
Even though it’s exposed me.
“Thanks. Appreciate it,” I say, taking my phone and doing my best to keep my cool, then nod to the shelves of liquor. “Can I buy you a drink?”
