Page 28 of Echoes of a Southern Song

“Obstructed,” I deadpan. “Some idiot in a gray shirt keeps blocking the stage. It’s either ten-feet tall men, or women talking about the things they want to do to and with your body.”

He chuckles, completely unbothered. “Good to know.”

“You’re killing it,” I tell him.

“Thank you. It feels good tonight. I like being outside. Way cooler.”

“You’re a natural.”

“Thanks. I’m going to use the bathroom then I have to get back up there. Are you going to stick around?”

“Damn straight,” I reply.

“Good, because I’m just getting warmed up.”

The second set is even better. Jack has found his rhythm. He’s more upbeat, the crowd singing along to the choruses. Jack’s in his element up there, all easy confidence and sly smiles. It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who gets flustered when I steal his sweatshirts or who once spent twenty minutes trying to figure out my tiny house shower faucet.

By the time the last song ends, my cheeks hurt from smiling. The crowd lingers, reluctant to let the night be over, but eventually the patio empties, leaving just me, Jack, and Aggie and her bartender surrounded by empty bottles and discarded napkins.

Aggie surveys the mess, hands on her hips. “Well, this is depressing.”

Jack grabs a trash bag, swinging it like a lasso. “Race you. Loser buys breakfast tomorrow.”

“You’re on.”

What follows is the most chaotic cleanup in history. Jack “accidentally” sprays me with the hose while washing glasses. I retaliate by flicking soap bubbles at him. Aggie threatens to fire us both, but she’s laughing too hard to be convincing.

At one point, Jack corners me by the keg cooler, his arms bracketing me against the wall. “You’re a terrible employee,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

I shiver. “You’re a terrible boss.”

Aggie clears her throat loudly from across the patio. “Children. Focus.”

We manage to finish cleaning before Aggie kicks us out with a wave of her dishrag. “Go on. Before you two give me a headache.”

Jack follows me home.

“You were amazing tonight,” I say as we reach my door.

He shrugs, but I can tell he’s pleased. “New song worked better than I thought.”

“Everything works when you play it.”

Jack’s smile softens. He steps closer, crowding me against the door, one hand coming up to cradle my jaw. “Yeah?”

I nod, suddenly breathless. “Yeah.”

Then his mouth is on mine, hungry and insistent. We stumble inside, a tangle of lips and hands and laughter, the door slamming shut behind us.

Max yowls his disapproval from the bed, scrambling out of the way as we collapse onto the mattress. Jack breaks the kiss just long enough to kick off his shoes, his hands already sliding under my shirt.

“Wait,” I gasp, pushing at his chest.

He freezes. “Too fast?”

I shake my head, reaching for the hem of his shirt instead. “Just want to see you. All of you.”

The shirt hits the floor, revealing all that sun-kissed skin and taut muscle that gets my juices flowing. My fingers trace the familiar lines of his torso—the scar on his ribs from a childhood bike accident, the dusting of hair trailing south.