Page 9 of Rebel Moon

I rattled off the first frantic bars, the notes tumbling over each other, and he sat back with a satisfied look in his eyes. “That’s how it’s done, my friends.”

“Show off,” Madeleine murmured beside me.

“You know it,” I said. “Ten-thousand hours and all that.”

“You know about that theory?” Madeleine asked.

“I may be a hick, but I don’t live under a rock,” I said, reaching for my beer.

Blake spoke up from behind her raised phone, sounding a little sheepish. “Can I play, or is this wedding party only?”

“You’re one of us for the month,” Ivy said. “Fire away.”

Blake seemed to think about it for a split second. “‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.’ The slow, kind of sad version.”

I let the first line come out soft and blue, the way that song’s supposed to be played, and the whole circle went quiet. Even the fire seemed to settle. When I let the last note hang, nobody rushed to fill it.

“That one always gets me,” Holly said quietly, into the hush. “There’s just something so lonely about it. Like a lot of people are at Christmas.”

“I think so too,” Blake said.

“For sure,” Madeleine said.

“All right, we need a happy one now.” Rhett clapped his hands, resetting the vibe. “Somebody bring the cheer back.”

“Jingle Bell Rock,” Beck offered.

I gave it to him with a little extra swing.

Holly smiled, clapping her hands. “I love that one. Makes me want to dance.”

“Holly’s a great dancer,” Rhett said.

“I seem to remember you had some moves yourself,” Holly said.

Jack laughed. “These two used to choreograph dances back in middle school. I never could get why, but they loved it.”

“Oh yeah, we spent hours on the porch of your mama’s trailer, remember?” Holly asked.

Rhett nodded. “Makes me miss the old days.”

“Are you kidding?” Luci said. “You don’t really miss it?”

“Not some parts, but others, yes,” Rhett said, darting a glance in Holly’s direction. “We had nothing but time back then.”

“Always looking for something to do that didn’t cost money,” Holly said.

“All right, I’ve got one.” Jack leaned back, grinning. “Sleigh Ride.”

“Now that’s more like it,” I said. “Sleigh Ride” actually made a guitarist work—a lot of bounce and skip to it, the melody hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean. I gave it to them fast and playful, the way it should be executed, and, when I got to the end, I did the little slide up the strings that came out sounding just like a horse’s whinny.

Holly laughed and clapped. “Do it again!”

I did it again. Couldn’t help myself. Somewhere in the back of my head a voice that sounded like Gramps said, “About time you showed them you’re not a total stick in the mud.” I silently told him to shush, I was concentrating.

“Grant.” Jack turned to him. “Stump the man.”

Grant considered it for a long, slow moment, firelight moving on his face. “‘Blue Christmas.’ The Elvis one.”