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“Why would I make fun of you for that when there are so many more obvious things?”

I bobbed my head. “Good point.”

“So do you get a lot of calls for this sax work?” she asked, talking through a smile.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Really? There’s a big demand?” she said.

“HUGE.”

She broke into laughter. “Well, I can’t wait to check it out.”

“I don’t usually tell people that it’s me,” I said. “I sort of operate in anonymity.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding sagely. “I will tell no one.”

“Thanks. I don’t think I could handle sax-obsessed fans just showing up at my house—that would be a lot.”

“You’re funny,” she said.

I blushed and was suddenly happy for the mask.

The real reason I didn’t tell people wasn’t about the fans. If I was being honest, I was a little ashamed of what I did for a living. Yeah, it paid the bills—it really paid the bills. But I didn’t think my parents would be into it. Nobody who spends twelve years encouraging their kid to play an instrument hopes they make a living playing it shirtless. My brothers would rake me over the coals if they knew. I would never hear the end of it. I mean sure, it was funny, and I had a blast doing it, and I was good at it, but it wasn’t a job you bragged about.

I wouldn’t have even told Rhiannon, but given the circumstances I didn’t have much to lose.

Rhiannon went to offload the dirty dishes, then swung back around.

“Here’s the Wi-Fi password,” she said, handing me a piece of paper.

“Thanks.”

“Another short stack?”

I made a face. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Why don’t you try something fun? We have thirty kinds of pancakes. Any kind would count, right?”

“They didn’t say. Probably.” Maybe some variety would be a good idea. “Which ones do you like?”

She thought about it. “The cinnamon roll ones are good.”

“Okay, give me those.”

She left to go put in my order and I watched her disappear behind the server station.

I signed into the Wi-Fi and almost immediately my phone vibrated with an email.

A bar up in a town called Little Christmas was looking for a last-minute booking for Sexy Sax Boy. I was getting ready to type my reply when a second email came through. A jazz band I’d subbed for when their regular guy was out needed a stand-in. Their gig was the same day as Little Christmas, and here in Minneapolis so I wouldn’t have to do the drive. The jazz band was willing to pay more than usual since it was so last minute.

If I factored in the three-hour drive up north to Little Christmas, I’d be making about the same, but the round-trip commute would add an extra six hours onto the job.

I could have dignity, or I could have fun. I chose fun.

I declined the jazz band gig and booked the small-town bar.

I was going to quit Sax Boy. Eventually. Maybe next year. It could be my New Year’s resolution to find something more sophisticated, something I could tell my family about, something my brothers wouldn’t make fun of me for.