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“Hello,” he said, his voice booming into the microphone.
The crowd responded, with several of them tittering. “I recognize him from somewhere,” they whispered. “But where? Was he famous before? Is he in another band?”
“Don’t be stupid,” another said. “That’s Quentin McDonnell. From Orpheus Arise.”
Charlotte’s lips pressed into a smile.
“Some of you might know me. Some of you might not,” Quentin said. “I don’t really mind which camp you fall into. Truth be told, I didn’t really know who I was until about a year ago, when I fell in love with someone—maybe for the first time.”
Charlotte’s throat constricted with sudden fear. She hadn’t known he’d be bringing her into this. She felt TJ approach her from behind once more, becoming a kind of shadow at her back.
“Come on. Leave me alone,” she whispered.
“Charlotte,” Quentin began. He strummed the strings on his guitar, smiling down upon her. “This is for you.”
He began to sing, then, creating a gorgeous melody that he’d kept a surprise for this specific evening. The song was about falling apart for years until finding yourself on your deathbed, almost unable to breathe, and looking up to see an angel.
“That angel is you,” he whispered into the microphone, causing shivers to gravitate up and down Charlotte’s spine. “It was always you.”
In a flourish, Quentin ripped the guitar from his shoulders. He bounded from the stage, falling before Charlotte’s feet. TJ stepped away from them, aghast, making an outrageous noise—one of surprise, of shock. “What the fuck!”
“Charlotte,” Quentin began. He reached into his back pocket, drawing out a black box. “I was lost before I met you. I was bound to fall back into drugs. I was bound to repeat old problems, old symptoms. But now, I know that you’ll keep me in line. You’ll keep me in love.” He opened the box, gazing into her eyes. “I want to know if you’ll marry me.”
The entire underground bar was silent, with Brooklyn hipsters holding their breath, collectively turning their eyes from the older rocker and the young, beautiful woman.
Charlotte began to nod, then. Tears glistened in her eyes. “I’ll do it,” she whispered. “Of course, I’ll marry you, Quentin McDonnell.”
Overjoyed, Quentin reached up, lifting her into the air and spinning her, his movements joyous, confident. Everyone in the crowd began to cheer, except for TJ, who stomped away, irritated. Quentin kissed his new fiancée in a grand display, sucking at her bottom lip and then parting her lips, allowing their tongues to knot and toy with one another. With a final flourish, he set her back on the ground, knowing his place was on the stage.
“She’s going to marry me!” he cried out a final time, before leaping back onto the stage and grabbing his guitar. “Can you fucking believe it?”
The crowd roared again, clapping wildly, until Quentin began to play a louder, grungier second track. Charlotte blinked back tears, hardly able to listen to the music as Quentin played—knowing that her life had just changed forever.
She’d been alone for so much of her life, and now, she’d be with Quentin, her favorite person on the planet, the only one for her.
After the show, Charlotte weaved her way through the crowd and into the back, where she found Quentin slipping his guitar into its case. Several other journalists were behind her, including a once-friend from MMM, named Henry. Henry slipped in front of her, shaking Quentin’s hand.
“It was good to see you in action again,” Henry said, looking confident. “It hasn’t been the same at the magazine since you left, though. I have to admit.”
“I just felt I couldn’t do anything else there,” Quentin said, shaking his head. “Charlotte opened my mind when she started interning there. I realized I didn’t have to be stuck to a desk the rest of my life. It wasn’t my place.”
“It’s our place, though,” Charlotte teased, gesturing toward Henry. “The tireless life of a music journalist. Are you going to give this man an interview after that insane set or what?”
Quentin shook his head, his eyes holding enough space for only his fiancée. “If you don’t mind, Henry, I’d like to postpone an interview for later this week. I want to revel in the fact that this woman will be my wife.”
Henry bowed his head, looking understanding. “There’s no way I want to get between you and this beautiful moment. Who knows how many great songs tonight will lead to?”
“Who knew you’d launch this old man’s career?” Quentin said, whisking Charlotte to his side. “I’m sure you never saw it coming.”
As they walked from backstage, Charlotte and Quentin encountered TJ, the man who’d bought Charlotte a drink. He bowed his head, looking demure, slight. He gestured, allowing them to pass by him and rush into the street.
“That guy looked like he thought I was going to beat him up,” Quentin said, laughing.
