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Emma, Cora, and I love to write music together. Although we can each play a broad range of instruments, my heart lies with the piano, Emma’s the violin, and Cora’s the cello. I imagine to most, our little jam sessions would seem odd, considering their classical nature, but to us, nothing beats the creative cohesiveness that comes alive. Half the time, it doesn’t turn into anything more than us having an awesome afternoon together, but during the other half, magic is made.
“Well, you just tell me when and I’m there.” Understanding our love for music, Emma’s parents helped us change the downstairs basement from a game room to a permanent music room. Everything we could ever need or want is there waiting for us.
“Perfect! After shopping and before we go out,” Emma chimes in, grinning.
I can’t help but groan at the reminder.
AT TEN, WE walk into Smokey’s, and I instantly feel as if I have walked back in time. Clay and I haven’t been to this place for years, and a rush of nostalgia takes over. True to its country roots, the wood floors are polished, the decorations are rustic, and the whiskey barrel bar tables have held up nicely. It appears as if not much has changed, and I wish I could say the same for us. As of late, all I seem to be longing for are more of the days we played at Smokey’s and less of the days at large arenas.
The music pumping through the speakers is from the current pop country top forties, and as much as I love the place, I suddenly feel too old to be here. Even if tomorrow is my birthday and I’m only turning thirty, all I see are a bunch of college kids, a few locals, and a lot of young professionals playing up one of the last few weekends Smokey’s will be open until the spring. I’m over this scene. I should have just stayed home tonight.
“Dude! The eye candy is out tonight. Seriously, there is more sk-skin in this place than clothing!” I look over at Clay and he’s grinning from ear to ear. All he’s ever needed to make his night is a beer in one hand with a pretty girl by his side. I, however, prefer a glass of Scotch neat and a bar stool in a quiet dive. Maybe some things haven’t changed after all.
“Whatever, man. I’m gonna head to the bar and grab a drink.”
“Yeah, get me one too. I’m gonna take a look around and then I’ll meet you over there,” he shouts after me as I walk away. Pulling my hat down over my face a little more, I push through the crowd, keeping to the perimeter of the room. I’m hoping no one recognizes me tonight. I really don’t need any more bullshit in my life.
There’s an empty seat at the end of the bar and it’s perfect. It’s a little darker in the corner, and it gives me a chance to sit back and look around. Images of us playing on the stage, laughing together, flash before my eyes. Things were simpler, and even though we still had the dream of making it big, we got to be ourselves.
Smokey’s is where it all started for us. It’s where we got our first gig and where we fell in love with performing. Weekend after weekend, we would empty our hearts, leave it all on the stage, and it felt invigorating. Now, I’m still leaving it all on the stage, but I walk away feeling drained and exhausted. Remembering how good it felt to perform here, my blood hums, and I find myself smiling.
Tapping the bar, I catch the bartender’s attention as his back is to me. “Hey, man, can I get two local IPA drafts?”
“Sure, coming right up.” The bartender strolls down to the far end, grabs two frosty pint glasses, and pulls the drafts. He glances at me and I see his eyes spark. It only took ten minutes to get recognized, but then again, he would—there was a time we saw each other every weekend.
As he walks my way, a smile stretches across his face and he begins shaking his head. “Holy shit. Will, I almost didn’t recognize you.” He leans across the bar and gives me a one-armed hug.
“Yeah, well, I’m hoping that’s how tonight plays out.” Maybe I should have kept the beard. I glance around to see if anyone just caught our exchange, and they didn’t. I relax a little on the stool.
“How the hell are you?” he asks. I look Rich over and can’t help but smile. His familiarity feels like home.
“Good, man. Tour’s over for now, so just getting a little R&R in. How’s business?” Rich is in his late fifties and part owner of this place.
“Not the same since you left.” He winks at me.
A chuckle breaks free as I take a sip of the beer. I know this place has run just fine without us.
“So, how long are you in town for?” He picks up a rag from behind the bar and wipes down the space in front of me.
“A while, I think. I always did like it up here.” I don’t want to tell him that I bought a house. For some reason, it just feels like it’s my secret place to hide without having to share it with the world. No one except for Clay and Juliet knows about it.
“Well, anytime you want to come back in and do your thing . . . door’s always open.”
I smile at him again. He genuinely means this. “Thanks, man.”
Three girls push up to the bar right next to me. I can’t see the face of the one closest to me, but I’ve been invaded by blonde, curly hair. It’s brushing up against my arm and my senses are flooded by the strawberry scent left lingering from her shampoo.
“Hey, Rich, can we get another round?” one of them asks, putting an end to our conversation.
“Sure thing, doll. I’ll be right back.” He smiles at her, nods his head at me, and sets off to make their drinks.
I swivel around, silently enjoying the whiff of strawberry surrounding me, and scan the room for Clay. The girls are giggling, and as much as I try to not hear their conversation, the music just isn’t loud enough.
“Oh my God, please tell me you got a good look at that blonde guy standing over by the front door. He’s so freaking hot.” The smallest of the three is jumping up and down and grinning from ear to ear. None of them looks to be young, but then, I don’t have a clue about girls these days.
“Seriously? He may be good-looking, but the lines he was feeding you could have filled the stomachs of a small village,” says the girl closest to me.
A sharp laugh escapes me and her back immediately stiffens. Speaking of lines, that was one of the best I’ve ever heard. A moment of silence passes between the girls, and slowly the blonde turns around to acknowledge me. The softness of her hair slides across my arm, strangely sensual and comforting at the same time. The other two peek around her, and all three stare at me like I’m an eavesdropping pervert.
