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“Enjoy the show! Send videos and pictures, okay!”
I scrunched my nose and waved at the screen, turning it off to give Elliot my full attention.
The sound of his guitar calmed the entire area. The normally noisy bar was quiet, save for the claps that followed every song. People were watching Elliot intently as he sang—all eyes were focused on him. And when he sang Savage Whittakers’ original songs, their attention was caught. I looked around the room and watched as a few people pulled out their phones, pulling up their music apps. He sang songs I knew, ones I had listened to before coming to Utah, even the covers that he sang I had recognized. I swayed with the music, taking in each and every note. I waited for a song that I hoped he would play, even though I wouldn’t know the words . . . I would remember the sunflowers.
But it never came.
Elliot sang an original as his last song, his eyes closed as he focused on the chords, and when the final strum rang through the room, the crowd cheered. They all knew Elliot was made for the stage.
He stood and thanked everyone, waving, and giving a small bow before turning to look at me. He winked and lifted the corner of his lips to a smirk before turning to walk off the small stage. Ishot up from my chair and ran to meet him. Others had stood and walked to the side of the stage, but I ran around them – wrapping my arms around Elliot’s neck the second I made it to him.
“How was it?” He laughed in my neck, his free arm wrapping around my waist. “No one sang along.”
“They were too focused to sing along, but I swear I saw people looking up the band.” Pulling away to look at him I placed my hands on his shoulders. “I sang every song.”
“I know.” He smiled. “I had my eyes on you the entire time.”
“Daxton!” Pete’s voice boomed behind me. Turning to look, I saw more than just Pete—Elliot had a crowd of people waiting to talk to him.
Stepping to the side, my arm still firmly around his waist, I let Pete come closer. Elliot’s fingers pressed into my hip.
“Amazing show! If that’s what just you and a guitar is like, I can’t wait to see what the band sounds like next week. I’ve already had people come up and make sure tickets were still on sale.”
Elliot gave him a nod, his expression beaming. He was trying to not let the fame and attention get to him, I could tell, but there was that small sliver that snuck in and it showed in his eyes. I had thought it before, and I would definitely be thinking it again: this is where Elliot belonged.
“They’re looking forward to it. Bennett and I talked this morning about the set list, it’s going to be about a seventy-minute show . . .”
“As long as you sing those . . . Whittakers . . .”
“Savaged Whittakers,” I corrected, my gaze turning to Elliot.
Pete let out a loud chuckle. “Sing every one of your band’s songs and I guarantee I’ll have you back.” Peter slapped his hand on Elliot’s shoulder, giving him another proud smile. “I’ll let you get to these new fans of yours. Come see me before you leave, okay?”
“Sure thing, Pete.”
Running my fingers along his shoulder blades, I slowly stepped away from him, letting him take in the moment. Who knew peoplewould be so smitten over an acoustic set from someone they had never heard of? Slowly, I made my way back to the table, watching as he shook hands and took a few photos with new fans.
Reaching out to grip the stem of my glass, I raised it to my lips, taking the final sip of the Mango-rita that had managed to last me his entire performance. Jillian nudged my shoulder, and I gave her a small smile, not saying a single word.
“How was the show?” My mom asked as soon as we arrived back at the cabin. The kids were all in bed already and she had wine and glasses set out to celebrate.
Everyone removed their coats and brushed the snow from our hair. Harrison shook his head like a dog—the snow flying everywhere.
“Harry, you need a haircut,” Holden grumbled, slapping him on the back as he made his way to the kitchen. “It was great, Mom. You and Dad missed a fantastic show. Daxton is really talented.”
“I’m sure he is.” She smiled. “Your father and I are planning on coming to the show Thursday to see his band. We already have a sitter in place for the kids.”
“Dustin can come, he’s old enough and he’s shown an interest in music ever since he watched Dax at the guitar shop. He’s been asking for a guitar ever since.” Holden pulled out one of the island stools and took a seat, grabbing a bottle of red wine and glass—popping the cork with ease.
Elliot leaned against the counter next to him, his palms holding all of his weight. I knew he enjoyed the show, but I could also see he was getting tired. I wanted to grab his wrist and yank him to our cabin. Snuggle up next to him in our bed and just listen to him breathe. That wasn’t creepy at all to think of, was it?
“I told Jamie I’d be happy to show him a few things before we leave. Learning the guitar can be simple if you’re really into it and he seemed into it.” Elliot sighed, straightening his shoulders slightly.
“Yeah.” Holden raised his glass. “I’m sure he’d love that. I’ll send him your way tomorrow if you’re not too busy.”
“Not at all. My accountant has figured out the sale, but I need to be in Portland for that, and we’ve already set the playlist for next Thursday, I have plenty of time.” He pushed himself off the counter and reached for the bottle of wine, pouring himself a small amount in one of the glasses. “What’s the plan for the rest of the week? We have a Christmas celebration coming up, right?”
“Yes,” my mom said, loudly, her eyes beginning to sparkle. It was her favorite part of the trip, and I was still upset that we almost didn’t do it this year. “I think we’ll do that on Wednesday.”
