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But I want a beer more, so I plaster on a smile as he approaches. “What can I get you?”
He seems distracted, so maybe it’s my lucky night. “Whatever’s on tap.”
The conversation going on beside me is so loud, I can barely make out the music being played on the small stage across the room. I lift my hat to brush back my bangs just as Winston returns with my beer. I waste no time taking a long sip.
“Here to see your old friend?” Winston asks, and I stifle a groan.
“No offense, but I see you plenty,” I reply tongue-in-cheek.
He motions toward the stage. “I’m talking about the Sullivan Ranch’s returning employee.”
I lift out of my seat to see, and my throat goes dry. Porter is sitting onstage, plucking away at his guitar. And fuck if my heart doesn’t stutter seeing him with those boots, the damp hair from his sweaty forehead curling up against his hat. That might be the only clue that being under the spotlight is nerve-racking for him.
I know Winston is waiting for a response, and the gossip in this town is rampant, so I feign disinterest and simply nod.
“Wonder what brings him back to town.”
I hitch a shoulder. “Everybody’s gotta earn a living.”
Thankfully, a customer shouts his order to get Winston’s attention, and he turns away.
I settle back on the stool and listen to Porter play the slow, sappy ballad, since I don’t have a direct view of him. Every now and again the crowd parts and I lay eyes on him. But he doesn’t see me, likely because he has his lids shut most of the time, as if he’s in sync with the melody in his head.
It’s just as well. I don’t want him to think this wasn’t totally accidental. Besides, it gives me time to catch my breath and unpack how I feel seeing him in this setting, let alone seeing him at all tonight. I can’t help being drawn to the man as it is, but being able to view him like this, so open and vulnerable in front of a live audience, is almost too much to bear.
He’s beautiful, and it reminds me of the times we’d make our escape on the ranch to be alone. I’d lay my head on his knee and listen to him play. Sometimes his fingers would reach out to finger my hair, and I’d sigh from pure happiness. My chest would feel so full, I was sure it would burst open. My emotions were so confusing back then, but with some distance, likely what I was feeling for Porter was some form of love. Maybe it was immature adoration or just a deep crush. I don’t know.
I stay for his entire set, and obviously way too long because before I know it, the crowd is thinning and Porter is standing with his back to me, packing away his guitar.
I throw money on the counter while Winston is busy serving another customer, and spot the exit to the back parking lot. If I walk around the long table of rowdy cowpokes, I can skirt by him successfully and he’ll be none the wiser.
Throwing open the door, I step outside to the mostly empty lot. I take two steps before I hear him behind me. “What the hell, Bishop?”
Fuck. I screw my eyes shut for a moment before turning and facing him.
There’s wariness in his gaze. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I step closer. “It’s a coincidence, I promise.”
“Then why are you creeping out the back door without so much as a greeting?”
“I didn’t want you to think I followed you or was checking up on you.” I aim the key fob at my truck to open the door. “And that’s exactly what happened. My bad.”
“You’ve been gone all day,” he lobs at me just as I get to my car.
“Should I be flattered you noticed?” I throw over my shoulder.
“Of course I noticed. You’re my boss.”
The back door flies open, and the group of cowpokes steps outside. We grow silent as they make their way to their cars in groups of three and four. Porter steps closer and sets his guitar case near my front bumper as we wait.
I’m standing by the driver’s side door, wondering if I recognize any of them, but they pay us no mind. It helps that the only light illuminating the lot is the one above the back door.
They say their goodbyes and get in their trucks. As they make their exit, I breathe out in relief. The back lot is empty now, save for one other car.
“Had quite a crowd in there,” I say, gripping the door handle. “You sounded good. I was enjoying myself but should’ve left earlier. Hope I didn’t spoil the mood.”
“Wait.” He steps toward me. “You look tired. Long day?”
