“Good evening, everyone. I’m Gavin.” Introductions are always informal at the Bluebird, because here, everyone is on equal ground. Doesn’t matter how many accolades you have on your resume—we are all songwriters in this room, just trying to make a living doing what we love. My eyes scan the room, noting the heads nodding in recognition at me. I flash a genuine smile in their direction, forcing myself to hold it steady when noticing how many record label executives are here, some of them less than three feet away from me.
Calm the fuck down, Gavin, I tell myself after I talk about the background of the song I’m about to sing. I try to get into a comfortable position, placing my guitar on my thigh, take a deep breath, and close my eyes. I go through my meditation of zoning everyone out before internally repeating my personal motto:
You deserve to be here. Now show them why.
I peek down, watching my fingers strum the introductory notes to the very first song I wrote for someone else called “Needing You Now.” My eyes slide closed once more when I start to sing, letting the familiar chords of the song wash away my nerves as I begin my tale. I open them again so I can find that one focal point to concentrate on when I need it.
As I sing the last line of the first verse of the song, my eyes suddenly do a double take when they land on the face of one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at. Long, black lashes surround brown eyes the color of whiskey. Her face is lightly tanned with a dusting of natural-looking makeup brushed effortlessly across her face. Her hair seems to be the color of caramel, long and falling in waves down her shoulders. Her eyes are warm, inviting me into their abyss as everyone else starts to slowly fade away.
My mind screams at me not to blink, that she might be a figment of my imagination. As I start into the chorus, the emotions of the words force my eyelids shut, feeling the desperation of wanting that special someone to love you, support you, be there for you. I chose to sing this song tonight because of the power of its meaning and the emotions that it should evoke from the crowd.
My mind still pictures her as I sing out a long chord. My eyelids spring open, seeking out those stunning eyes as I mentally count the three beats of silence before continuing to the end of my narrative. I watch her expression as my voice registers up into my vibrato and an overwhelming need to impress her comes over me. Her eyes widen as I hit my note, her luscious pink lips parting in awe, telling me that I just nailed the ending of the song.
My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I stare at her while the crowd loudly cheers. I slowly start to smile at her, enjoying seeing her cheeks pinkening. She’s sitting close enough that I can see the pupils in her eyes dilated from what I hope is pleasure. I reluctantly break our eye contact to acknowledge the crowd, thanking them before continuing to talk about the next song I plan on performing.
As I get ready to move on, I know right then and there she’s going to be the one I sing to for the rest of my set, and I don’t give a fuck if people start talking about how I’m staring at her like a creeper. I want to watch every single expression that crosses over that angelic face of hers. I start the chords to my next song, not even needing to look down, because the encouragement from her eyes is all I need. All I want.
This woman has captivated me like no one else has ever before.
I need to know the identity of the woman I can’t take my eyes off of.
With our gazes locked together once more, I can’t help but wonder who she is. Her attendance tonight means she’s either in the industry or associated with someone in the industry. Please, dear Lord, if she’s associated with someone, let it not be a husband or a boyfriend. The only other person at her table is another woman I don’t know.
I look to see if I can spot a ring on her left hand when she takes a sip of whatever she’s drinking. Her hand is bare, and I can’t contain my smile knowing that the chances of her being married are slim without the hardware on. My only obstacle would be if there’s a boyfriend, and it would be surprising if there wasn’t. Most women who look like her are always taken, but then again, most women who are taken don’t look at strangers the way she’s looking at me.