No Damaged Goods

Just fly.

By the time the song ends, the whole café goes quiet.

Gentle, enthusiastic applause rises, breaking my trance. I lift my head, blinking.

Oh.

They’re clapping for us, aren’t they?

I smile sheepishly, glancing at Ember. “Well, I think we got everyone’s attention.”

“Oops,” she says with a dazzling smile, blue eyes bright, a few wisps of her blonde hair slipping out of its bun to stick to her face, a faint mist of sweat on her skin.

I’m just as damp; playing is weirdly hard work.

It also leaves you lit.

Just buzzing with all this energy, even if it’s secret and wordless.

Ember stands, lowering her violin and turning to pick up the case. Around us, the patrons of The Nest slowly start to slip back into their own hushed conversations.

“We should do that again,” she says. “You’re only in Heart’s Edge for the winter, right? I’d hate to miss out on the chance to play with you some more.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I answer, shouldering my guitar and slinging it to my back by its strap.

I don’t really have a reason to stay past winter, do I?

That thought shouldn’t make me as sad as it does.

Ember watches me as she puts her violin away with quiet reverence. “You know, I think you just missed Blake.”

“Wh-what?” I jerk my head up sharply, staring at her.

How could she tell?

How could she tell so easily that I’m already missing Blake Silverton?

“He was just here,” she says, and I suck in a breath. Oh. Ohhh.

That’s what she’d meant.

“He was just kind of standing there, watching,” she continues. “Then he got a coffee and left.”

I frown. Why is she telling me this?

We barely know each other. Even I can’t be that obvious.

I smile weakly. “I guess he was just…you know, late night or something.”

“He could’ve made coffee at home. Speaking of which,” she tosses her head with an impish smile. “C’mon. When you’re related to the owner, you get free lattes.”

I trail Ember over to the counter, trying to ignore the pinched feeling in my stomach.

Had Blake come in and left because of me?

Had he…oh God, had he heard me singing?

I keep my mouth shut as I slide onto a stool next to Ember. Her cousin—I recognize her as Felicity, the one who called into the radio show, talking about her nightmares—slides over with a grin.

“Y’all are welcome to do that any time,” she says, her eyes merry as she tucks her brown hair back. “With how hard it is to keep business running, you could draw a crowd every night.”

“I think Gray would lose his mind if I left him alone with the baby every night,” Ember says with a laughing wink, tucking her loose hair back behind her ear. “He loves Auggie to death, but he gets so helpless dad sometimes. The man freaks out like she’s made of crystal and he’ll break her if he sneezes too hard.”

“Him? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Icy?” Felicity laughs. “I’ll believe it when I see the video.”

Suddenly, though, her attention’s on me—snapping to my eyes with an abruptness that makes me recoil.

She studies me. “You’re quiet. Need a little caffeine to lift you up? Anything you want, on the house.”

“Decaf,” I say with a sheepish laugh. “Or else I’ll never sleep tonight. Too wired. But maybe a decaf cappuccino?”

“Sure thing,” she says. “Not planning to stay up to listen for the radio show tonight, then?”

Oh.

Oh, damn it.

The way she’s watching me leaves no room for doubt.

She knows, doesn’t she?

Everyone knows.

That’s why Ember mentioned Blake being here.

That’s why Felicity’s watching me like a hawk with a knowing little smile.

Ugh. I guess in towns like this, everyone knows everyone’s business. And they like that business a lot when it means drama.

It hits me then.

Of course they know. Everyone and their dog heard me being flirty with Blake on the radio.

I wince, rubbing the back of my neck. “I mean, I could…”

But I’m not calling in again.

No way.

Not even to hear Blake’s voice go gentle the way I want so bad, when he’s open and sweet and soft instead of this closed off, hyper-defensive beast. Fighting to protect himself as much as he’s trying to protect Andrea from more sorrow.

“You know, I think I’ll try a full-caf cappuccino after all,” I venture, then quickly correct, “No. Half-caf. I have a nine a.m. tomorrow with rich folks who tip really well. I have to sleep at some point tonight.”

“Half-caf it is,” Felicity says, turning away with a sly look. “Blake got his coffee black with a pinch of sugar, you know. I have a feeling he’ll be up pretty late himself.”

Groan.

Oh my God.

I’m so obvious people are trying to play cupid.

But what good does it do if he doesn’t want to be my match?

* * *

I shouldn’t be awake.

Too bad.

It’s after eleven, and I’m curled up in my pajamas—or at least what I call pajamas, an old ripped tie-dye t-shirt that’s barely holding together by a thread and a pair of lace boyshort panties.