Page 28 of The Charm of You

“But enough about me. What about you?” Emily squeals. “Last I heard, you were dating a fancy schmancy stockbroker, and you were on billboards. How very exciting.” Each word is uttered with forced delight. If her makeup weren’t so thick and flawless, her cheeks would be green with envy, without a doubt.

There’s nothing to be envious about since I’m not the fancy schmancy New Yorker she seemingly believes me to be, but I can’t bring myself to tell her the sordid truth. Am I terrible for wanting to rub the glamour of my life from last week in my old frenemy’s face just a tiny bit? It’s harmless.

Besides, I promised myself I’d pretend for the sake of a sweet visit. Sharing my reality with her would lead to drama, and it’s such a fun evening. Why ruin it?

“It really is exciting,” I say with a sweet, victorious smile. “Always a rooftop party, a weekend getaway to the Hamptons, and so much champagne. The streets of Manhattan practically overflow with bubbly.”

Okay, that was probably overboard and a definite stretch, but I can’t deny how satisfying it is to witness her smile falter.

“Great,” she chirps through gritted teeth. After a beat, she waves to someone over my shoulder and excuses herself.

To be honest, I’m surprised she’s at the Tap at all. Seems like she’d be more at home rubbing shoulders with Georgia’s elite at a martini bar in Savannah.

I return to Addie and Maren, who stare after Emily as she exchanges air kisses with someone I don’t recognize. “She’s still… something, isn’t she?” I sip my drink as they snort.

“You got that right,” Addie says out of one side of her mouth like she’s incognito. “I’d bet the only reason she’s here is because her husband is schmoozing the voters. That, or he’s collecting poker players for his next game. The guy is obsessively competitive, and he’s probably run out of schmucks to gamble with on the golf course.”

“That explains a lot,” I mutter.

“What I need explained is why we didn’t know you have a boyfriend.” Maren turns her accusatory gaze on me. “Is he in town?”

“Oh…” My mouth dries.

It was one thing to lie to a frenemy while I’m giving hakuna matata a whole new meaning, but the idea of doing the same to my real friends forms knots in my stomach.

“It’s kind of… complicated.” I frown.

I’m saved from any further explanation by the screeching microphone from the stage.

Singers trade off in my periphery, and I don’t turn along with the rest of the crowd until a magnetic voice draws my full attention in that direction.

Austin himself is perched onto a stool with an acoustic guitar across his lap and a microphone angled toward his thin lips. He briefly addresses the crowd, and my skin sizzles from the rumble of his deep, gravelly voice.

Behind him, a guy settles at the drums, and a woman stands by a keyboard, where she positions a second microphone near her.

Cole races up to the stage and grabs Austin’s microphone to say, “Thanks for coming out, everybody. It’s great to see so many of you coming together tonight for a good time here at the Tap. We’re just going to take a quick intermission from karaoke to give our eardrums a break.” He pauses for our collective laugh and a few hushed jokes to subside. “Let’s give it up for Sapphire Creek’s own Austin Kyle, Gemma Stephens, and Hunter Links.”

In front, Austin strums one, two, three chords, and the song takes off from there as they launch into a familiar tune. It only takes a few words of the first verse for me to recognize the song. It’s a cover of “What If I Never Get Over You” by Lady A, and it’s impressively well done.

Addie, Maren, and I toss our free hands into the air and sway along to the beat with the rest of the crowd. Some belt out the words to those standing next to them. Others clear a dance floor in front of the stage, and the space quickly fills with people in cowboy boots and sundresses.

Neighbors and co-workers fill this place, shoulder to shoulder. They see each other basically every day, yet they still seem perfectly happy to hang out some more.

It’s as baffling as it is beautiful.

There’s a real community here.

And it feels like Austin’s plucking the strings to the soundtrack of my heart, which squeezes as I drink it all in.

When was the last time I felt this sense of belonging? I don’t think I’ve ever felt it in New York, not even at my favorite bar. Sure, there are regulars there too, and it’s comforting.

But the friends I meet there are my co-workers. There’s a distance between us, which is more evident now than ever. If we were actually friends, I would’ve heard from them, but Beverly is the only one who’s reached out.

I think I’ve always known the truth, but it’s never bothered me. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to move there all those years ago—to blend in and fade away in the gobs of strangers living there.

Back then, I found solace in the chaos. People up North didn’t know me or anything about my father’s death. They didn’t offer their condolences, and they didn’t expect me to hold myself together. I didn’t have to tamp down my overwhelming emotions.

It offered me the space to explore who I wanted to be when I grew up.

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