Page 7 of Bone Dust

My limbs protest as I quickly pack up. I’m stiff from sitting. My bed will feel good tonight and I can’t wait to get home.

As I kneel and place my guitar inside its case, the worn, blue velvet lining captures my attention. I didn’t keep many things from my house when I moved but I wouldn’t dare leave this behind. It’s a sweet connection to my parents and something all three of us have touched.

I let my gaze linger on it for a moment. Inside, the creamy, worn fabric begs for my attention, so I slide my fingertips over the cloth. A hint of a smile tugs at my lips. Its deep cobalt color has dulled with age but is now washed-out just enough that it’s near the shade of my mother’s eyes.

Instantly, a flash of her face sweetly assaults me, and the memory of her beauty trembles my lips.

“I hope you’re proud of me, Momma,” I whisper to the presence I feel, but can’t see.

Emerging tears sting my eyes. I clear my throat to shake off the threatening emotions. I’ve got no time for reminiscing. I’ve dawdled long enough. If I want some quiet time at home to soak in my first standing ovation, I need to get moving.

Quickly, I secure my guitar. As I pull my hand away to close the lid, the garnet ring my parents gifted me for my sixteenth birthday snags a scrap of the material. I toss a look side to side. Was that you who made my ring catch?

The thought that my mother could influence such an act runs a smile from my heart to my lips while I contemplate the possibility that her spirit is somewhere nearby. I dislodge the cloth and fondle it between my thumb and fingers, noting to myself that, if she could be close to me in spirit form, she would be. The thought warms me inside as I tuck my new talisman into my pocket.

“Savannah?”

I turn toward the voice at the end of the stage. “Yes?”

A gentleman who appears to be about fortyish looks between himself and the pretty woman whose hand he’s holding. Their affection is transparent as they share a loving look between them.

“We just wanted to say, we really felt your song tonight. The way you sang Heal Me hit us in a different way than the Boundless Hearts’ version. The way you performed it made us like it better than the original.”

The original huh? I smother a snicker. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

“We’ll be back next week and hope you’ll do it again,” the woman adds.

My brow quirks high. “I just might.”

They depart and I grab the guitar and my purse to make a quick exit.

“Savi!” Sam’s voice booms across the thinned-out crowd.

Shit.

My head falls back, and I close my eyes, feeling defeated. I’m never going to get out of here.

Irritation bristles my temper, yet I tamp down the slow-simmering anger within as I take the necessary steps to approach him. “Yes?”

My feelings must be showing because Sam’s jolly expression fades. “I thought you might take a minute for my friend.”

And there goes my plan to get out of here fast.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I’d done that during my break.” The strain in my voice is apparent.

I exaggerate a slow turn and am instantly sucked in by Ian’s beautiful amber eyes. Over the years I’ve convinced myself that my infatuation with this man has waned, but I can’t deny the fact that he’s still hotter than hell as I’m pulled into the warm, smokey color.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stanton. Forgive me. I’m Savannah. It’s nice to meet you—again.”

Ian’s expression goes blank with my cocky attitude. Perfecting my resting bitch face I, ever-so-slowly, turn back to Sam.

“Will there be anything else?”

CHAPTER THREE

Ian

Sam’s brows pinch tight. “I’ll see you at dinner. Sunday. We’ll talk then.” His words are flat and measured.

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