Page 18 of Everything I Crave

Once the band starts playing, I lose myself in the song. Singing on stage is like slipping on my favorite pair of worn leggings. The ones I like to wear with Gunnar’s tee, that I stole from the laundry, at the end of the night before cuddling into my favorite spot on the couch. Something I’ve started to relish at the end of a busy night.

As the song ends the crowd erupts into cheers. I notice a lot of cell phones pointed at us, no doubt recording. I make a mental note to check social media later. I’ve tried to stay off social media lately unless I’m quickly posting an old video. The hashtag my sisters mentioned earlier is in fact trending but not all the users are friendly. Some are downright nasty. And if I go down the rabbit hole of nasty comments it really messes with me, hence the drinking.

In my new vow of sobriety, I also promised myself I wouldn’t readcomments anymore.

I hop off the stage and go back to serving the patio tables. As I start to walk around I’m met by some to tell me how much they love my voice, and ask when I’m releasing something of my own for streaming.

I never have, because Jake always told me not to. Something I will have to remedy. A little fuck you to him when I succeed.

“Oh. Em. Gee! Willow! You’re amazing! You’re such a natural up there!” Addy jumps out of her seat to hug me.

“I got the best video and I just put it on social media! You’re so beautiful when you smile, I can see this is truly your calling.” Lacey beams.

Scarlett just hugs me, unshed tears in her eyes. She’s always been my quiet sister, knowing when not to push me, and when words aren’t needed. I hug her back, grateful that she still possesses that skill after all these years apart.

As the crowd picks up, I get less and less time with my sisters. Eventually they head out, all going home to their families.

I am more than happy when the bar closes. Tonight was slammed, and I was called up on stage a few more times to sing with the band. They even asked me if I wanted to make it a permanent gig.

I replied that I needed more time to think about it. I’m not sure if I’m ready to enter the music world again, and this band is pretty well known in New England, so it would require some traveling, mostly on the weekend. I don’t know how Gunnar wouldfeel about that since I’m new and he was willing to give me a chance.

Per usual, Gunnar takes my order and makes me dinner to eat upstairs. Eating together after work has become our ritual. I’ve learned a lot about him over the nights we spend together. And I really like who I’m getting to know.

I head upstairs first, to shower off the night, and then Gunnar showers after me while I set the island for us to eat.

I drift off into the third bedroom where I keep my guitar. I must have started to daydream, lost in this room dreaming of what I will release one day. I run my fingers gently over the top of the guitar, holding it in my lap.

“Do you think you’ll play again? I’ve never heard you play.” Gunnar’s voice breaks my daydream and brings me back to reality.

“Maybe one day,” I answer honestly because I just don’t know.

“I play too. We could play together one night,” he offers.

“You do?” I never would have guessed that about this gruff ex-military man.

“Yup. Needed something to keep me out of trouble in high school in a small town. My brother used to get mad because I was always cooler with a guitar. He tried to learn but my parents quickly redirected him to football.” He laughs at the memory.

“I’d really like that.” I get up and place my guitar back on the stand. “But right now, I’d really like my pasta. I’m starving. I didn’t get to snack tonight.”

“Tonight was insane. We never slowed down.”

He places his hand on the small of my back and directs me down the hall to the kitchen. He’s started finding small ways to touch me, and it’s driving me nuts.

I want him to touch me more. But whenever I make a move like the night he taught me how to pour a beer, he pulls away. He’s either king of mixed signals, or he doesn’t even realize he’s touching me.

I wonder idly if he’s just a touchy guy. Although, he certainly doesn’t strike me as one.

We fall into the same small talk as we do everynight. Me asking about his family, him asking about my past until I evade all questions I don’t want to answer. Or don’t have the answers for quite yet.

“Want to play twenty questions?” I ask between bites.

He furrows his brow, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Do I look like the type of guy that plays twenty questions?” he counters.

“No but we’re working on beingfriends,right?”

“Fine. I’ll play your game, little firecracker,” he sighs in defeat.

I start easy with him. “Favorite color?”

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