Page 46 of Our Final Encore

“How are things with Ian?”

I take another sip of my drink and shrug my shoulders lazily. “Fine, same old Ian.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s so hot, I don’t get why you’re not into him.”

Maisie still holds out hope that I’ll fall in love with Ian and have his babies. I’m not even sure why she cares, considering that she’s also single and playing the field. Sometimes I feel like she should be the one dating him, but she swears she only sees him as a friend.

I hear the sound of an electric guitar being plugged into an amp, and the country music suddenly cuts off. Maisie’s face holds an unreadable expression as she blinks at something in the distance behind me.

Someone clears their throat into the mic, and before I can twist my head around to face the small stage I hear them say, “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

My mouth dries up instantly, my heart stuttering in my chest. The deep tenor voice cuts me straight to the bone, slicing me open and leaving me to bleed out in the corner of this bar.

I would recognize that voice anywhere.

THIRTY

Alex

My eyes dance over the small crowd, most of which are clearly more interested in their drinks than they are in me. The bar’s owner didn’t advertise that I’d be playing here tonight, I was fine with that.

There are a few older women ogling me and whispering to each other. Not unusual. Most of the bar is filled with middle-aged men with beer bellies, though. It certainly isn’t the type of audience I’m used to playing for.

It’s kind of a relief in a way, not having thousands of eyes on me. No one expects a photo op or an autograph. Ironically, I’m a faceless nobody in the place where I grew up even though I’m a D-list celebrity with a million followers on TikTok. It reminds me why I left in the first place, these aren’t my people.

That doesn’t matter now, though, I’m here until further notice whether I like it or not.

As I strum my guitar, a soft melody vibrates through the instrument and fills the small bar. A few people turn theirattention to me, but most of them continue to focus on getting drunk.

“Who has to know that I still love you?

Who has to know that I’ll always dream about you?

She won’t see that you were the only one for me,

That my love for her won’t ever be true,

All she’ll see is half of me, and she can try to make me whole,

Who has to know?”

After the song ends, scattered applause and a few whistles echo through the small building.

“Thank you,” I nod at the crowd, blinking against the harsh light shining down on me.

The crowd in front of me parts, and my eyes snag on a pair of icy blue eyes and a thick brown braid. My breath hitches and my heart flips over in my chest. The rest of the bar melts away and then she’s all I can see.

It can’t be her.I’d fully convinced myself that she had left Willow Grove ages ago, set off to follow whatever dreams she had set her mind to. Maybe gotten married, had kids.I never liked dwelling on that part, but I hoped that wherever she was, she was happy. Believing that was the only thing that got me through the day.

Her flushed face is turned towards me, her lips slightly parted and her brow wrinkled. I expect to find anger, disdain, maybe even hatred, but all I see is anguish in her eyes. She might as well be screaming at me across the bar, announcing everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life.

I dip my eyes down her body. Her shirt hugs curves that have filled in more since the last time I saw her, and her short skirt reveals long, tan legs that I can easily remember wrapping around my body. She’s even more beautiful now than she was then, somehow. My heart squeezes and I thickly swallow thelump in my throat, finally remembering that everyone is staring at me expectantly.

A million thoughts run through my head, but the main one is more an instinct than a thought:I need to talk to her.I need to feel her, to know she’s really standing there. That she isn’t a ghost or a hallucination.

Maybe it’s ridiculous, but I think part of me decided to come home just to feel close to her again. Not necessarily to seek her out or to be with her, but just to be physically closer to where our memories took place.

I set my guitar down, not bothering to explain myself to the crowd, and make my way through the crowd towards her as fast as my feet will carry me, but before I can get there she’s already halfway through the door.

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