Page 69 of Sweet Escape

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m like a ninja.” I narrow my eyes. “A ninja assassin.”

“Make a joke about murdering my brother’s dick andI’llturn into an assassin.”

We burst into laughter as all of us climb out of our chairs.

“Thanks for inviting me, ladies,” Quinn says once we’ve left the spa and settled in at a little sandwich and salad place a few doors down. “The past few months have been exhausting, and I really needed this.”

“Quinn just had a baby,” Murphy offers, beaming.

My mouth drops and my eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, congratulations!”

Suddenly, Quinn’s protests that she’s not ready to find a new relationship are cast in a new light. She has a whole other human to consider now.

“Thanks. Willow is thirteen weeks tomorrow.”

I blink. “I don’t know what that means.”

Quinn laughs. “She’s a little over three months.” Then she tugs out her phone and shows me a picture of a sweet little brunette with big, beautiful eyes.

“She looks so much like you.”

Quinn smiles and scrolls through a few more photos, and I ooh and aah as she does. Then the server arrives to take our order, and we all scramble to pick something, having not taken any time to look at the menu.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Murphy says, once the server has left to go grab ice waters, “and I would like to suggest ... again ... that you try that open mic night tomorrow at The Standard.”

“That’s right. Murphy’s been bragging about you nonstop since she moved back. I’d love to hear you play.”

“I’d be happy to play for you,” I tell Quinn, before pinning Murphy with an unamused look. “But I’m not playing at an open mic night.”

“Look, what Todd doesn’t know won’t kill him. Besides, you said you’ve been writing a lot, and this will give you a chance to test out your music before you go into the studio, right?”

It’s one of those frustrating things about signing with a label. To some degree, they own you. There are stipulations on what clearances you need from which people before you can perform, how large or small the venue size can be, and whether or not it can be recorded.

So even though it’sjustan open mic night at a bar in the middle of nowhere, it’s still probably a bad idea.

I’ve thought plenty about it, though.

Performing is like serotonin straight to my veins. It’s been a few months since I signed with Humble Roads, which means it’s also been a few months since the last time I got up in front of an unfamiliar crowd, nothing but me and my guitar.

And this new stuff I’m working on ... I’m nervous about taking it to Todd and his boss, Jonas, because it feels like me, but different. Me on a different level.

I don’t know how they’re going to respond.

So, yeah. The idea of this super tiny, no big deal, open mic night at The Standard has been buzzing around in the back of my mind.

And if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t ruled it out completely.

At least not yet.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her, hoping that will assuage her from continuing to pester me about it. “But I make no promises.”

When I spot Errol with a book in the little library inside the Firehouse, I veer his way, plopping down on the armchair opposite where he’s sitting.

He startles a little bit before he smiles.

“Hey there, sweetie. Having a good day?”

“Yeah. Had myself a girls’ day out in Napa with friends. Massages and pedicures and lunch.”

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