Page 145 of Forever To Me

Cami steps up, taps the mic, and announces me.

"Hey, y'all. Tonight, we have something special planned for everyone. Violet is a fantastic singer and songwriter. She has a few songs she'd love to share with you tonight. This is brand-new music that no one has ever heard. Not a cover, but her veryown songs that she wrote. I'm so excited! Let's give it up for our very own, Violet Wilson!"

The bar erupts in applause and whistles. My legs shake as I walk up and settle onto the stool at the mic stand. I fumble with my guitar, adjusting the strap, my fingers numb from clutching the guitar so tightly. The crowd quiets.

Too quiet.

I clear my throat, bringing the mic closer. “Uh, hey, everyone.” My voice is shaky. “I, um, I wrote this song with someone special recently, and?—”

There’s movement in the corner of my eye. A shadow stepping onto the stage. I turn my head—and there he is.

Walker.

A guitar slung over his back, his smirk slow and easy, like he planned this.

“What are you doing?” I whisper as he slides onto the stool beside me.

He grins. “Singing with you.”

Oh.Oh.

The crowd erupts—cheering, clapping, hooting like they just won the damn lottery.

Because Asher Wyatt—the man who swore his singing days were behind him—just stepped onto the stage, guitar in hand, in front of a crowd that only knows him as Walker.

They’ve never seenthisside of him before. The legend, the raw talent, the man who once owned every stage he set foot on. But he’s still in there.

And for the first time in years, they’re about to witness the man he tried to leave behind.

He tunes the strings, then turns to me, his knee brushing mine, his voice whispers low. “You’re not doing this alone, Red.”

My breath catches.I don't know how he seems to know,seems toalways see me, really see me, even when I don’t say a damn word? Walker can read me like a book.

He gives me a look, are you ready? I nod, my hands settling on the strings. And then we play. The first chords hum through the speakers, filling the room, and suddenly, everything else fades.

I don’t hear the chatter at the bar. I don’t see the crowd.

I see him.

His eyes flick to mine, warm and knowing, and I swear we’re somewhere else—somewhere without walls, expectations, or past lives. Just us. Just this. And I get lost in the moment. So lost, like the kind of lost where when you finally come up for air, you forget where you are and what you were doing.

We sing.

Oh God. This is different. This is more than just singing. The way his voice blends with mine, the way our bodies move in perfect time, it’s like we were always meant to do this together. Like we’re pulling the song straight out of the air like it’s been waiting for us to find it.

His voice is low and rich, wrapping around mine, guiding me, anchoring me.

I lean closer, tilting my face toward him as we sing the chorus. His eyes darken, his voice roughening just slightly, and I swear, for a moment, we forget.

Forget that there are people watching. Forget that this is supposed to be a one-time thing.

Forget that he’s a bar owner now and not the country music legend he used to be.

But the way he looks at me as we hit the last note? That’s not a man who’s done with music. That’s a man remembering who he is. The powerhouse, the artist, the musician who healed hearts and gave so much joy with his music.

The last chord fades, and the entire bar explodes intoapplause. But neither of us moves. We still sit knee to knee, breathing hard, staring at each other like we just stumbled into something dangerous and completely inevitable.

His eyes drop to my lips. I don’t think. I just move. I lean in, and he meets me halfway.

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