Page 67 of The Escape Plan

Applause rings out. Sissy cheers. Cash puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles.

“I’m up,” I say to Keeley.

Quick as a flash, she pulls me into a hug.

For such a little woman, she’sstrong.

Our bodies press together, and her hands are cool on my back. My nose buries in her hair so I'm breathing in the scent of raspberries and vanilla as I squeeze her tight.

It’s the first time we’ve hugged. I hope it’s not the last. So much so that I keep my arms wound around her for what I’m sure is way too long.

“You should probably get up there,” she finally says

“I should.”

She pulls back, and I almost wish I could swallow my words. Cancel my performance, shut this Indie Music Night down, and stay here with her in my arms all night.

But my regret is short-lived, because before I can walk away, she stands on her tiptoes. Her lips brush against my cheek before she whispers, “Good luck, Becks.”

It’s the fuel I need, and as I take the stage, all the nerves leave my body as I sling my guitar over my neck and realize I’m ready. I’m exactly where I should be at this moment.

Exactly where Iwantto be.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Keeley

I’m melting.

Like, literally. We need a clean-up on aisle three because I’m an actual puddle.

Beckett’s guitar playing is beyond anything I’ve heard live. And he has a voice like butter. Sultry, smooth, melted butter that I want to order a vat of so I can drown in it.

It’s not just that, either. He has this…presenceonstage. It’s just him, his guitar and the mic stand, but it’s almost overwhelming. His confidence, his pure and unadulterated charisma, forces you to stop what you’re doing and watch. Forces your breath to catch.

Holy moly was the man downplaying his talents with that bashful act of his.

He should be performing for the masses. Selling millions of records worldwide, flying in private jets, headlining Coachella, and booking out Madison Square Garden.

But instead, he’s here, in Serendipity Springs.

In cozy, warm, familiar Serendipi-Tea, singing for our townspeople.

Singing for me.

Because from the moment he took the stage, he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. And I haven’t been able to take my eyes off him as his beautiful, low voice sings an Irish song I vaguely recognize. A song that’s all about a girl with black hair and blue eyes.

Not that I’m reading into that part too much… okay, fine, I’m totally reading into it. And also wanting to jump up and down like a little kid with excitement because I have a freakingdatewith this unbelievably hot, talented man tomorrow night.

He sings the last line, strums the last chord, and there’s a moment of still, still silence. Like, you could hear a pin drop.

And then, everyone’s on their feet.

The applause is raucous. Thunderous.

People whistle and shout, “Encore!”

Nori looks like she could burst with happiness—her first Indie Music Night is a literal roaring success. Ezra looks beyond impressed, his eyes popping wide. Even Andrew’s taking part in the standing ovation, on his feet and clapping loudly.

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