Page 72 of The Escape Plan

Which feels nice, not gonna lie.

“I can grab you a chair, Beckett,” Mae offers for approximately the fifty-seventh time, but I decline with a smile. I don’t know much about little kids—I mainly teach tweens and teens—but I know it’s important to connect with them on their level.

“Do you have any nieces or nephews?” she asks, smiling fondly at her son. “You’re so good with Ev.”

“Not yet,” I say, tapping on the bongo in a rhythm that makes Everett giggle with glee. “But I will shortly—my sister is pregnant with her first.”

“I didn’t know you were about to be an uncle,” Keeley says as she walks through the sliding glass doors from the yard, holding a platter stacked high with chicken thighs glazed with Korean barbecue sauce.

“Yeah, my sister Aoife is due in October.” I grin. “Last time I talked to her, she said she felt like a cross between an elephant and a house, and she was hoping for an early arrival.”

Mae chuckles. “I remember the feeling all too well.”

Ezra comes in with a stack of ribs and announces that it’s time to eat. It feels good to be able to stand and stretch my legs, finally.

“I wanna sit next to you and Kiwi,” Everett declares, smiling up at me.Kiwimight be the cutest nickname I’ve ever heard.

“Deal, little man.”

We all gather around the dining table—me across from Keeley, and Everett perched between us on one end of the table in a booster seat, like he’s the king observing his subjects.

“Thanks again for having me,” I say as Ezra passes me a bowl of glass noodle salad. “I’ve been subsisting on a diet of sugar-coated cereal, thanks to Keeley’s grocery shopping tactics.” I give her a little smirk. “Nice to be reacquainted with some vegetables.”

“Vegetables are overrated,” Keeley declares, then seems to register what she’s currently shoveling onto her plate. “Except for your bibimbap, of course, Mae.”

“Saved yourself in the nick of time there, Keels,” Mae retorts with a wink.

As I fork a mouthful of deliciously hot, flavorful food into my mouth, Keeley, Mae, and Ezra banter back and forth. I love the way they communicate—kind of like my own family, only much, much less chaotic. Oh, and people actually seem to listen when someone else speaks.

Must be refreshing.

I’m enjoying myself thoroughly, and I take a backseat in talking in order to just listen to their conversation… until talk turns to the Indie Music Night.

“You were so good,” Mae says, and I thank her, dipping my head. It’s weird—I never know how to take compliments of this nature. Like accepting them will make me look ego-centric or prideful or self-indulgent.

“Did you know he writes his own music, too?” Keeley pipes up suddenly.

I wave a hand. “Ah, barely.”

“No, seriously, I heard him playing a tune he wrote. It was incredible.”

Ezra’s eyes spark with interest. “Really?”

“Just something I’m dabbling with,” I admit. A few days ago, I might have shrunk away from a question like that, but after performing last night—after asking Keeley out and walking home holding her hand—I’ve been feeling musically inspired.

So much so that I spent most of today working out the kinks in the new melody that’s been moving through my mind. Even adding some lyrics.

“Would you be interested in recording it, Becks?” Ezra asks.

“I’m sure you’re fully booked with lots of actual songwriters with real songs to record,” I say. I know it’s self-deprecating, but honestly, as much fun as recording might be, what would I even do with a recorded song?

“Yeah, we actually had a cancellation for next week that we’ll never fill again in time, so the spot’s yours if you want it. On the house.”

“I—”

“No pressure,” Ezra says. “But it could be a blast.”

“It could be.” Keeley’s voice is soft and accompanied by the sensation of her foot gently pressing against mine under the table. I meet her eyes, and she swallows. “And I’d love to be able to listen to it again after you leave. It was so beautiful.”

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