Page 20 of OctoBEARfest

Another cheer rose, then turned into club-wide laughter as the band, and Gwen, all started the requested song, but each in a different key or with the wrong beat, or—Bill didn't even knowwhatelse they were doing wrong, but it sounded genuinely awful. Gwen sang several phrases, her voice going all over the place, before breaking down into giggles against the mic. "Told you you shouldn't ask a new band to play that cold!"

The drummer, while she was laughing, called out a beat, and the second time they started the song right, getting another laughing roar of approval that set the tone for the rest of the evening. After the warmup, by the time the set was supposed to actually start, the club was full, and half an hour after that, it was packed. Gwen played to the crowd fabulously, occasionally taking requests after checking with the band to make sure they could follow, and once actually taking her phone out to apparently send them all the sheet music for a song they didn't know. That earned her a huge cheer that she bowed to the audience for, then bounced around the stage asking people their names and whether they were going to the Thunder Bear tomorrow while the band looked over the sheet music. A few minutes later they were playing again, raising the roof and encouraging dancers and singing along. It was a jubilant evening that left Bill's ears ringing when the band finally left the stage after an encore.

The audience shouted for another, and to Bill's surprise, Gwen came back on stage alone, guitar slung across her body and her mic in one hand. She brought it to her mouth, murmuring, voice low and warm and inviting as she said, "Here's the deal, folks. I've got a new album coming out next year, and some music nobody's ever heard. But you guysprobably want the stuff you already kno—" She was drowned out by the cries of protest, and ended up laughing into the mic. "Really? You sure? You wanna close on weird new music? All right." She grinned at them all, that delicious dark wine lipstick making her smile sweet enough to cut through the whole night. "Tell you what. I'll do two songs tonight, and two each on the nights I'm playing over at the Thunder Bear this weekend. You come to all three gigs, you'll have heard almost half the songs on the new album. That sound good?"

She was barely audible over the cheers of approval and excitement, but the audience settled as she patted her palms downward, asking them to quiet a bit. And they wererapt, Bill thought, as she sang one of her new songs, as if every single one of them was holding their breath, listening with their whole beings. By the third chorus for both songs, people were joining in, already committing the melody and words to memory, and Gwen herself looked as if she could fly for joy. The second song blended into a third that got a roar of excitement as the first bars became clear to the crowd, who sang along lustily with this one. At the end, Gwen bowed, waved, and walked off stage to a howl of protest that went on for three or four minutes, until the audience was sure she wouldn't come out for another encore. The crowd started breaking up, people going to get drinks or moving farther away from the dance floor, and after a while, Mike Piccolo made his way up to Bill's booth and sat down with a grin. "Your girl knows how to play to a crowd."

"She was amazing," Bill said dazedly. He could still feel the music in his blood, and his ears were ringing in the aftermath of the performance. "I can't believe how many people showed up tonight."

"Free gig," Mike said, though his smile said he knew it was more than that. "You're going to be busy at the pub this weekend."

"Let me know if you want to come. I'll send over some tickets. This has been—thank you. This was great."

"Hey." Mike chuckled. "Don't imagine it was altruism. I sold a lot of alcohol tonight and didn't have to pay for the talent. And Ripley's over the moon."

"I think everyone is."

"Yeah, but not everybody got to get up on stage with their guitar hero." Mike grinned and stood, offering a hand to shake. "No way Gwen's coming through the front of the house again tonight. She'd never get out of here. I'll take you backstage."

Bill glanced at the crowd. "That'll draw attention, won't it? Is there already a mob at the stage door?"

"Not too bad."

"Then I'll go around and meet her there, maybe. Maybe we can get out early enough that most of them won't think she'll be ready to leave yet." Bill took his phone out to text Gwen, winced at the number of unread messages in the family chat, and sent a note saying,Let me know when you're ready to go.

Any time,came back immediately.

Meet you at the stage door in a minute,he wrote back, then nodded at Mike. "Thank you again."

"Send those tickets over," Mike said with a grin. "I want to be there the night Gwen Booker breaks big."

CHAPTER 13

The only thing better than performing was sex, and in the high after coming off stage, Gwen was never even sure about that. She had to look to make sure her feet were still on the ground, and after exchanging hugs with Ripley and the other members of the house band, she wasn't sure any of them were still earth-bound. "That was a great show," she said to all, and each of them. "Playing with you guys was an honor. Thank you so much."

The bassist, a long-haired guy in his sixties, gave her a laconic nod, and the drummer and keys player, both closer to her own age, grinned and bumped shoulders but weren't beside themselves about playing with her. That was fine: this was their job, and Gwen was just another lead singer. She knew that, and so did they.

So, technically, did Ripley, but they were still vibrating with joy and excitement, because—and Gwen knewthis, too—this was the biggest gig they'd ever done. The biggest star they'd ever performed with.

It was funny, Gwen thought, that she could be run of the mill and star of the show all at the same time. That was what kept her balanced, she figured. The people who were overwhelmed bygetting to share a stage with her were evened out by the ones who thought it was just another day on the job. She grinned, hugged Ripley again, said, "See you tomorrow," and headed out, her heart leaping at the thought of Bill Torben waiting at the stage door for her. She'd had a lot of guys wait for her, over the years, and she could tell a lot about how the relationship would go from the first glimpse she had of them after a show.

Notthat she was in a relationship with Bill. Or expecting to be in one. She was only in Renaissance for the weekend. Gwen almost literally kicked herself, reminding herself of that, but the reminder felt flat and disappointing. "Woo, girl," she said beneath her breath as she pushed the stage door open. "You got it bad!" There were worse things than a weekend crush, though.

Bill Torben, all six and a half feet of him, was right there at the stage door, putting a hand on it, well above Gwen's head, to control how far it opened, to give her a chance to gauge the crowd and, clearly, to make sure they couldn't surge forward and push her back inside the building, or up against the closing door if she stepped out too fast. He held it effortlessly, although she could see the muscles in his arm at play, and when she lifted her eyes to his face, it was to find a small, awed smile on the big man's face, and a softness in his eyes that she'd never seen in a man before. He breathed, "You wereincredible," and then, just as quietly, added, "There are about twenty people out here. How do you want to play this?"

Oh, this was onehellof a weekend crush.

The rush of voices calling her name, squealing with excitement, cheering, all the sounds that she was used to at a stage door finally came in, as if Bill's very presence had blocked them out, giving her a little space just to be herself in. Gwen's heart contracted hard again and she gave him what felt like an unusually tentative smile. "I can sign things or do selfies, butonly if they can line up and be polite. Do you think you can get them to do that?"

He winked, then, without releasing his incredibly strong grip on the door, turned his head to address the crowd in a startlingly deep, crisp, commanding voice. "Ms. Booker is prepared to sign albums and take selfies,but onlyif everyone calms down, lines up, and keeps their hands to themselves like decent, polite human beings. If you can't do that…"

Bill was a huge man anyway. He did something—took a breath, squared his shoulders,something—that made him look about three times his size, and his voice dropped another half octave. "If you can't do that, I'll be escorting Ms. Booker to her vehicle andnobodyis going to bother her."

Beyond the stage door, someone audibly squeaked, and Gwen could see a quick shuffling of bodies as people rearranged themselves and quieted down. After a moment, Bill gave a firm nod and let the door open farther, revealing two tidy lines of wide-eyed fans, some clutching albums, some with their phones lifted, somebody with a Sharpie and their arm bared to be signed, all of them looking like nervous first-graders who had been promised ice cream after school if they could just bequietwhile in line. At the very end of the line, a few people were still arranging themselves in what looked like a 'you-go-first, no-you-go-first, no-you-i-insist' kind of disagreement of who could be politest, but they got themselves sorted out as Gwen bit down on a giggle.

"Amazing," she announced to all of them. "This is incredible. I need you guys to come to every stage door and teach other people how to line up politely like this."

Theydidgiggle, and for the next few minutes Gwen was busy signing, giving hugs, and getting selfies. Bill moved down the line with her, doing an incredible job of staying out of the way while also being an absolutely unmistakable Presence that noone wanted to risk messing with. A few more people came out of the club before she reached the end of the line, and she signed things for them, too, but grimaced faintly as a larger group came out, their voices incredibly loud and somewhat inebriated-sounding as they echoed off the parking lot concrete. One of them shouted as they glimpsed Gwen, who braced herself, but Bill seemed attuned to every nuance of her body language and murmured, "Go ahead and go to your car, if you want. I'll be right behind you," before planting himself firmly between Gwen and the drunken group.

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