Page 60 of The Rebel with Broken Strings
They weaved through the crowd, the air thick with anticipation and the faint scent of weathered wood.
As they placed an order and made their way to a small table near the back of the cafe, Aubrey couldn’t help but drink in every detail: the faded posters on the walls, the worn hardwood floors, the intimate stage where history was made. She felt a thrill running through her, knowing that this was where legends were born.
“I can’t believe I’m actually here,” she whispered to Gunner, her eyes sparkling.
Gunner’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Welcome to the heart of country music, darlin’.”
As she took her seat, Aubrey took in the intimate setting. The walls were filled with music history, adorned with signed guitars and faded photographs of legends who had graced this very stage.
“It’s like stepping into a time capsule,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on a black-and-white photo of Dolly Parton.
Gunner leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Every inch of this place has a story to tell.”
Aubrey felt a shiver run down her spine, unsure if it was from Gunner’s proximity or the weight of the room’s history. She took a deep breath, trying to ground herself in the moment.
“I bet you have some stories of your own from here,” she said, curiosity getting the better of her.
A shadow passed over Gunner’s face, quickly replaced by his usual charm. “Darlin’, you have no idea.” He chuckled, but Aubrey caught a hint of something deeper in his blue eyes.
As the lights dimmed further, a reverent hush fell over the room. Aubrey felt it then—the magic of the Bluebird, the dreams and heartbreaks that had been poured out on that small stage. For a moment, she forgot about her own troubles, lost in the promise of the music to come.
Aubrey’s fingers brushed against Gunner’s as they both reached for a tortilla chip to dip into salsa. “These are so good,” Aubrey whispered.
He leaned in, his voice low and husky. “Not as good as you look tonight, darlin’.”
Aubrey felt her cheeks flush, grateful for the dim lighting. She took a bite of the chip, savoring the taste as she gathered her thoughts. “Flattery will get you everywhere, cowboy,” she teased.
Gunner’s laugh was a soft rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”
The emcee stepped onto the stage, his voice cutting through the gentle hum of conversation. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to open mic night at the Bluebird Cafe!”
Aubrey clapped along with the crowd as the first performer took the stage. A young woman with fiery red hair and a battered guitar, who began with a sweet country ballad.
“You know,” Gunner said softly, his voice barely audible over the music, “this is where I got my start in Nashville.”
Aubrey’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Here?”
Gunner nodded, a wistful smile playing on his lips. “Yep. I was just a kid with big dreams and an old guitar. Drove all night from Montana, slept in my truck and showed up here with nothing but hope.”
“What was it like?” Aubrey asked, leaning in closer, captivated by this glimpse into Gunner’s past.
“Terrifying,” he chuckled, his eyes meeting hers. “But the moment I stepped on that stage, it felt like coming home.”
Aubrey felt a surge of warmth in her chest, imagining a younger Gunner, full of nervous energy and raw talent. “I wish I could’ve seen that,” she said softly.
As the current performer’s set came to a close, a palpable excitement began to build in the room. Aubrey noticed people whispering, heads turning toward their table.
The host’s voice rang out, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special treat for you tonight. Let’s see if we can get to the stage… Gunner Woods!”
A ripple of applause and excited murmurs swept through the crowd. Aubrey’s eyes widened in surprise, her gaze darting between Gunner and the expectant faces around them.
“Gunner,” she breathed, “did you know about this?”
Gunner’s eyes widened, surprise and hesitation flashing across his face. He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, I didn’t plan this, but I had to use my name to get us tickets.”
The crowd’s encouragement swelled, as the emcee said, “Come on, Gunner. Get on up here.”
Aubrey watched as Gunner’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on the table.
