Page 5 of Heart Beats

My phone’s GPS pings my arrival as I drive across a metal lift bridge. The A.I. voice instructs me to turn right onto Main Street and proceed for three hundred yards. That’s it. Blink and you’re in the heart of town. Small-town scale for the win.

“Holy fuck…” I say as I approach my destination. Even without its funky, artistic sign, I couldn’t miss Mya’s t-shirt shop. The crowd of people waiting on the sidewalk marks the spot. Looks like last night’s audience took my words at face value.

After Norton cooled down this morning, he recommended I take one of the security team along on my “fucked-up little field trip.” Not wanting a bodyguard in tow when I connect with Maria, I declined. That might’ve been a mistake. Hopefully, Canadians are all as polite as their reputation makes them out to be.

I duck my head as much as possible while driving, then hang a left at the next corner and park alongside the curb about a block down. A quick Google search gets me the number for Mya’s store, and I tap the button to call.

“Mya’s Art in Fact,” a strong, feminine voice answers.

“Is this Mya?”

“The one and only.” The background of the call is a heavy rumble of voices. “Can I help you?”

“You can. This is Jagger Marsh.”

Husky laughter similar to Maria’s bursts through the earpiece. “Sure you are. Look, buddy, I’ll tell you the same thing I told the other Jaggers who’ve called—you’re not getting any free shit from my store, and I’m not giving you my sister’s number. And, we’re done here, so—”

“Wait, I can prove it.” I grimace, because, shit. My stunt at the concert clearly drew the douchebags out of the shadows and pointed them directly at Mya. Not the best way to get in the good graces.

“Whatever. Let’s hear it,” she says, sighing impatiently. “And before you get started, if your ‘proof’ is a narration of what millions of people have watched on YouTube, don’t bother.”

Millions? Fuck. I didn’t think to look for clips from the show. “I’ll tell you what happened when we left the stage.”

A skeptical snort ripples through the line. “Have at it,Jagger. When I’m not here at the end of your story, it’s because I hung up on your bullshitting ass. I know exactly what happened, because my sister told me everything—in detail.”

Perfect.“I told Maria I was glad her sister dragged her out. She said, ‘me too,’ then told me my voice is fantastic, which is refreshing because so many popular artists suck live.” I can’t help laughing, but I curb it as quickly as it starts. “I’m paraphrasing a bit, but she definitely used the words ‘fantastic’ and ‘refreshing.’ Then I invited her to watch the rest of the show from backstage, and said we could talk more after the encore. Unfortunately, we never got to do that.”

“Holy fucking shit!” She screams those words at me, then whispers, “You’re actually Jagger Marsh.”

“I am. Hey, I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble. I didn’t think about creeps calling your store. Obviously, I didn’t think ahead about any of it. Look, if you don’t mind more pandemonium at your store than you’re already handling over there, maybe I can make the bullshit worthwhile by hanging out for a while and signing autographs for people who buy stuff. If you’re good with that.”

“Wait—you’re here? In Hope Harbor? Like, for real, you actually showed up?”

“I’m parked around the corner, near the back of your store. Do you have a receiving door? Not sure I’ll actually make itintoyour store if I go to the front.”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t be good for my business if your security team strong-arms my potential customers.”

“No security, I’m alone.”

“Are you shitting me?” she asks, snorting another laugh. “All right, badass. Watch the back of the building. I’ll pop the emergency exit open as soon as I get a chance. Oh, and you should know—Maria’s not here. If that changes your plan, I get it.”

Fuck.“Not at all. I take my commitments seriously. I’ll watch for the door.”

A few minutes later, an unmarked steel door opens in the row of connected, old, brick buildings. Mya doesn’t exit or poke her head out, and when I step into the small stockroom, I immediately know why. Her store is noisy and hot as fuck. If there’s air conditioning in here, it’s no match for the body heat being generated.

A glance at my watch tells me it’s almost two o’clock. I’ve never made fans wait for a show, and I’m not starting now. Plus, the sooner I finish with the crowd and lineup, the sooner I can focus on Maria—wherever she is.

The noise level rockets as I push the curtain separating the stockroom from the store aside. People rush me before I can get a word out or take a second step forward. Hands semi-raised, I work my way toward the center of the small shop, smiling and saying hello, but shaking off requests for autographs.

“Holy shit,” Mya says when I finally join her behind the sales counter. “All this based on a casual comment at a concert… What’s it like when you actually plan and advertise a public appearance?”

“The same, but bigger.” I tip my head toward the swell of bodies filling every inch of floor space. “You ready to sell out the store?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Let’s rock and roll.”

Up close, the resemblance to her sister is unmistakable. They’re both beautiful women. But there’s no spark when Mya smiles at me. No zing between us that makes my dick hard. Proof that it wasn’t just Maria’s looks I fell for last night.

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