I wipe angrily at a stubborn stain on the booth’s glossy surface, my rag moving with such force I’m half-surprised it doesn’t catch fire. I may or may not be picturing a certain musician as I try to expunge the smudge from the face of the earth. I can still hear his words ringing in my ears as he warned his bandmate to stay away from me.

No sense messing up our performing schedule here by screwing some cheap cocktail waitress…

It was bad enough when he cut me off mid-sentence, without even letting me get my name past my lips. But to learn what he was calling me behind my back…

I swallow down a scream and move on to the next table.

I guess that doe-eyed, innocent look just doesn’t do it for me. I prefer women in my bed, not little girls.

I picture him sitting there, that oh-so-charming smirk affixed on his lips, Lacey tucked against his side like cat hair clinging to a wool sweater, and slam a chair upside down on the tabletop with so much force, I’m worried it might buckle. My blood is about two degrees from boiling over.

If you want to fuck her, by all means. Doesn’t matter to me.

Where the hell does he get off, treating me like that?

Who does he think he is?

An entitled, egomaniacal jerk, apparently.

I curse him, then curse myself for ever thinking he might be a decent human being, for allowing myself to conjure up some elaborate fairytale in my mind about what might happen if I ever got the chance to talk to him again. Serves me right for even thinking about dating a musician, when I’ve had eighteen years of personal experience screaming at me to run the opposite direction as fast as my legs can carry me.

Ryder Mother-Fudging Woods can go straight to heck, as far as I’m concerned.

Pushing him from my mind, I throw myself into my work as a distraction. It’s strange to see The Nightingale so quiet. Carly cleared out a few minutes ago, followed closely by Jay and Adam. Since I live upstairs, these days I’m pretty much always the last to leave by the time the floors are swept and chairs are stacked.

The first few weeks, Adam made everyone wait until I was done. Eventually — when he came to trust that I wasn’t going to rob the place blind in his absence — he started leaving me the extra set of keys to lock up, freeing the rest of the staff to go home. I don’t mind. They’ve all got twenty minute commutes to their houses on the outskirts of the city; I’ve got a thirty second walk up a single flight of stairs. It’s only fair they get a jump on the drive, rather than hanging around watching me work for moral support.

I start to hum a melody I’ve been working on for the past few days under my breath as I clear off the rest of the tables in my section, taking advantage of the acoustics in the empty bar with no one around to hear me.

“A break in the clouds, a crack in the sky.

Everyone said lightning never strikes twice.

There’s fire in my blood. A beat in my veins.

Standing out in this field, my face up to the rain…”

No, that’s not right. The last line doesn’t quite fit.

I try again.

“Spinning out this storm like a damn weather vane…”

I shake my head. That’s even worse.

No matter how many different word combinations I try, that last line feels wrong, like a puzzle piece jammed into place where it doesn’t belong. I’m glad there’s no one around to hear my fumbling attempts. I never sing in front of anyone if I can help it. It’s not that I can’t carry a tune. Truthfully, I love to sing. I simply don’t enjoy doing it in front of other people. The thought of being up on a stage, under all those bright lights, with a hundred strangers staring at me…

So exposed. So defenseless.

I shudder.

I finish stacking chairs on the high tops in the front and begin to make my way through the booths against the far wall. I hum the melody over and over as I work methodically down the line — spraying down the surfaces, swinging my hips as I sweep the rag back and forth to the tempo. The music takes hold of me as the words pour out.

“A storm’s rolling in, black on the horizon.

I take shelter in you but the rains keep on rising.

There’s blood in my mouth. A scar on my soul.

If this is called love, I’d rather go it alone.”

I’m halfway down the row of booths. Skipping over the chorus, I shift straight to the next verse instead.

“I wait for the dawn, a new day to break.

Storm winds are gone but my heart still aches.

I sort through the wreckage. You sit there crying.

You said you’d protect me… are you even trying?”

Every line of this song is saturated by memories I can’t erase. My eyes start to sting with tears as I sing. I shake them away and return to the opening verse, the part where I keep getting stuck. If I could just get this line right, it would finally be finished. Maybe then, I could put it to rest. Maybe then, I could stop wondering what happened after I left. How she’s weathering the storm without me, now that I’m no longer there to take the worst of the damage.

“There’s fire in my blood. A beat in my veins…”

I trail off.

“You could try, Laughing into the storm like I’m going insane.” A strong, male voice suggests out of nowhere, scaring me half to death. “Or, maybe, the winds are howling a haunting refrain.”

Spinning around, my heart pounds double-time as I seek out the source of the voice. I take a few angry strides to the last booth in the row and find Ryder sprawled flat on the seat cushion, totally concealed by the table unless you’re standing directly beside it.

“You!” I screech. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

He sits up, looking bleary-eyed as he glances around. His hair is even more mussed than usual — flattened on one side from sleeping on it. He shrugs lightly.

“Passed out, I guess.”

“You… But… ” My cheeks redden. “You can’t be in here! We’re closed.”

“Damn. Missed last call, then,” he murmurs, looking crestfallen as he glances around the empty bar. “Too much to hope I can get you to pour me a nightcap, I suppose?”

I bend to retrieve the empty bottle of whiskey on the floor by his feet, setting it on the table with a dull clink. “I think you’ve had quite enough.”

“Not by half.”

My brows lift at his dark tone. I want to ask why he’s in such a foul mood, what sorrows he’s so intent on drowning, but my lips clamp shut. I refuse to display a single drop of sympathy for the man who insulted me so brutally mere hours ago. The silence stretches on for a long moment, until his mismatched blue-brown eyes lift to meet mine. They’re red-rimmed from the whiskey, but there’s no mistaking the look in them as he studies me. The pain… and, the pity.

Of all people who could’ve overheard me singing that song… why did it have to be him?

I physically react, flinching back from that expression on his face. I hate that he’s heard my words, that he’s borne witness to such a vulnerable moment. My mouth opens to order him to get out of here before I call the cops on him for trespassing and vagrancy, but he beats me to the punch.

“Who’s the song about?” he asks in a disarmingly soft voice.

“None of your business,” I snap back.

“It’s pretty good.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Needs a chorus.”

“It has a chorus.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Absolutely not!” My pulse thunders so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it from six feet away. “I didn’t know anyone was still in here. Obviously. You weren’t supposed to be listening!”

“I couldn’t exactly block my ears.”

“Well… you could’ve announced yourself the second you woke up. You could’ve stopped me!”

“If I had, I never would’ve found out you can sing like that.”

He sounds totally unapologetic as he slides out from behind the table and finds his feet. He sways a bit and I reach out automatically to steady him, my hand clamping down on his forearm.

I hear him suck in a sharp breath as my cool fingers make contact with his warm skin. I’m achingly aware of this single point of contact where our bodies meet; of how close we’re standing, alone here in this empty room in the middle of the night.

I’m not the only one struggling to catch my breath as the moment lingers, neither of us moving so much as an inch. We are two hair-triggers in a shootout, holding each other at gunpoint.

No sudden moves.

One shot and you’re dead.

I glance up into his face and find him staring down at me with those fascinating two-tone eyes. They lock on mine like a tractor beam, their pull even stronger at this close proximity. I remember the technical term from high school biology — heterochromia iridium. But no grainy textbook photo could ever do these eyes justice. The left is so startlingly blue; the right almost entirely brown except for a small mote of aqua in the upper corner of the iris.

Seven billion people on this planet, and I bet not one of them has eyes quite like his.

There’s a crazy heartbeat of time when Ryder’s gaze drops to my mouth, his pupils dilating with something that looks like it might be desire. He sways forward, just a fraction of an inch. And maybe I’m going crazy… maybe he’s still unsteady from all the whiskey… but if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s about to try and kiss me.

It’s such an unexpected move, I’m instantly freed of his spell. Releasing him, I retreat back a few steps.

“You good?” I ask, blushing furiously. I focus on his chin so I don’t have to meet his eyes.

He nods, staring at me with an unreadable expression. He looks almost as rattled as I feel inside.

“Great.” I carry the empty bottle of Jack Daniels toward the bar, hoping he might simply vanish into thin air if I ignore him. I should know better.

There’s no ignoring Ryder Woods.

“There’s fire in my blood. A beat in my veins…” he sings, his voice smooth and strong, cutting into me like a blade to the heart. “The forecast tonight calls for nothing but pain.”

I freeze halfway to the bar. I’m not sure whether it’s merely the effect of hearing him sing words I wrote or the slight tweak he’s made to the lyrics… but it sounds utterly perfect. Better than ever. Before I can stop myself, I whirl around to look at him. My eyes are wide, my heart is racing.

“The forecast tonight calls for nothing but pain,” I echo back, testing out the new verse, too excited to feel self-conscious about singing in front of him. “Oh my god, that’s it!”

Tucking the bottle under my arm, I yank the ordering pad from my apron and quickly scribble down the words before they disappear from my mind.

“Glad to be of service,” Ryder drawls, walking up to me. “When can I expect my advance for the co-writing credit?”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Fine — I’ll settle for a shout-out in the liner notes of your first album.”

I flat out laugh in his face.

His eyes glint with a teasing light. “Don’t make me sue you for copyright violation.”

“First of all, you’re so drunk you probably won’t even remember this conversation in the morning, let alone the fact that you helped with a minor lyric change.” I tilt my head. “I think I’ll take my chances with the law.”

He makes a pffft sound, but doesn’t contradict me. “And secondly?”

I shove my ordering pad back into my apron and walk to the bar. “Secondly… even if I liked you enough to do a shout out in the liner notes… which I don’t, for the record… There isn’t going to be any album. I don’t sing in public. Ever.”

There’s a loaded silence as he processes my words.

I make myself busy, tossing the empty bottle into the trash bin, storing the disinfectant table spray in its spot beneath the sink, grabbing the keys from the drawer by the register. When I run out of tasks, I can no longer ignore him. I turn, eyebrows raised, and find he’s leaning against the bar, watching me with an inscrutable expression.

“What?” I ask.

“Just trying to figure out why someone like you, who’s got more talent in her fucking pinky finger than most people possess in their whole damn bodies, doesn’t want to pursue something she was clearly put on this earth to do.”

“Trust me, I was not put on this earth to be a singer.”

“Why? Because you found your true calling in waitressing?” he scoffs at me. “Give me a break.”

“Why do you even care?” My eyes narrow. “What does it matter to you?”

“I don’t.” His jaw locks. “It doesn’t.”

I stare at him.

He opens his mouth to ask me something, but bites back the words at the last minute.

“Just say it,” I say tiredly. “Whatever it is. Say it, so I can go home before the sun starts to rise.”

“I… I’m sorry.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, as if he’s nervous. I get the sense those two words don’t leave his lips very often.

“For what, exactly?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Passing out in the bar? Or for being a total jerk earlier?”

“Feel free to take it as a blanket apology for my many indiscretions.” His lips twitch up into that trademark grin, the one that breaks hearts all over town. I wonder how many girls have been brought to their knees by it; how many before me have crumbled at the sight, setting aside their hurt in exchange for just a few more seconds of his attention.

Fudge that.

I flatten my lips into a thin line, not returning his smile or accepting his apology. “I’m leaving now, so unless you’d like to spend the night on the stock room floor and deal with Adam tomorrow afternoon when he comes in to do inventory—” Ryder grimaces at the thought. “—I’d suggest you follow me.”

I don’t wait for a response as I walk into the back room. He unleashes a heavy sigh before trailing in my wake. I feel his eyes on me as I untie my apron and hang it on a peg inside my staff cubbyhole. There are words poised on the tip of his tongue — I can sense them like you sense lightning in the air before it comes crashing down, electric and wild. He keeps quiet though, even as I flip off the lights and turn for the exit door at the end of the hall.

I’m half-convinced he’s not going to say anything else to me. It’s only when we’re outside in the dark — both breathing too fast in the warm summer night, standing in the spot we first met with five careful feet of distance between us — that he finally breaks the silence.

“I lied.”

My brows lift.

He blows out a breath. “What you overheard earlier — all that shit I said to Lincoln about you. It was a lie. I didn’t mean a word of it.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I thought if I acted disinterested in you, it might discourage Lincoln. He’s a great guy, but he’d be no good for you.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

He shrugs.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you ever consider maybe I’d like to be pursued?”

His eyes darken. “Not by Lincoln.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. I don’t need you interfering in my love life.”

“Clearly you do if you think Lincoln would be a good choice.”

“Because you’re such an authority on me?” I snort. “We just met. You don’t even know my name. As I recall, you didn’t want to know it. You were too busy ordering me around in front of your girlfriend.”

“I don’t do girlfriends, sweetheart. Way too much drama.” He sighs. “But I’ll admit that, yeah, I was probably a bit… harsh… earlier.”

“Probably? You called me a cheap cocktail waitress!”

“I’m a bastard, okay? And you’re right — I don’t know you. But I do know Lincoln. He’s a player.”

“Oh, and you’re such a monk, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends?”

“Never claimed to be. But Linc…” He blows out a breath. “For him, it isn’t just about getting laid. It’s almost a sport. He goes through girls like paper dixie cups at a water cooler — use once, drain of contents, toss in the trash.”

“How charming.”

“Not trying to be charming. Trying to be honest.”

“Listen…” I chew the inside of my cheek. “I know you’re trying to make amends. Frankly, it’s unnecessary. I don’t need an apology from you.”

“But—”

“It’s three in the morning. I’ve been on my feet for nine straight hours. I’m exhausted. I just want to climb in bed and forget this night ever happened.” I try for a flippant tone. “In fact, consider it already forgotten. Goodnight, Ryder.”

I turn to stalk away, but he stops me so fast I don’t even make it two steps. I glance down at his hand on my arm like it’s made of black toxic mold, trying to keep a lid on the sudden wave of panic crashing through me. He’s not holding me with any sort of force, but it still triggers a fight-or-flight reaction I can barely tamp down.

“Let go of me.”

“In a minute, I just want to talk to you—”

“Now.”

He must hear something akin to desperation in my voice, because he drops his grip immediately. I see thoughts working in his eyes. Questions bubbling back up to the surface about my past, about why my pulse is racing at twice its normal speed simply because a man laid his hands on me without permission.

“Hey. I didn’t mean to freak you out—”

“It’s fine.” I cut him off, trying to calm my skittish heartbeat. “Really.”

His eyes are intense. A storm is brewing behind them, and I’m not sure there’s anywhere I’ll be safe to take cover when it’s finally unleashed.

“Ryder…” I trail off, not knowing what to say. I feel totally exposed. First the song, now this… He can probably see straight through me. All my secrets. All my pain. It makes me want to run, afraid he’ll use it against me as ammunition in a war I can’t win.

“I’m sorry for for being such an ass today,” he murmurs in a soft tone I’ve never heard from him before, stripped of all faux charm and false confidence. He rubs at his stubble, a nervous gesture that might be endearing if I weren’t still so on edge. “The Lincoln thing was out of line. I just… didn’t want to see you get hurt, all right? You deserve better than that.”

I stare at him, feeling a bit of my anger fade. All of this was actually his twisted way of… being protective?

I want to laugh. I want to cry. The concept is so foreign to me, I barely know how to process it. I’ve never really had anyone fight my battles for me before. I’ve never even had anyone willing to try.

“It’s all right,” I say after a long beat of tension. “Apology accepted.”

Relief washes over his face. He keeps a careful distance from me, perhaps realizing there’s more to my skittish nature than simple shyness. But when he speaks, I feel his words like a hand wrapped around my heart.

“You said I don’t want to know your name. You’re wrong. I’ve wanted to know it since the first night we met, right here in this spot. Before that, even. The moment I first saw you in the crowd during my set. There was just something about you…”

My mouth feels suddenly parched. I lick my lips, breathing a bit too hard, and watch his eyes follow the movement of my tongue with intent focus.

“I had to know you,” he says simply. “And I didn’t want to do it secondhand, through my bandmate. I wanted to hear your name from your lips, your eyes on mine when you said it.”

“I…” My voice is so breathy, it’s almost unrecognizable. I hold his gaze, trying to keep myself in check so he doesn’t see how his words are pulling me apart inside, piece by piece.

There’s really only one thing left to say.

“I’m Felicity.”