Shawn resolved himself to finally break the ice. Except his muse didn’t show up at the café the next day, or the day following. Shawn resisted the urge to visit on Friday, sure that he was beginning to look like a desperate man and even he had problems looking himself in the mirror after two days straight of being jilted. No, not jilted, he told himself. But not pursued, either. The high he’d ridden since Tuesday night faded by the third day and even the glimmer in his memories dulled.

Whatever went through his muse’s head, Shawn had erred in assuming it held any interest for him.

Rather than taking it personal – as tempting as that was – Shawn focused his energy on the song’s melody, letting the mystery and reverie of unconfessed feelings flow through each note. After several hours spent with his guitar on his lap, fingers strumming through chords, he got ready and finished his work week with little fanfare. It wasn’t until he woke on Saturday morning that the first flight of nerves before a gig raced through him, demanding a distraction.

“Maybe he wasn’t avoiding you,” Dominic said while they sat on the edge of Rittenhouse Square, occupying one of the park benches. As Shawn watched the stream of pedestrians walking past the outdoor farmer’s market, pausing at each stall to admire their wares, Dominic sat against the back of the bench, crossing one leg over the other. “Lots of other reasons why he might not have been at the cafe.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I jinxed things, mentioning that I saw him there,” Shawn said, still seated forward with his hands on his lap. His gaze shifted from the market to the high-rise towers overlooking the small swatch of park they occupied, looming like imposing vestiges of upper middle-class aristocracy. A sigh filled the space between one comment and the next. “He just came and went beforehand but now, he’s been noticed by somebody. People who don’t want to be noticed go elsewhere when they are.”

“True. Just a little extreme to change your entire ritual for the sake of ignoring one person. Especially when you’ve never bothered him.”

Shawn shrugged, allowing quiet to settle over them until Dominic nudged his shoulder and demanded Shawn take his guitar out from the case and start to play. The bustle of the market continued unabated, and though a few stragglers stopped to listen, most continued observing the humdrum of their lives, allowing Dominic to listen and critique while Shawn made final adjustments to his performance set.

“You’ll knock them dead like usual tonight,” Dominic said once Shawn finished scrawling notes in the margin of his notebook. He rose to his feet. “Let’s get something to eat. We can plan out how you’re wooing Loverboy when he shows back up at the café.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re too optimistic for your own good?” Shawn asked with a grin. He stuffed the notebook into his backpack and secured the guitar in its case again, walking with Dominic toward the market and east on Walnut Street. While they ignored the sidewalk vendors and pedestrians, Dominic filled the space between them with chatter, focused more on his upcoming play than Shawn’s pre-performance jitters. Shawn silently gave thanks to whatever higher powers existed, using lunch as an excuse to center himself and put his anxiety to rest.

When the time came to walk to the club, however, his stomach twisted and rumbled again, refusing to be quiet at first and then, not giving any quarter when it came to helping him relax his troubled nerves. He walked through the Saturday evening crowd, first on the streets and then, slowly filling the bar where he was set to perform. The noise of private conversations made it difficult for Shawn to talk to the owner, but provided a bubble of serenity for him once he settled into place and performed instrument and microphone checks. A few of the discussions ceased, and the rest faded once Shawn looked up from his guitar and smiled at the people who filled the modest-sized establishment.

“Good evening, guys,” Shawn said. “Who’s in the mood for some music?”

While the response could hardly be called enthusiastic, the applause and attention directed toward him told Shawn he had the audience’s attention. He cleared his throat once, but fell immediately into the routine of his usual opening song, playing it without any hesitation. After it had finished, the flight of nerves inside him stilled, making it easier to transition into the next song.

Conversations resumed in the corners of the room, under hushed tones, while the tables closer to Shawn remained engaged. He switched to taking requests and played several covers until he reached the end of his first set. As Shawn saluted, leaning close to the mic to say, “We’ll get to the rest of those after a short break,” he stood to a slightly more enthused round of applause. The same cacophony that had greeted him when he walked in flooded the bar again within moments, aided by the additional bodies that had taken what little space had remained in the room. Still, the sea of people surrounding the counter parted enough for him to lean in and flag the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll take a cider,” Shawn said once the bartender looked at him.

“Put it on my tab,” another voice shouted directly after that.

Shawn furrowed his brow, looking away from the bartender when he nodded and searching for the source of the demand. His mind clicked into recognition milliseconds before he found his muse sitting further down the counter, that same cryptic smile in place with that same odd look in his eyes. His muse rested on his forearms, one hand wrapped around a beer that he took a drink from as Shawn pushed his way through toward the other man.

“You made it,” Shawn said once he knew he was comfortably within ear shot. The man seated beside his muse rose to change places with Shawn and after thanks were exchanged, Shawn settled onto the stool that had been offered. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised to see you.”

His muse chuckled. “I couldn’t commit to showing up when you mentioned it, so I decided to see how the week went,” he said. The way he weighed Shawn still baffled the other man, leaving Shawn in the quandary of figuring out what he might be thinking again. “We haven’t ever formally said hello.”

“Not until the other night, no.”

“I’m Edwin,” he said. He thrust a hand toward Shawn. “Your name is Shawn, if I remember?”

“Yeah, Shawn.” Shawn shook his hand, though the action felt like something presented out of obligation, not lacking sincerity but suggesting that Edwin had been at a loss to figure out how to complete the circle of formality. They both retreated from the gesture and relaxed. “I’m glad you came out, Edwin. Missed seeing you at the café.”

Edwin’s smile faltered, though just for a moment. “I went back home for a short visit. My parents live out near Lancaster and I check in with them on occasion.” His other hand lifted, fingers playing with the label from his beer while he stared at the drink in quiet contemplation. “You missed me?” he finally asked, after what looked like a long minute spent gathering courage.

“Yeah, I did,” Shawn said. They paused while the bartender delivered Shawn’s drink, though Edwin stole the moment to admire Shawn while he drank from his glass. A rush of nerves – far different than the ones that had afflicted him when he had first entered the bar – raced through Shawn and in that moment, he didn’t know if he should be bold, or more reserved. “What song would you like me to play?”

“What song?”

“Yeah.” Shawn nodded toward the small stage. “When I get back up there.”

Edwin blinked, freeing a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “That’s a good question. You’ve done a good job with the ones you’ve already played.” He shrugged and as he looked at Shawn, his smile brightened. “I don’t know. Surprise me.”

“Alright, I guess I could do that.” Shawn winked, emboldened and frightened all at the same time. He finished another sip of his drink and brought the glass with him as he stood. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, settling on that with some hope that Edwin had intended to stay through his second set. Edwin nodded, though the look in his eyes shifted, registering what Shawn prayed was hopeful confusion.

Shawn walked back to the front and set his cider down on the floor, next to the microphone stand on the stage. Rather than announcing to the crowd what he intended to play next, he started to play a few chords, allowing the music itself to do the job of hushing the crowd and bringing its attention back to him. Shawn looked for one face in the sea of people and grinned when he found Edwin looking back at him. His fingers continued the idle strum of the guitar’s strings.

‘I can’t believe I’m about to do this,’ he thought. While he held fast to the conviction that he had prepared this song to sing and needed to, whether his muse had decided to join the crowd or not, performing it now presented both a challenge and a risk, demanding he not only stick the landing, but get high marks from the judges. Circling through the opening chords one additional time, he approached the microphone like a man daring himself to step close to the edge of a cliff.

With the first line of lyrics, Shawn dove in, head first.

His voice carried the notes, fingers not faltering even if coming close on two occasions. While his gaze shifted back to Edwin several times, Shawn fought to keep his expression impassive and failed once he ended the chorus and started on the second stanza. At a point, he shut his eyes, sinking into the feelings which bled into the words; no longer having to focus on perfection to prevent himself from screwing up. Shawn sang from his heart. And opened his eyes after he finished, belatedly realizing he had stapled his heart to his sleeve.

The tables closest to him clapped first, joined by the rest of the room. “Thank you,” Shawn said, almost frightened to look toward Edwin again, but answering the dare to and holding fast to his smile as he did. Edwin peered at him from the counter, and while Shawn fought the urge to tell him somehow that song had been written for him, Edwin seemed to recognize his choice of it, at least, wasn’t a mistake. Something unreadable accompanied Edwin’s applause, even if he stilled when the rest of the crowd did.

“Alright, folks, let’s get a few more of those requests out of the way,” Shawn said, shifting tracks before he could either read too much or too little into Edwin’s appreciation of the song. Reaching down for his cider, he swallowed down a large gulp and set the glass back into place before situating himself again. His nerves had kicked up like dust in a windstorm again, and while he never entered the same level of zen he had occupied beforehand, he settled within the third requested song. His set rounded off with another original composition and this time, the applause felt validating. Heady, even. Once his guitar had been secured back in its case, he walked over to where Edwin still sat, emboldened by the fact that he had chosen to stay.

“Want to get something to eat?” Shawn asked.

Edwin surrendered to a small grin before nodding and rising to a stand. Signaling the bartender, he called for him to close out his tab and waited for the sales slip to sign. It sat on the counter where he’d been only moments beforehand and even Shawn was pleasantly surprised at the ready way everything seemed to become unimportant to Edwin. He held his coat in the crook of his arm and followed Shawn toward the door.

“You know this city better than I do,” Edwin said once they were outside. “Lead the way and I’ll follow.”