“Berk,” I say gently.
Her head bobs up and down. “Right, Berk.”
“I remember that bar,” I coax her back to what she was saying. “What about it?”
“The woman who served us loved my sweater and said she’d pay a small fortune for one just like it in red.” She smiles. “So, I shoved three balls of yarn in my bag, and I went to the bar last night.”
I wince because the tragic end of this story is in my sight.
She scratches the side of her nose. “They were all different shades of red. I should point that out.”
I sigh in relief because it’s obvious that whatever happened in that bar last night with Heath didn’t break her heart.
I nod in acknowledgment.
“I walked in and boom. Take a guess who I saw kissing a beautiful woman with red hair?”
“Heath?”
“Bingo!” Eloise taps the tip of her nose. “I marched over and patted him on the shoulder.”
That sounds about right.
Eloise has never been the type to shy away from conflict. She holds the people around her accountable, even when it means she’ll be hurt.
“What did he say?” I ask with trepidation.
“He pretended not to know me.” A bitter bark of laughter falls from her lips.
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” She gazes down at the pink sweater she’s wearing. “I ignored that bullshit and looked right at the woman who had just left red lipstick all over Heath’s mouth.”
My hand darts out to cover the smile on my lips.
Eloise doesn’t try and shield her grin. “I told her I had been hanging out with her boyfriend and that we made out.”
My brow furrows. “You did?”
“It was a few kisses, Astrid.” She reaches out a reassuring hand to pat my forearm. “He never saw or touched any of the good stuff.”
I don’t bother correcting her since I was looking for confirmation that she called Heath out in front of his girlfriend.
She takes a deep breath. “She told me they have been dating for a year, so I called him a scoundrel.”
I chuckle. “You did? You called Heath a scoundrel?”
“It fits him to a T.” She places one of her index fingers over the other in the shape of a T. “I’m reading a historical romance novel, and there is one character that is a cheater. Another character calls him a dirty scoundrel. That’s Heath in a nutshell.”
I shake my head, amazed by her strength and her ability not to take this to heart.
“To be honest, I wanted to knee him in his nutshell.” Her bended knee jerks up. “His girlfriend beat me to it before she left the bar.”
“I’m glad you found out before things got more serious between you two.”
She nods. “Me too. So, I’ll be at your gig tonight, but I’m swearing off men until I find my own hot dad.”
I smile. “Maybe your guy won’t be a hot dad. Maybe he’ll be…”
“At the venue tonight?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I’ll find him when it’s time. You found Berk when you least expected it.”
She’s right. I did, and I’m hoping that soon we’ll find more time to spend together.
I plan on speeding that along by texting him to ask if he can come to the bar to watch me sing tonight.
I glance around the crowded, dimly lit bar hoping that my gaze will land on a familiar and very handsome face.
It doesn’t.
I do catch Eloise waving a hand in greeting.
I told her she could sit out of view on the side of the stage, but she insisted on grabbing a seat at the bar.
She swayed through every song I’ve sung so far, clapping loudly. She even tossed in a few whistles for good measure.
As I belt out the last few lines of my final song of the evening, I close my eyes and allow myself to be transported into the music.
I end on a high note that I hold until the applause in the room drowns me out.
When my eyes pop open, I finally see the man I’ve been longing to see all night.
Berk is on his feet with the rest of the crowd.
When our eyes meet, I realize that he’s been here all along. He’s been standing in the corner, under a shroud of darkness, watching me sing songs that I’ve written from my heart.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Berk
If there are angels on earth, surely Astrid Rehn has hidden wings.
The woman kept the entire bar captivated with her voice. She seamlessly transitioned from heart-pulling ballads into more upbeat toe-tappers with ease.
Many people in the bar captured all or part of Astrid’s performance with the camera on their phones.
I’m guilty of that too, but I settled for a few soaring ballads before I shoved my phone back into the inner pocket of my suit jacket so I could fully concentrate on each whimsical note that Astrid played on her guitar and the depth of emotion in her voice.