“Sure, why not?”
“And it’s called Midnight Blues! What are the chances?”
“That’s kind of brilliant. We can head there in a bit?” I ask with a smile, seeing the open mic night announcement on the website seconds after the agreement leaves my mouth.
Devious little shit. “I’m not singing, though.”
“But, V,” she draws out the letter, practically singing it. “You’re so good! You should share your gift with the world, rather than just me and your shower head!”
I burst out laughing as she wags her eyebrows at me. “My ‘gift,’” I say, making air quotes with my fingers, “is a curse. I saw what it did to my dad. I’d rather stay behind the scenes, thank you.”
She sighs and flings herself backward dramatically, lying down as she stares up at me. “But it’s just a small place, I’m sure there'll be hardly anyone there.”
I raise an eyebrow at her and she huffs. “Fine, fine. No singing, but it looks like they do banging chicken wings, and I'm so down for that right now.”
“What the fuck is a banging chicken wing?” I ask, completely bewildered.
She sits up and huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “I really need to get you to watch more British TV. Their language is so much more imaginative. They have such a way with words. Banging means really good. So, banging chicken wings.”
“And you couldn’t have just said good wings?” I laugh, and she shakes her head violently.
“It just doesn’t have that same feeling. The same… pizzazz.”
Her pouting makes me laugh harder until she’s laughing along with me. “Okay, so no singing but great wings. Sounds good.”
It doesn’t take us long to get ready and request the car back from the valet. Before long, we’re in the Wrangler and heading to the next town.
We pull into the lot of Midnight Blues to find that it’s already crazy busy, and I immediately wonder whether we should’ve booked a table. We can at least see how bad the wait’s going to be, I guess. My internal worries are reflected on Indi’s face as we climb from the car.
We walk in, and even though it’s pretty busy, the hostess greets us straight away. Her eyes go wide when she sees me, and I instantly regret the decision to come here. She visibly gulps before smiling again. “Good evening, just the two of you?”
“Please,” Indi says, moving to stand slightly in front of me. It’s a bit over protective, but my heart swells anyway.
The girl nods and grabs two menus before motioning for us to follow. “Follow me, please.” She weaves us through the tables to the back corner, and offers us a small smile before saying, “I thought you might like some privacy.”
This girl is awesome. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“Of course,” she nods, and Indi and I slide into the booth. “I’ll give you a few minutes to go through the menu, and then I’ll check back in with you.”
She disappears without another word, and Indi picks up the menu. “Isn’t it strange for the hostess to be our server?”
I shrug as I pick up the other menu and glance over it. “People have always been weird when I go to new places. It’s frustrating, but you just kind of get used to it after a while. Plus, she was reasonably chill. Someone else might not be so laid-back.”
She clamps her lips together and looks almost guilty. It isn’t her fault people are weird. “I didn’t ever really think about this side of your life. Not properly anyway. It doesn’t seem like much fun.”
We chill out and enjoy our food once it arrives. The ambience in this place is so chill, that time slips away without us noticing. When the open mic starts, Indi looks over at me with those big puppy-like eyes of hers. “You sure you don’t want to get up there?”
My heart pangs with the memory of doing small nights like this with Dad when we went to places like Nashville. It was always so much fun. I guess it could be again, but I doubt it would be the same. “Not entirely.”
“Yes!” She jumps to her feet and scrambles toward the stage before I can say another word. I drop my head into my hands, wondering what the fuck I just agreed to. I’m equal parts anxious as fuck and excited about the prospect of being on a stage again. Even if just for a few minutes.
Indi skips back to the table, sliding into the booth beaming with joy. “They had a spot for you.”
She practically sings the words and a flutter of excitement builds in my chest. We watch four acts, and then they call my name and gasps sound around the place.
This might have been a bad idea, but fuck it. I’m here now.
I reach the stage and take the guitar from the sound guy up here. I lift the strap over my shoulder and perch on the stool in front of the mic. As soon as I sit down, I know exactly what I’m going to sing. The song Dad and I wrote together. I lean forward to the mic, the heat of the lights blasting down at me as I try not to squint out at the crowd. “Evening, everybody, it’s great to be out here with you all. My name’s Octavia Royal, and this is ‘Raindrop.’”