Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“That’s the kiddo I’m nannying and her dad. I’ll introduce you if they stay until the end.”
Leo nods and then turns to the crowd, speaking into the microphone. “It’s that time, folks… let’s see if you can stump Leo and Mazzy.”
This is my favorite part of when we sing together and the regular customers who come to listen clap with excitement.
I glance at Foster and see that he’s confused but he’ll get it soon enough.
Leo leans over and grabs a glass bowl the owner sets out with a pad of paper and pencil beside it. Inside the bowl are folded notes that the customers have written on. He rummages around inside and pulls one out, opens it, and reads it aloud. “‘Blackbird’ by the Beatles.”
Leo scratches his head and turns to look at me, a faux look of bewilderment on his face. “‘Blackbird’ by the Beatles? Have you ever heard of this song?”
I give a tiny shrug. “Maybe. I mean, the Beatles have a lot of songs.”
Someone from the back of the coffee shop yells, “We finally got ’em.”
Leo grins and I grin back at him, and we start plucking at our guitar strings with the famous melody, causing the patrons to groan before clapping with wonder and satisfaction that we’re pretty damn good at knowing many of the songs people throw at us.
Not to say we don’t get stumped, because we do. We save those song titles and try our best to learn some of them for future performances. But this song we know well because it happens to be one of Leo’s favorites.
Our rendition is beautiful with Leo handling the bass notes and me harmonizing the higher ones. When we finish, we get a standing ovation and several women come up to drop money in Leo’s case.
But it’s Foster who I look to because I seem to only care what he thinks. His eyes are hooded as he looks back at me, a slight smile on his face as he shakes his head and gives a slow, intentional clap. As if he can’t believe what he just heard.
I beam from the inside out with pride and realize it’s been a long time since I cared what individuals thought of my talent. I wonder why it matters to me what Foster thinks.
Leo thanks the crowd for coming and a steady trickle of people walk up to praise the performance. A few more women throw more money into Leo’s guitar case. One lady drops a note in there, which I’ll bet has her number on it.
Foster and Bowie Jane hang back while Leo and I stow our instruments. Two of the coffee shop employees pack away the microphones, remove the stools and set up a table with four chairs for additional seating for later crowds.
With my guitar case in hand and my purse slung over my shoulder, I move over to Foster and Bowie Jane, beaming at them both but my gaze focusing on the little girl. “I can’t believe you came to watch me play. Surely you had more exciting things to do on this beautiful Saturday.”
“It was Dad’s idea,” Bowie Jane says. “But I wanted to come too.”
My eyes slide to Foster to see if he’s embarrassed to be called out like that, but he merely stares back at me. “It was well worth our time. You’ll have to tell us other times you’re playing and we’ll come watch again.”
I’m the one who gets flustered and I feel my face heat up. It’s not a pretty look on my pale skin. “That’s really sweet of you, but you don’t have to.”
“I know we don’t have to,” Foster replies, a slight tinge of censure in his tone. “But we want to. I’m going to tell my teammates about it and I’m sure they’ll want to come with their SO’s.”
My forehead crinkles at the unknown term. “SO’s?”
“Significant others,” he explains. “Wives, girlfriends, partners. Not casual relationships.”
“There’s a distinguished difference in who gets invited to what?” I ask, fascinated.
Foster lifts a shoulder. “Not a hard rule and not something that’s ever discussed. It’s just that for more intimate gatherings like this… where it’s about fellowship and camaraderie, SO’s would come. The casual daters on the team wouldn’t bring casual hook—” Foster stops midsentence, realizing he was about to say hookups, and glances down at Bowie Jane who is following the conversation in earnest. “Casual girlfriends,” he amends.
“What’s a casual girlfriend?” Bowie Jane asks.
I lift my hand to my mouth to cover the smile and force down a bubbling laugh. I’ll give Foster credit though—he doesn’t flinch over the difficult question. “When a relationship is casual, there’s not really a deep commitment or love between the two. So if one of my teammates has a casual girlfriend, she wouldn’t come to gatherings that focus around our friends and family, which we keep more private.”