She leaned in toward me and I shuffled back, not wanting her in my space. Not taking the hint, she kept coming toward me. “And I heard you’re done with your wife. So, how about you come to mine after the show.” She smiled at me. “And I’ll give you one.”

I huffed. No wonder Ella was edgy, struggling to trust. This young woman’s proposition would occur again and again at various venues.

“I’m in love with my wife,” I said. “I’m not interested.”

Simple, effective. Maybe hurtful, but dammit—I didn’t want to deal with this shit. The girl glowered then flounced off. With a deep breath, I moved up onto the stage.

Just me, my guitar, a stool, and a microphone. Talk about a return to the basics.

I settled onto the stool and took a moment to suck in another deep belly breath of air, bending over my guitar to look like I was tuning the already tuned instrument. After releasing the breath slowly, I raised my head and smiled. My gaze flicked through the audience and I sought the only pair of eyes that mattered—two sets, actually. I landed on Philip, whose arms remained crossed over his chest, a slight scowl marring his brow. He’d positioned himself next to a thick beam a few feet from the door where I’d entered. Dave sat on the other side, rheumy eyes focused on me. Marsha sat beside him, her purse clutched in her hands.

They had to have heard that exchange with the young woman. My shoulders bunched at this newest reason for Dave and Marsha’s concerns about my marriage.

No sign of Jeremiah or Ella.

Well. So much for hope. Now, I’d have to focus on the message—one I hoped her father relayed to her.

“Thanks for coming out tonight. Christmas Eve. You all having a good one?”

The crowd cheered. Some of them raised pint glasses. None of them understood the war battling in my chest. None except maybe Philip, and it wasn’t like he wanted me to succeed.

“Let’s play a few tunes. Whatcha say?”

The crowd roared its approval, and I smiled. But I wasn’t in to the performance. At all. These were motions to go through, not the excitement or the adrenaline rush that typically surrounded a performance.

I wanted Ella here. I wanted Ella. Period.

She made her point though. She wasn’t ready to forgive me.

Maybe she couldn’t.

Maybe I should simply cut my losses, tuck my tail, and run like Dave had suggested.

But first I had fans to please. And if I’d learned anything over the years, it was how to perform for the crowd.