Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)(6)

The fourth verse of the song is my absolute tattoo-worthy favorite. I was so lost in the music and watching Bo’s hands that I got carried away. I stood up from the stool, placed the microphone in the holder, and really went for it. Monica stopped singing and Bo grinned behind his microphone.

“There’s no such thing as perfect And if there is we’ll find it when we’re good and dead Trust me I’ve been looking But tonight I think I’ll go and take a bath instead . . .”



The guitar stopped as I sang the word “instead,” and I turned as I held the note. Bo tilted his chin toward me to tell me to keep singing, only this time he stood up, put his hands on the microphone and joined in-a cappella. As his lips brushed the microphone, he placed his index finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to his. His dark eyes held a stare that ripped through me; a stare that said something I couldn’t read, but begged me to learn its language. We were singing this incredible song to each other, for the crowd, as if we’d written it ourselves. My soul wept with excitement and pleaded for more. If there was such a thing as song sex, I reached my climax as we sang,

“And then maybe I’ll walk a while And feel the earth beneath me They say if you stop looking It doesn’t matter if you find it And who’s to say that even if I did It’s what I’m really looking for . . .”



I thought for sure I was sweating through everything I wore, but that was just my soul panting in the background. Keeping in time with the music, he sat back down and continued playing into the next verse, amidst hoots and claps from the people in the bar. The three of us finished the song together and when the final note was plucked, Finnegan’s erupted like a stadium full of crazed Sox fans.

I was breathless and invigorated; my insides screamed in delight and made note to do that again very soon. Monica lunged in front of Bo and gave me the tightest hug.

“That was so beautiful . . . and hot!” She half-whispered in my ear. Did she see the song sex, or was that in my head?

I turned to Bo and smiled. “Thanks for letting us share that with you. It’s kind of our song.”

“Ladies, the pleasure was all mine. That was excellent.” Bo grabbed each of our hands, gave Monica a kiss on the cheek, and followed up with a kiss on mine.

“Really beautiful,” he reinforced how fantastic I sounded with one more soft kiss on my cheek before he dropped my hand. I cocked an eyebrow, let a grin reach my eyes, and headed back to my friends, who were anxiously waiting with shots in hand at the bar.

“Chicas!” Callie squealed as she handed Monica and I our shots. We clinked our glasses together and downed the shots.

“Guys, that was unbelievable!” Sarah jumped up and down as if she’d just seen The Wailin’ Jennys perform.

“I thought you guys would like it,” Josh shrugged coyly. I could tell he was just as thrilled as the rest of them, and us.

“Josh, give us a warning before you bring the Indie Rock God in here next time, eh?” I smiled, still dazed.

Monica gushed about what a rush that whole scene had been. I smiled and nodded, but I found my eyes drifting toward the stage as Bo Cavanaugh finished his closing number. He met my eyes and smiled as he slipped off the stage and out of sight.





Chapter Three

Still on a high from my now-favorite singing performance at Finnegan’s, I floated out to the deck by myself, beer in hand. I sank into the chair, taking a long sip of my beer, and sighed out to the ocean. I am definitely attracted to Bo. I shook my head at the thought. I hadn’t felt that instantly attracted to anyone since Adrian, and we were both lucky to come out of that relationship with any hope stitched to our hearts. I briefly considered accepting an invitation to another heart battle if it meant spending a few minutes with Bo Cavanaugh.

I greedily took another serving of salty air into my lungs, but something was different. I peered over my shoulder, and there he was.

“Ember, right?” Bo motioned to the empty wooden Adirondack chair next to me with his pint. “Can I sit?”

“Of course.” I straightened myself and turned toward his chair. The chatter of the jukebox purred from inside Finnegan’s. I caught Monica’s eye near the door and she shot a thumbs-up. I gave her a quick nod, acknowledging her encouragement.

“Ember,” he continued, “is an interesting name.”

I took the bait.

“It’s November, like the month, November Blue, actually. I know, I know. My parents,” I looked up at the sky with my hands raised, “hippies.”

He chuckled as he settled into his chair, “No, that’s great, I like it.” He paused to take a sip of his beer. “You were really great up there tonight.”

He raised his glass and I accepted his toast. I kept my glass up against his a second longer than was standard, but he didn’t pull his away first either. The wind carried his cologne through my senses. He smelled like sandalwood and sex - why hadn’t I noticed that on stage? Also, points for him that he didn’t want to base an hours-long conversation on the origins of my name.

“Thank you, though I should be the one paying you the compliment. That was a killer set; I’d lost all hope of Finnegan’s bringing in someone like you,” my voice was sincere, if not a tad overeager, as I searched his eyes.

“Thanks,” he replied, “Josh saw me play a show in New Hampshire a few months ago. He said he liked my sound and would love to have me play here if I was ever in town. Here I am.” He faced me as he spoke. “Where’d you learn to sing like that?”