Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)(7)

“My hippie parents that I mentioned before? They instilled a lot of things in me, but my favorite is their love of music. My mom calls my voice ‘my instrument’. It thrilled them that I could hum and sing along to the melodies they played on their guitars, banjos, and fiddles…” I trailed off with a smile, thinking that despite moving around a lot when I was a child, music had always been my home.

“That’s awesome,” Bo replied.

“How long have you been playing? And, where did you learn to sing like that?” I let the smile paint my face.

Bo shrugged with humility, “I started with the piano, when I was little. My parents wanted me to try it, so I did. I got pretty good, but then I found the guitar attracted loads more women.” He smiled cautiously behind his glass and I let out a full-bodied laugh.

“Fair enough, Mr. Cavanaugh, I’ll toast to that.” We clinked glasses again and returned our gaze to the ocean.

“Seriously, though. Your voice comes from deep in here,” I patted my stomach to try to illustrate the soul, “It’s captivating.” I didn’t tear my eyes from the water.

“Well, life happens, you know?” I saw him give his head a faint shake out of the corner of my eye, “You take what you get and you use it for what you want.”

I shot him an imploring look and noted that he was staring absently at the sand. Tortured artist?

“So, Bo, is that short for something?” I quickly shifted gears. I wanted to reach out and touch him because he was so damned attractive but I feared that if I did, he’d scatter into the ocean breeze like the seeds of a long-gone dandelion.

“Bowan, actually.”

“Oh, is Bo just for CD covers, or do you prefer it all the time?” I had loosened up in the last three quarters of my pint and decided to turn up the flirt.

“Ha, well, no one’s ever really asked me that. Is Ember just for friends or do you prefer it all the time?” he chided, nudging my shoulder with his.

“Ah, I see. Bo it is.” I winked as I finished my pint and stood up.

“You heading out?” Bo asked, and stood up a second after me.

“No,” I giggled, “but my friends are inside. I only came out for a little air and to bask in the afterglow of your set.”

I wrapped my hand around his forearm for a second, half - congratulatory and half “let me feel you.” His arms were tight from years spent with his guitar. I dropped my hand as soon as I realized what I was doing, but he caught it mid-fall and held it there, in the charged space between our bodies. My face heated as electricity transferred from his fingers to mine. That split-second of silence felt like an eternity, and I forgot to breathe.

“Can I join you guys for a drink?” He lifted his empty glass as proof that he needed more.

He let go and stuffed his hand into his pocket. Why’d he do that?

“Absolutely, they’ll love it.” I exhaled as I turned toward the door.

He held the door for me, guiding me by the small of my back with his free hand. I wanted to grab his face and explore it with my lips, but pushed down the thought in favor of a more responsible one.

“There you guys are. How’s the air outside?” Josh raised an eyebrow in my direction, causing me to subtly shake my head to erase whatever inappropriate thoughts he may have had.

“Great breeze right now,” Bo replied.

“Another perfect May day,” I interjected, “Where are Callie and Sarah?”

“They headed home. It’s just us four. Let’s grab that open table.” Monica headed to the back of the pub where a lone booth sat waiting for us. She slid in and patted her hand on the cushion next to her, looking at me. I slid in, which gave me full-view of Bo Cavanaugh.

Over the next two hours we sat and talked about music and beer. Josh told Monica and I about the first set he saw Bo play; he had nearly fist-pumped the air when Bo played an Indigo Girls song, because he knew Monica and I would love him. Josh bragged about Monica and I to Bo, telling him about Princeton, while we rolled our eyes in unison. Bo told us he grew up in central New Hampshire and played in a local bar at home nearly every weekend. All the while, our feet were intertwined under the table and I caught him stealing lingering glances at me as he spoke.

At closing time, Monica decided she was going to stick around and wait for Josh to lock up. I hugged them both and thanked Josh again for the awesomeness that was Bo Cavanaugh.

“Can I walk you to your car, Ember?” Bo climbed out of the booth and raised his arms overhead as he stretched his neck side to side.

“That’d be great,” Monica cut in, “Em saw some brawl near her house the other day. . .”

“Monica! It was nothing, and it was nearly a week ago. Would you let it go?” I drew my eyebrows together. Monica had been overly curious about the ‘handsome stranger’, as she named him, and spent the entire week pushing me for details that I didn’t have.

Bo stiffened and his eyes curtained with darkness, “What do you mean brawl? Did you get hurt?” The way his voice hung on “hurt” ignited something in me. His husky incantation beckoned my primal senses, and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention.

“God, please, don’t worry about it. It was too dark to see anything - I was just in the neighborhood. And it wasn’t really near my house.” I forced a smile and put my hand on his lower back as I glared at Monica. “Night Josh, night Mon.”