Page 13 of Naked Coffee Guy
“Aw, Mom!” he whines.
“Yeah, you’re no fun, Claire Bear.”
Finn grins a toothless smile but relents and gets his homework out.
“So, any coffee guesses?” Claire hisses, pulling me from the kitchen so we’re out of earshot.
“Probably a vanilla milk,” I guess, and Claire laughs, shaking her head.
“Come on. I remember the way you talked about this guy, even when you were your angriest. He’s got to be a dark roast kind of guy. I mean, how did he look walking your neighborhood this morning?”
Like fucking Thor. Just thinking about him, and I’m feeling squirmy and well aware of my month-long drought.
“He’s a straight up espresso,” I tell her.
Chapter Six
Maren
Hillside is packed as I perform for the outdoor venue. It usually takes me about five songs to warm up to the crowd, and tonight is no different. I see a few regular faces singing along as I play, which never fails to make me feel like a real rock star.
I like playing for small crowds. There’s an intimacy here that I know I’d never get playing a stadium. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to experience the difference. Whenever I get a gig, a small part of me hopes there’s a producer in the audience, looking for their next big talent. I often think of Jewel, a singer-songwriter who was living in her car and playing bars and coffee shops to a local following—just like me—before a record label discovered her.
I’m not playing these gigs with the sole purpose of being discovered. I love performing. I feel the most like myself when I have a guitar strapped to my chest, a microphone in front of me, and I’m singing lyrics I wrote because of a feeling. And to hear the crowd sing my words back to me? The adrenaline is unlike any drug I’d taken in the past. But because it’s a small crowd, it feels safe, like I’m among friends.
To focus on bigger stardom would take away from the magic of these events, from all the ways these gigs fill my spirit. I’m determined to be present at every performance, connecting with the crowd on a personal level rather than trying to see what I can get out of it. Of course, I still send out demos to agents and producers with the hopes of getting picked up. But on stage, I offer the crowd all of me, no barriers as I reveal my soul. It’s not only empowering, but it’s also when I’m my most vulnerable.
Which is why it feels like a gut punch when I see Mac in the crowd—and he isn’t alone.
I stumble over my words as he stares straight at me, seeming to ignore the girl talking to him. I collect myself and continue with the song I’m singing. But instead of singing to the crowd, it becomes a conversation between Mac and me. His eyes haven’t left mine, and despite the wide range of emotions I’ve had over him this past month, I can’t look away either. Seeing him in person is different than hating him from afar. I can’t tell myself one-sided stories anymore. Instead, I’m faced with the undeniable realization that this man has an effect on me like no other, that if he just said the word, I’d be putty in his hands.
Maren, he sold your home to a demolition company.
And just like that, I shut it off. The feelings. The pull. Every way he’s drawing me in by just keeping his eyes trained on me. I end the song I’m singing, then grin at the crowd as everyone cheers.
“This next song is a little rough, but one I came up with on the fly about a month ago when I met someone who ended up being different than I expected.”
I dare a glance at Mac, disappointed to see him now facing the girl he’s with, his eyes off me.
Use it, Maren.
“I call this one ‘Dance with the Devil,’” I say, strumming a few chords. I glare in Mac’s direction, even though he’s still not looking at the stage. Then I channel my feelings into the song.
Your charm is what I noticed first
The way you made my cold heart burst
Your sapphire eyes, your cunning smile
The taste of your lips, like honey cursed
I had my doubts, you made me believe
I never knew worship ’til I was on my knees
I tried to resist, but your hands in my hair
Felt something like heaven in a coastal breeze