Page 72 of The Perfect Melody

The lunch rushat Bowman’s is over, and all unoccupied tables have been cleared ready for the first wave of people coming for an early dinner or after-work drinks. I’m taking advantage of the late afternoon lull by restocking the fridges behind the bar when Mum takes a seat on the barstool closest to me.

“You’re in an awfully good mood today.”

“Business is good,” I reply nonchalantly. It is, but that’s not the only reason there’s a spring in my step. I texted Cassie earlier, and she agreed to stay at my place tonight.

“It is. You’re doing a wonderful job, Austin. Your grandparents really would be so proud if they could see what you’ve achieved.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Cassie recently,” she hedges.

Taken off-guard by the unexpected turn in the conversation, I almost smack my head on the underside of the bar as I stand up. Feigning calm, I make a noncommittal sound of agreement as I wash my hands in the sink. Mum examines my expression closely as I get out the chopping board and knife to slice fresh lemon and lime wedges ahead of the evening rush. If she asksoutright if Cassie and I are seeing each other, I won’t lie, but I’d prefer not to discuss my dating life with my mother if I can avoid it. The development in my relationship with Cassie is so new—I don’t need anyone, not even my well-meaning mum, sticking their noses into our private business.

“Her performance at the reopening was wonderful. You should ask her to play again—you don’t have anyone booked for the end of next month yet.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Cassie was clear she wanted that to be a one-time thing.”

Mum frowns. “But she’s so talented. Surely it can’t hurt to ask.”

For a moment, the only sound between us is the rhythmic tap of my knife as the blade hits the chopping board. The last thing I want is for Cassie to feel like I’m asking for special favours now that we’re sleeping together. On the other hand, she’s amazing, and I’d give almost anything to hear her sing again. “Alright, I’ll ask.” Mum beams. “But if she says no, that’s it. No pressuring her,” I warn.

“Of course not,” Mum agrees, pushing off the stool. “You can ask her when she comes in for her shift tonight. I’m off to top up the napkin dispensers.” She waltzes away, humming to herself.

Before I know it, five o’clock has arrived, and so has Cassie. I catch her attention as soon as she steps out of the staff corridor and into the bar. “Can we talk?”

“Sure. Is something wrong?” she asks, concern clouding her sunny expression.

“No. I promise this isn’t that kind of ‘we need to talk’.”

She smiles in relief. “Good, because those aren’t words you want to hear from your boss or your boyfriend, so—” Her eyes go comically wide. “Not that you’re my boyfriend. I just meant that?—”

“Cassie, breathe.” Laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder, I steer her back through the staff-only door and towards my office. “I’m not interested in casual or in playing games. Call me your boyfriend, partner, whatever. I’m all yours and I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

“O—OK.”

“Glad that’s settled.”

“So, what do you want to talk about?” she asks, leaning against the edge of my desk and crossing her legs at the ankles.

“Before I ask, I need you to know that you can absolutely say no.”

“OK,” she drags the word out warily. “Now I’m intrigued.”

“I know you said before that performing here was a one-off. If that’s still how you feel, I completely respect that, but I was wondering if you’d do another gig here at the end of next month? We’ll pay whatever your usual rate is, obviously.”

“Oh.” Surprise, relief, and worry war for dominance in her expression, and I’m not sure what to make of her reaction. Luckily, she doesn’t leave me guessing for long. “I really hadn’t planned on gigging while I was here.” She chews on her lip. “Wait, you said the end of next month?” At my nod, some of the tension eases from her shoulders. “That’ll be enough time,” she mutters, more to herself than to me.Time for what? “OK. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

She holds out her hands and I take them, allowing her to pull me between her denim-clad thighs. “You play a couple of songs with me.”

“Oh, no. I’ve never played for an audience. Guitar’s just a hobby.”

“A hobby you’re really fucking good at.”

“Cassie.”

“Austin,” she drops her voice multiple octaves in an imitation of mine.