Page 89 of Bluebird

He tilted his head and smiled warmly. “I know.”

I drew my eyebrows together. “You know?”

“I’ve heard you,” he said, with a casual shrug.

My mouth dropped. “You’ve heard me? When? How?” I only went to Luke’s house when he wasn’t home.

“I get home early sometimes. The walls are thin.” He grinned.

My heart quickened. “Oh…and…?”

“You’re amazing…I mean—your songs…your songs sound amazing.” Blush crept up into Luke’s cheeks and he ran his hand through his hair.

“Thank you,” I uttered, exhaling in relief. His opinion was always the one I valued most.

Luke pulled the tea towel from his back pocket and started clearing a smudge on the bar. “So…are you writing a new album?”

I shrugged. “No…not intentionally. I’ve been working on some old lyrics and have written a few new ones that might be good enough, but I really need a talented guitarist to help with the melodies…”

Luke stopped wiping the bar and chuckled. “And…” He smirked, waiting for me to continue.

My mouth curled into a smile. “And…I was hoping you could help me out. Like old times? You’re the best guitarist in town, probably ever, and—”

“Okay,” Luke answered, but I wasn’t listening.

“…you know my sound. Plus—”

“Okay.”

“…I’ll pay you.”

“Blue!”

I jumped. “Huh?”

His eyes glimmered as he smiled. “I said okay. I’ll do it.”

I squealed in delight. “Really?”

“Really,” he chuckled.

I ran around the bar and threw my arms around him. “Thank you, Luke.”

“It’s great to see you smiling again,” he said, giving me a squeeze. “Now, calm your farm, sit down and rest, or I’ll change my answer.”

I quickly sat back down, shut my mouth, and pretended to zip my lips. I breathed in my coffee and beamed, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in months.