Page 54 of Stolen Harmony

“Funny,” I replied, but I was smiling despite myself. Anna had that effect on people, made you feel like showing up was an accomplishment worth celebrating.

“Where’s Tom?” I asked Anna.

“Tom is currently doing some business out of town.” Anna said and I nodded before thanking her.

We claimed a booth near the window, close enough to watch Harbor's End settle into night but far enough from the speakers to have actual conversations. Sarah ordered something complicated involving elderflower, David stuck with local beer, and I found myself asking for whiskey without really deciding to.

“To Jake Dollworth,” Sarah raised her glass when the drinks arrived. “And to taking chances on people who deserve them.”

We clinked glasses with the solemnity of people who understood that small victories were still victories. The whiskeywas smooth, clean, with just enough bite to remind you it was working. Anna had good taste in everything, not just the obvious things.

“You know,” David said, settling back against the worn leather of the booth, “I think this is the first time I've seen you relax in months.”

“I relax.”

“You survive,” Sarah corrected gently. “There's a difference.”

Before I could formulate a response that didn't sound defensive, the bar's front door opened with its familiar chime. I glanced over automatically, the way you do in small towns where everyone's arrival is worth noting.

The world tilted sideways.

Rowan stood in the doorway like he'd stepped out of a rock and roll fever dream. Black leather jacket that fit him like it had been tailored, dark jeans that clung in all the right places, boots that made him taller and somehow more dangerous than he'd seemed in the daylight conversations we'd been having. His hair was longer than I remembered, falling across his forehead in a way that made him look younger and older at the same time.

He moved through the bar, shoulders squared, chin lifted just enough to suggest he didn't particularly care what anyone thought. But I caught the way his eyes swept the room, cataloging exits and potential problems with the practiced wariness of someone who'd learned not to trust safe spaces completely.

Our eyes met across the crowded room, and I felt that familiar jolt of recognition mixed with something darker, more complicated. He nodded once, a gesture that could have meant anything or nothing, then made his way toward the bar where Anna was already pulling a beer without being asked.

“Is that Rowan?” Sarah asked quietly, following my gaze.

I managed a nod, not trusting my voice to work properly. Seeing him like this, dressed like every cliché about dangerous musicians come to life, made something twist low in my gut that I didn't want to examine too closely.

“We should invite him over,” Sarah said, already half-rising from the booth. “You've told us so much about him.”

“Sarah, wait—” I started, but she was already walking toward the bar, David trailing behind her with curious interest.

I watched from the booth as they approached Rowan, saw the moment his expression shifted from wary to politely interested as Sarah spoke to him. David offered his hand with genuine warmth, and I could see Rowan's posture relaxing slightly as they talked.

A few minutes later, they were all walking back toward the booth, Rowan carrying his beer.

“Rowan,” I said as they approached, standing up to make introductions feel less formal, “these are my friends, Sarah and David. Sarah, David, this is Rowan.”

“We've heard so much about you,” Sarah said, settling back into the booth with genuine warmth. “Elias talks about you constantly.”

Rowan's eyebrows rose as he looked at me, something unreadable flickering across his expression. “Does he?”

“All the time,” David confirmed with a grin. “Your music, mostly. He's got some of your recordings that he plays when he thinks no one's listening.”

Heat crept up my neck. “I might have mentioned your work a few times.”

“A few times,” Sarah laughed. “He's practically your unofficial publicist.”

Rowan slid into the booth across from me, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with leather andsomething that was purely him. The combination made my mouth go dry in ways that had nothing to do with the whiskey.

“So what do you two do?” Rowan asked, taking a long pull from his beer, his tone hovering somewhere between polite and suspicious.

I answered before either of them could. “Sarah runs the business side of the studio—keeps us from drowning in contracts and invoices. David’s our sound engineer. He makes the music actually sound the way it’s supposed to.”

“Studio manager,” Sarah clarified with a quick smile. “Budgets, scheduling, making sure Elias doesn’t sign away his soul by accident. Glamorous, I know.”