Page 55 of Stolen Harmony

“And I live in the booth,” David said easily. “Mixing tracks, repairing cables, swearing at amps. Basically, if it hums, buzzes, or explodes, it’s my problem.”

Rowan smirked into his beer. “So you’re the ones actually keeping his dream afloat.”

Sarah and David laughed, and I shot him a look across the table, equal parts warning and reluctant amusement.

The conversation flowed easier after that, settling into general small talk that felt safe. We discussed Harbor's End's changes over the years, the challenges of small-town life, the way technology had connected everyone to everything while somehow making people feel more isolated.

Rowan was charming when he wanted to be, I realized. He drew Sarah and David into stories about life in New York, about the differences between city and small-town attitudes, about the strange intimacy that developed between strangers on subway platforms. He was funny, self-deprecating, engaging in ways that had nothing to do with his looks or his talent.

But I caught the way he kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking. The way his fingers drummed against his beer bottle when the conversation lagged. The slighttension in his shoulders that suggested he was performing normalcy rather than feeling it.

“I should probably eat something,” Sarah announced around nine o'clock, checking her phone with the slightly unfocused attention of someone who'd been drinking steadily for hours. “Real food, not just peanuts.”

David nodded agreement. “Early morning tomorrow. That conference call I told you about.”

They began the elaborate process of gathering coats and calculating tips.

“You don't have to go,” Rowan said to me quietly, his voice just loud enough for me to hear over the bar's ambient noise. “I mean, if you want to stay. Have one more.”

There was something vulnerable in the request, something that suggested he wasn't ready for the evening to end either. Against every instinct that warned me this was dangerous territory, I found myself nodding.

“One more,” I agreed.

Sarah and David left with promises to check in tomorrow and reminders about weekend plans I'd probably forgotten. I watched them walk out into the Harbor's End night, their laughter carrying on the cold air, and realized I was now alone with Rowan in a way that felt both inevitable and terrifying.

“Another round?” Anna called from behind the bar, already reaching for bottles.

“Just one,” I replied, though I was already thinking it wouldn't be just one.

Rowan slid from his side of the booth to mine, close enough our thighs nearly touched. The shift was casual on the surface, but the heat rolling off him made my pulse stutter.

The bar was louder now, locals shouting over the music, tourists pretending they belonged. It gave us a strange kind of privacy, like the world had blurred into background noise.

“Your friends seem nice,” Rowan said, tone light but edged. “Though I noticed how carefully you steered me around their job descriptions.”

I smirked into my glass. “You make it sound like espionage.”

“Maybe it is.” He leaned in, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Studio manager and sound engineer… sounds suspiciously like people who keepyouout of trouble.”

“Somebody has to,” I said.

He let out a short laugh, softer than I’d ever heard from him. Then his eyes caught mine, and for a moment it felt like he’d dropped the act.

“Tell me about New York,” I asked, shifting the spotlight back to him. “What was it really like?”

Rowan tilted his beer, watching the bubbles climb. “Loud. Fast. Full of people pretending to be someone they weren’t.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me.” He glanced at me, daring me to press.

I did. “And did the pretending work?”

He gave a crooked grin. “Worked well enough to get free drinks and bad decisions.”

I huffed a laugh. “Sounds like you perfected the role.”

“Yeah, but the problem with roles…” He tapped the table like it was a drumbeat. “You forget who you are when no one’s watching.”