When The Night Changes

Chapter 1: The Cowboy

The low hum of conversation fills the bar, a soft buzz of voices that blends into the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. The air smells faintly of beer, fried food, and a trace of stale smoke, even though the bar has a clean, well-kept vibe. A new wicker globe pendant hangs overhead, casting a warm, uneven glow across the room.


From a tattered booth in the corner, I scan the dimly lit place, my eyes lingering on the light. Beside me, Riah and Taylor are giggling, their laughter bubbling over as they momentarily squish me in a playful sandwich. I shake my head with a faint smile, doing my best to ignore their infectious energy. I’m not ready to fully surrender to their highly seasoned antics—especially since it’s been a fat minute since I’ve been out with them.


I purposely fix my gaze on the neon lights glowing above the fully stocked shelves of alcohol. The rainbow of glass bottles catches my eye, their balanced arrangement an unexpectedly soothing work of art. For a moment, I find the display oddly calming. But my attention soon shifts to the unsettling drunkenness and loud desperation weaving through the room—a sharp reminder that I haven’t missed much.


“You OK?” Taylor asks, her brown eyes narrowed with concern.


“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just rowdier than I remember.” I quickly point to a couple of bearded middle-aged men, both of them shoving and yelling. “Are they fighting?” I ask.


“No,” Riah confirms, tucking her blond hair behind her ears. “They’re just messing around.”


I nod my head, then look away in uncertainty. I’m starting to think my twenty-five year old self has outgrown the chaotic environment before me.


While my friends skim the limited menu, my eyes wander to the crowded bar top. It’s the typical mix of people. The younger crowd mingles boldly, spilling drinks amidst exaggerated laughter. A few of them appear timid and reserved, their hands folded together or moving back and forth across their body. Most of the women wear a cleavage-baring top, while the men sport a button-up shirt, rolled to the elbows for that enticing masculine effect.


The middle-aged crowd offers far more variety. Plaid-shirt guy seems to be searching for free therapy, desperately clinging to his conversation with the young bartender. Whether he’s unloading his troubles or just trying to drown them, it’s hard to tell.


The chatty blonde next to him acts like she’s fishing for attention, maybe to make up for a lousy day at work. But I prefer to imagine she’s putting on a performance—maybe adopting an accent or pretending to be someone else for a cheap, harmless thrill.


At opposite ends of the bar, the two oldest customers seem perfectly content with the TV screens in front of them, sipping their drinks in quiet solitude. Despite their lonely air, there’s something oddly comforting about their presence.


Then there’s the guy in a snug black T-shirt, paired with a matching black cowboy hat. He looks like he’s in his twenties, carrying an air of quiet confidence. The way he stares ahead, lost in pensive thought, makes me wonder if he’s the creative type. Spending time in your own head is something I know all too well, and that’s exactly what this lone wolf seems to be doing.


“What can I get you ladies?” a sweet voice asks, cutting through my silent introspection.


“I’ll have a rum and Coke,” Riah replies eagerly.


“Same,” Taylor chimes in, brushing shiny auburn strands away from her face. “Oh, and definitely some cheese fries too.”


“Sure thing, hun.” Tossing a blond Dutch braid over her shoulder, the petite waitress glances at me. “What about you, sweetie?”


“Club soda with lime, please.”


“Coming right up.” She winks and hurries to the next table.


“Um, what happened to living it up?” Riah asks, her brow furrowed in disapproval.


Taylor nudges my arm, her auburn hair glinting under the lights. “Yeah, how do you expect to accomplish your goal while sober?”


“Exactly the same way—just with a clear head,” I reply, picking lint off Taylor’s blue sweater.


“Well, there’s no way you’re leaving here with some random guy,” Riah counters. “Not without some kind of chemical assistance.”


“Is that your professional opinion as a pharmacist?” I ask, smirking.


“No, it’s strictly my opinion as one of your closest friends. We all know you’re not a no-strings fun type of person. You thrive on deep connections and meaningful conversations. A one night stand—no matter how appealing and freeing it sounds—is incredibly unrealistic.”


Being challenged by Riah is just the push I need to commit to my uncharacteristic objective. I’m ready for something new and different. Something bold and risky. But most of all, something fun without the emotional commitment.


“Do you see that guy in the cowboy hat?” I gesture, waiting for my friends to nod. “As soon as the seat next to him opens up, I’m going over there.”


“Why him?” Taylor asks, her tone curious. “I mean, he looks pretty hot from over here, but he’s definitely giving off some dark, brooding vibes.”


“Taylor’s right. He looks like he wants to be left alone.”


“I think he’s just a regular guy looking for an escape,” I say, leaning on folded arms. “And maybe the noise of the bar and all the strangers let him de-stress without feeling alone.”


“Or maybe he’s a hitman rewarding himself for a job well done,” Taylor suggests, leaning back casually.


“Yeah, that’s it,” Riah says dryly, rolling her eyes. “No. I bet he just needs a break from his nagging girlfriend.”


“Maybe,” I mumble. “But let’s hope not.”


“I heard somewhere that the best way to approach a loner is… not to,” Riah warns, arching an eyebrow.


“Come on, have a little faith. Loners like to have fun too,” I counter, defending myself.


It’s no surprise to me when I hear the tall lanky guy at the bar order a round of drinks, insisting it’s his birthday. As cheers erupt around him, I can’t help but break into a smile.


About ten minutes later, the waitress returns with our drinks and cheese fries, smacking her gum as she hands them out. “Just give me a holler if you gals need anything.”


Riah offers a sincere smile. “Great. Thank you.”


As I take a sip of my drink, a loud muffled vibration cuts through the air. A second later, the sound clears and smooths out. All eyes turn to the bearded bartender as he speaks into a microphone. I can’t help but admire the black and gray tattoos covering his arms. His white V-neck tee gives off a simple blue-collar vibe, but the black suspenders and dark-wash jeans really pull off the hipster look.


With a friendly yet measured tone, the bartender addresses the crowd. “Hi, everyone. I’m Seth. I’m here to make sure you have a great time tonight. On that note, our Friday night karaoke will start in half an hour. Please have your songs ready. Talent is optional, but kindness is a must—I have very sensitive ears.”


I turn to Riah and ask, “What happened to this place? It used to have such a low-key vibe.”


“A lot’s changed in the last five months,” she replies, casting a sharp glance my way. “You’ve been MIA.”


My gaze drops. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few months. I—”


“Hey, look!” Taylor interrupts excitedly. “A seat just became vacant by the hot assassin.”


“Assassin? Really Taylor?” I raise a brow at her dramatic depiction.


She giggles, taking a small sip of her drink. “You’re not the only one with an imagination. Besides, look at those broad shoulders. He’s definitely packing some serious muscle. All that upper body strength has to be put to good use somewhere.”


“Maybe he works on a ranch,” I suggest, tilting my head to get a better look at him. The dim lighting and distance make it almost impossible to see clearly.


“Riah, what’s your take?” Taylor presses. “What’s cowboy guy using all that strength for?”


Riah tilts her head, her jaw jutting slightly as she considers. “I don’t know… but I’m betting Avery can think of a few steamy ways to make use of it.”


Heat rushes to my cheeks at her suggestive smirk. “And that’s my cue to leave,” I mutter, slipping around Taylor and making my escape.


With my drink in hand, I make my way toward the bar, my pace unhurried. Courage grows with each step past the scattered tables, and I easily brush off the obnoxious catcalls thrown my way. The sharp tang of hard liquor doesn’t faze me—I’m prepared for it. But the sour undertone of body odor? That’s harder to ignore, threatening to turn me right back around.


As I near the bar, the ceiling seems to press lower, a claustrophobic illusion brought on by my creeping anxiety. I force myself to focus on the scuffed hardwood floor, holding my breath as I close the final gap.


Before settling onto a stool, I adjust my black, off-the-shoulder sweater, tucking the hem neatly into my light-wash jeans. My wavy, light-brown hair is next, a quick toss to one side as I slide onto the wooden seat, exhaling quietly.


Seth steps in front of me with smooth precision, raising his dark, whiskered chin. “What can I get you?” he asks, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.


I tilt my glass with a small smile. “I’m good, thanks.”


He nods and moves on, turning his attention to the next customer. I wait a beat—about one Mississippi—then casually glance to my right. The muscled biceps beside me are even more impressive up close. Their owner’s sturdy frame leans slightly as he stares at the bottles of liquor, his strong, well-defined jawline catching the dim light. When he lifts his glass for a sip, a wisp of dark-blond hair peeks out from under his hat, completing the picture of effortless attractiveness.


As if sensing my gaze, he turns his head slightly, acknowledging me with a subtle nod.


“Hi,” I murmur, offering him a sweet smile.


His piercing blue eyes flick to me, then to my drink. “Hey,” he replies faintly before quickly looking away.


I exhale softly, a quiet sigh of defeat. It’s clear that getting this guy’s attention is going to be a lot harder than I thought. There’s a sadness about him I hadn’t anticipated, one that catches me off guard.


Before I can dwell on it, a voice from my left cuts through the moment. Deep and smooth, it delivers what can only be described as a pickup line. “Excuse me, I think you’ve got something in your eye.”


I turn my head, locking eyes with a man sporting dark eyes, neatly cropped dark hair, and an Ivy League haircut. His bright smile radiates confidence as he leans in closer.


“Oh wait,” he continues, his grin widening, “it’s just a sparkle.”


I force a polite smile and take a quick glance at him. His white cardigan and gray distressed jeans give off a preppy vibe—oddly mismatched with his attempt at charm. He’s not bad-looking, but something in my gut tells me he’s not the one I’m looking for.


“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, spinning his aqua-colored cocktail lazily in his hand.


I lift my glass to my lips. “Already have one, thanks.”


“I can see that,” he counters with a sly smirk. “But are you really going to turn down a free drink?”


A faint chill prickles at the back of my neck. There’s something about his persistence that sets me on edge.


“I’m good with just one,” I reply, my tone cool as I give him a tight smile. “But thanks for the offer.”


He scoffs loudly, shifting his weight like a petulant child. “Seriously? What is your deal?”


His snarky attitude startles me, and I find myself staring at him in disbelief.


“Do you even know who I am?” he adds, chuckling with an air of arrogance.


Before I can respond, the lone cowboy to my right leans in, his voice low and firm. “Dude, just leave her alone. She’s obviously not interested.”


“Who the hell asked you?” Preppy guy snaps, his brow furrowing in anger.


“Hey, relax,” I interject, my heart racing with nervous energy. “There’s no reason to get upset.”


“I’m Connor Moore,” he announces smugly, dragging his name out like it’s a prize. “The mayor’s son.”


“Nobody cares,” comes a fearless response from my right, the cowboy’s voice cutting through thick air.


Connor’s jaw tightens, but before he can fire back, I seize the moment. “Look,” I say, my tone measured but firm, “I’m really not interested in anything you have to offer. Can you please just leave me alone?”


“Yeah, right,” he sneers, the arrogance dripping from his voice. “You clearly have no idea what you want.”


“Excuse me?” I retort, crossing my arms. “You know nothing about me. And, for the record, you don’t seem to know much about respect or boundaries either.”


Connor’s face hardens, his eyes darting between me and the cowboy. “You need to leave. Both of you,” he growls, his voice thick with entitlement. “Unless you both want to be charged with harassment.”


My partner in ridicule stands in silence, his large frame towering over me as he steps closer, positioning himself beside Connor. The subtle scuff of his cowboy boots against the floor catches my attention, grounding me for a moment. But then, his  woodsy, masculine scent drifts toward me, stirring something deep and primal—a strong, sensual feeling I’d rather not be having right now.


“It’s time for you to go,” the cowboy says calmly, his deep voice steady as he widens his stance. “Your kind isn’t wanted here.”


Connor bolts upright, his chair screeching against the floor. “What did you just say to me?”


“You heard me,” the cowboy replies, his tone sharp and unwavering. “Fuck off.”


Connor glares, his hostility radiating as he pulls his phone from his pocket, holding it up like a weapon. ‘Guess what, jackass? I’m calling the cops.’”


“You won’t get the chance,” comes a quiet murmur near my ear, the cowboy’s proximity sending a jolt through me as I sense the tension rising.


Connor’s eyes narrow into slits. “You wanna bet?”


Before another word can be uttered, the cowboy moves with startling speed. In one swift motion, Connor’s arm is wrenched behind his back, forcing his phone to clatter to the floor. His body is shoved against the metal counter, the sharp clang echoing through the bar. Connor’s face twists in pain, his teeth gritted in a futile attempt to mask it, but a low grunt escapes him.


I flinch, wincing as I watch the scene unfold, unable to tear my eyes away.


The cowboy leans in, his composure unbroken, and whispers something in Connor’s ear—words that make Connor’s face harden with fury but also glint with fear.


“Everything okay here?” Seth’s voice cuts through the tension, his expression taut with concern as he watches from behind the bar.


“Yep,” he replies calmly, releasing Connor. “Just a little misunderstanding. We’re all good, right, Con-Man?”


Connor nods bitterly, rubbing his wrist as he snatches up his phone and stalks off without another word.


Seth’s concerned gaze shifts to me. “You good?” he asks, his tone genuine.


“Yeah,” I mumble, still piecing together the whirlwind of events.


Meanwhile, my impressive defender settles back into his seat, finishing the rest of his beer with an air of total nonchalance, as if the altercation hadn’t just happened.


“Thank you,” I say, my voice carrying a weight of sincerity. I wait until his eyes flick to mine. “I really appreciate what you just did.”


“Happy to step in,” he replies with a casual lean back. “I can’t stand pretentious assholes.”


“I’m Avery, by the way.”


“Jake,” he offers with a brief nod.


“So, what did you say to him?” I ask, tilting my head slightly. “When you whispered in his ear?”


“Nothing but the truth,” he mutters, his gaze slipping away from mine, clearly avoiding the question.


“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give me?” I press, intrigued and determined.


“Yep,” he answers quickly, the finality in his tone leaving no room for further inquiry.


“Do you think if I had told him I wasn’t actually drinking, he’d have left me alone?”


Jake glances my way, his brow tightening in confusion.


“It’s just club soda and lime,” I explain, tilting my glass slightly.


He nods slowly, letting the information sink in. “Honestly, I don’t think anything would’ve deterred him.”


“Except you,” I point out, offering a small grin.


With a humble nod of agreement, Jake shifts on his stool, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in his eyes.


I can’t help but find his reaction a bit of a tease, and now, more than ever, I’m determined to make him smile.


“So this mysterious, brooding vibe you’ve got going on—is it all an act, or does it just come naturally?”


An awkward silence lingers between us, and I can feel the playful jab falling flat.


“It varies,” he finally answers, his tone neutral.


I briefly cradle my face in my hands, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m just trying to figure you out.”


“It’s fine,” he replies kindly. “I wasn’t offended.”


“Good.” I release a soft sigh, taking a sip of my drink, only to be reminded there’s no liquor in it. “One of my friends thinks you could be a hitman,” I say, hoping to steer the conversation in a new direction.


Jake meets my gaze, his eyes narrowing in mild puzzlement. “Come again?” His interest is clearly piqued.


I tilt my head toward Riah and Taylor. “I can’t remember which one said it, but ‘assassin’ was also mentioned.”


A small, amused smile plays at the corners of his bow-shaped lips. I return it, but my own smile falters as an unwanted blush rises to my cheeks.


“OK, I have to ask,” he begins, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “What was your initial impression?”


“From over there?” I point, buying myself a few extra seconds.


He nods, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.


“I thought, definitely a writer or a musician, but after witnessing that highly methodical physical performance, I’m leaning toward professional wrestler.”


Jake bursts into a sudden laugh, a warm sound that fills the space between us, bringing a welcome rush of hope. But it’s the way his jaw and shoulders relax that lets me know his guard is finally down.


“Seriously though,” I say, leaning in slightly, “the way you appeared deep in thought—as if you were making mental notes in your head—that’s what stood out to me.”


Jake cocks his head, giving me a contemplative look, his gaze sharp and focused. I hold his stare, trying to match his intensity, and find myself unintentionally caught in a brief, unofficial staring contest. I hold out as long as I can, but to my disappointment, I can’t keep a straight face. As I finally break into a smile, I catch a flicker of something softer, a genuine fondness, in his eyes.


“You’re basically right,” he says, shifting his weight slightly. “I write songs and sing them on occasion at a few bars and clubs around town.”


“That’s awesome,” I respond, my smile widening. “So no wrestling then?” I add quickly, hoping to coax another smile from him.


“No wrestling,” he clarifies, his tone a bit more serious now. “Most of my time is spent providing personal security and close protection for a highly stressed, overly apprehensive business executive.”


“So you’re like a bodyguard?” I ask, cupping the side of my face with interest.


“More or less,” he replies, a hint of weariness in his voice.


“Sounds intense,” I comment, leaning back slightly, imagining the kind of pressure that would involve.


“It can be,” he mutters, his gaze briefly drifting to the counter.


“Do you enjoy it?” I ask, already certain of what his answer will be.


“It pays the bills,” he says, offering a casual shrug and gesturing to the bartender for another drink.


As Seth makes his way over, I quickly pull a ten from my pocket and place it on the counter, offering it with a confident nod. “I got this one.”


To my surprise, Jake immediately slides the money back toward me, his expression firm. He glances toward Seth with a subtle motion. “I’ll take another beer when you get a chance,” he says.


“What? I can’t buy you a drink?” I scoff, a bit taken aback by his dismissal.


“Not tonight,” he replies vaguely, leaving me more confused than before.


I lean forward, a little frustrated now, and clarify. “It’s just a thank you—for helping me out earlier.”


“Yeah, I know,” he says, his tone softening, but still distant. “It’s not necessary.”


Seth sets the beer in front of Jake, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk.


“Thanks, man. Appreciate it,” Jake says, the slightest edge of gratitude in his voice.


I slide my cash to Seth with two fingers. “Here, I’m paying for his beer.”


“Absolutely not,” Jake says firmly, his gaze sharpening as he directs it at Seth. “Do not take her money.”


Seth hesitates for a moment before backing away slowly, sending me a quick, sympathetic smile.


“If this has to do with me being a girl, I’m not impressed,” I say pointedly, pursing my lips in annoyance.


A pleased look flickers across Jake’s face. “I promise, it has nothing to do with that.”


“Then what?” I press, narrowing my eyes.


“I never accept any kind of payment simply for being decent,” he explains, his tone calm but resolute. “It’s a rule of mine, and one I strongly adhere to.”


I let out a dramatic sigh, acknowledging his stubborn, yet oddly honorable approach to life. “OK, fair enough.”


Jake’s attractive smirk disappears as he takes a swig of his beer, his eyes glinting with something unspoken. “I appreciate the sentiment, though,” he adds, his smile now genuine.


It’s almost annoying how incredibly hot I find him. His exceptional physical appearance is one thing, but the unusual charm and self-assured exterior send a wave of desire through me, the kind that feels both thrilling and unsettling.


“Can you tell me what you do?” he asks, adjusting the brim of his hat with a deliberate motion.


“My parents own a bookstore a couple blocks from here,” I reply. “I basically run it for them.”


“I bet you read books all day.”


“Not really. I spend more time writing—poems and such.”


“That’s why you thought I was a writer,” he says, nodding thoughtfully.


“Yeah, I could almost see your mind working in your own head space,” I muse.


Suddenly, a loud, high-pitched squeal erupts, making me cover my ears instinctively. Jake points to the right, towards the source of the noise.


The stage itself is small, barely a raised platform, with a couple of mismatched stools and a mic stand that wobbles slightly.  A stocky-built guy in his twenties stands there with a microphone, looking both confused and embarrassed by the feedback. Seth rolls his eyes and steps in to help him adjust the setup.


Eventually, a familiar beat fills the space. The energy in the room shifts with the music, the atmosphere shifting from mellow to lively, people swaying to the rhythm and tapping their feet, some already losing themselves in the song.


“This is a good one,” I say, turning to Jake.


“One Direction, right?” he replies thoughtfully.


“Yes,” I nod, amused at his guess.


The song “Night Changes” picks up, and Jake can’t help but comment on the amateur singing. “This is terrible.”


“It’s not that bad,” I argue, defending the performance.


He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Seriously?”


“Well, his voice is mediocre, but I still find him entertaining. Look at how much fun he’s having.” I point out the singer’s quirky, animated movements. “It’s actually kind of adorable.”


Jake makes a face, clearly unimpressed. “You and I clearly differ on entertainment value.”


I chuckle softly. “Yeah, I guess we do.”


To my surprise, I get caught up in the melody as I sway my stool back and forth, trying not to hum along to the chorus. Jake, however, refuses to watch the performance, his face contorting with what looks like mild discomfort. But I can’t seem to keep my eyes off him. I tell myself it’s the dark, wide-brimmed hat drawing my attention, but in truth, it’s everything about him. His muscular frame. Ruggedly handsome face. The steady confidence in the way he carries himself.


I’ve definitely picked a good one, I think with a small smile to myself.


As the song builds, our eyes meet. A moment of connection—an undeniable spark between us. We exchange a few flirty smiles, each one intentional, lingering just enough to feel the electricity in the air. It’s the best natural high, and honestly, the perfect motivation I need to keep moving forward with my plans for the night.


“So, Jake, do you have anyone special who comes to watch you sing?” I ask, curious.


His face immediately shifts, like I’ve touched on something soft. “Nah. Nobody special,” he replies, his gaze dropping as his expression becomes conflicted. “Listen, as much as I’ve appreciated this easy back and forth tonight, I need to be straight with you. I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”


My eyes widen in shock, completely thrown by his boldness. “What makes you think I want a relationship?” I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the rising frustration. “Do I have ‘looking for a boyfriend’ written on my forehead or something?”


A hint of amusement plays on Jake’s lips, and he smiles before apologizing. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me to assume.”


I finish my drink, feeling the weight of the conversation press down. “I’m not interested in a relationship either,” I say, my voice steady.


“Good to know,” he says, taking a swig from his beer bottle.


“I’m only interested in hooking up,” I add, surprising myself with the bluntness.


A spurt of beer shoots out of Jake’s mouth, spraying the countertop. “What?” he sputters, wiping his face with his sleeve.


“Why are you so surprised?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no way I’m the first girl to approach you about casual sex.”


“Uh, no…” He stumbles over his words, straightening up. “Definitely not the first. But I didn’t exactly peg you as the one-night stand type.”


“Well, it’s not normally my thing,” I admit, leaning back in my stool. “I’m just trying something different.”


He clears his throat, awkwardly. “I’m flattered that you would choose me…” He trails off, his tone light but lacking enthusiasm.


I feel the weight of a “but” hanging in the air, the lack of real interest in his voice making it clear.


“But you’re not interested,” I state quickly, the words coming out with a mix of frustration and resignation.


He nods, just slightly, confirming my fear.


“Please don’t take it personally,” he says softly, his expression serious now. “I do find you very attractive, but I’ve done the casual thing. The problem with it is that someone always gets hurt. It’s never worth it. Feelings always get in the way.”


“You don’t need to explain,” I mutter, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m humiliated enough as it is.”


Jake’s tone unexpectedly rises, a touch of concern in his voice. “Don’t be. It’s really not a big deal.”


“If you say so,” I shrug, trying to mask the sting, but the words still cut deep.


More than anything, I want to bolt, to escape from what feels like one of my most embarrassing moments, but I’m frozen in place—too self-conscious to move.


Jake leans in and nudges my arm gently. “Hey, we’re still friends, right?”


“Yeah, definitely,” I say, my voice small as I rise from my stool, tucking my hair behind my ear. “But I think it’s about time I head back.”


“It was nice to meet you,” I add, my tone lacking the enthusiasm I had intended.


“Same,” he replies with sincerity. “But you really don’t have to leave. We can still hang out.”


I force a small smile, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Have a good night.” I turn on my heel, avoiding his sympathetic gaze as I walk away.


As I make my way toward the booth, trying my best to suppress the sting of embarrassment, I hear him call out my name.


“Avery.”


I pause, slowly rotating to face him, feeling the weight of my thoughts and the unexpected emotions running through me. His face—the one I thought I’d be kissing by the end of the night—looks softer than I remember.


“Take care, and keep writing,” he says sweetly, his voice unexpectedly tender.


I offer a weak smile, barely able to meet his eyes. “Yeah, you too.”


I avoid all further eye contact as I make my way back to where Taylor and Riah are sitting. A new song starts playing, and the lyrics “walking on broken glass” seem to sting, cutting into my already fragile mood. My arms instinctively curl around myself, as though that might shield me from the invisible ache in my chest. The weight of past mistakes, past failed relationships, fills the air, thick with regret. It doesn’t help, not at all.


As I approach them, I notice their deeply concerned expressions. I can’t bring myself to look at them yet, so I quickly slide into the booth.


“Are you crying?” Taylor asks, her voice soft as she leans forward, eyes narrowing in suspicion.


“No,” I insist, blinking rapidly. “My eyes water when I get embarrassed. You know that.”


“What happened?” Riah asks, her breath heavy with concern as she looks me over carefully.


I shake my head, unsure of what to say. In my mind, everything had been going well—better than well. I felt a strong physical attraction to Jake, a genuine connection. He’d even warmed up to me after his initial aloofness. But then I said the wrong thing, and just like that, it was over.


“He wasn’t interested,” I say simply.


“Really?” Riah asks, her voice full of curiosity. “Are you sure he understood what you were after?”


“Yes,” I reply, my voice flat. “I made it pretty clear. He was even kind about it, which only made it worse.” I slump back in my seat, feeling defeated. “A few more minutes, and I probably would’ve fallen for him, so it’s probably for the best.”


“Are you sure that didn’t already happen?” Taylor asks, her voice shaky with concern.


Riah gives her a disapproving nudge. “We saw him slam that guy’s face on the counter. What was that about?” she asks, quickly changing the subject.


“That guy was harassing me, and Jake stepped in. Apparently, he’s a bodyguard.”


“A bodyguard?” Taylor muses aloud. “That’s kinda hot.”


“Oh, it gets better,” I add, letting a small smile form despite myself. “He’s also a musician.”


Riah scoffs, unimpressed. “Who cares? It doesn’t matter what he does. You don’t need him to have fun tonight.”


“That’s right,” Taylor chimes in. “We’ve got something perfect to cheer you up.”


“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I say, my voice tired but curious.


“We’re all signed up and next on the list,” Taylor announces. “The three of us are going to kill it.”


“I really hope you don’t mean karaoke,” I groan, dreading the idea of singing in front of a crowd right now.


Riah sighs, clearly over my reluctance. “Alright, fine. We’ll sing without you. But you better enjoy the performance. We want to see at least one happy face in the audience.”


I offer a weak smile, already feeling some of my discomfort receding. “You know I will. Have fun up there.”


The truth is, both of them can sing, and I’m actually curious to see how the crowd will react—especially Jake.


As they head toward the stage, giggling, I settle back and grab a cold cheese fry, waiting for the first note. The music cuts out for a moment due to technical difficulties, but the crowd settles in, anticipating the show. When the song finally starts, Riah and Taylor grab the mic, completely unashamed.


Riah’s favorite song by Wynonna Judd, “I Saw the Light,” blares through the speakers. Without her, I wouldn’t even know the 90s country song or singer, but I’ve grown to love it.


I watch them perform with pride. Riah’s red top matches her lipstick, but it’s her vibrant blue eyes that really shine under the spotlight. Taylor, on the other hand, has less confidence but still holds her own.


Once Riah’s voice rings out, I feel a warm energy fill my chest. I make a heart with my fingers and hold it up as she sings, “…Wrote I love you on a note.”


The smile she sends my way lifts my spirits more than I expect.


As Taylor joins in for the chorus, the room’s attention shifts to them. Even Jake seems to notice. I catch him adjusting his hat to get a better view, his V-shaped profile making him even more striking. Our eyes meet, and we share a brief but approving smile. It’s a bittersweet feeling, knowing I’m still drawn to him.


Riah starts moving with more confidence, sliding her hands down her jeans as she sings the next line. The crowd responds with hoots and hollers, which only boosts her energy. Taylor begins to grow into the performance as well. She hits the next line with full force,


“They say that love is blind, baby, not this time.”


I wink at her, and she sings louder, drawing it out. If only her kindergarten class could hear her now. They’d be so proud.


It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to join in on the chorus as it plays again. Instead, my gaze shifts to Jake. Our eyes meet, and I’m taken aback by his unexpectedly rueful smile. I notice his expression soften into something thoughtful before his gaze drifts away. The change in him sparks a wave of concern in me—what’s going on? Why the sudden shift in mood?


The song transitions to a part that demands the audience’s full attention. Riah hits the high notes flawlessly, drawing shouts of praise from the crowd. I even add mine to the mix. The energy in the room is electric, and the crowd is loving it—just as they should.


I glance toward Jake again, noticing the intensity of his focus on the stage. When our eyes meet, something shifts between us—almost as if he’s made a decision, and then a slow, crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. I smile back, but confusion tugs at my brow. I’m not sure what’s going on with him.


The music fades into an instrumental section, and the girls ease off the vocals. I take the opportunity to fix my hair, running my fingers through a few unruly waves. When I glance back at Jake’s seat, it’s empty. My eyes search the room for him, scanning every corner. I turn toward my friends and catch the same uncertain look in their eyes, so I lift my hands slightly in confusion.


Pretending not to care, I spin the empty basket of cheese fries on the table with my finger, trying to distract myself from the unexpected sadness building inside me. I keep telling myself there’s no reason to be upset. Jake was never really an option. His leaving changes nothing. But I can’t convince myself. I still want him—no matter what.


Then, from the corner of my eye, I notice a shadow fall over me. I glance up, and my breath catches. Broad shoulders, strong forearms, and Jake standing before me, holding his hat in one hand, showing off his dark-blond hair in the dim light. His other hand grips the edge of the booth, his tan bicep flexing slightly.


His voice is serious but soft. “Hey.”


“Hey,” I reply, trying to stay calm.


“Can I sit?” he asks.


I turn slightly in my seat and motion for him to slide in. He moves smoothly, setting his hat on the bench. I feel the warmth of his body as he sits next to me, my pulse quickening in response.


“What’s up?” I ask, doing my best to sound casual, but inside, my body is a whirlwind of butterflies.


Jake holds my gaze, his expression unreadable but intense. He shifts  closer, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.


“Just this,” he murmurs, his hand reaching up to gently trace the side of my face. My heart races as he leans in, his lips pressing softly to mine. A warm tingle spreads through me, and the sweet taste of his kiss steals my breath. We kiss slowly, each movement perfectly in time with the song playing in the background:


“I saw the light in your window tonight…


I saw two shadows holding each other tight…”


Our lips move in time with the rhythm of the music, but it’s the kiss itself that consumes me. The warmth of him, the gentleness of each movement, draws me in completely, as if everything else fades away. I lose track of everything—of time, of place—just immersed in the sweet intimacy of the moment.


When Jake finally pulls back, there’s a quiet passion in his gaze, his eyes locking onto mine with a warmth that makes my heart flutter. His voice is low and husky as he speaks. “You ready to get out of here?”


A playful grin forms on my lips, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, please.”


Chuckling under his breath, Jake slides out of the booth, grabbing his hat. “Ready when you are, darlin’,” he says, offering me his hand.


I take his hand, my smile stretching wide as I slide out of the booth and stand. Turning toward the stage, I give my friends a quick wave, a small flick of my fingers that barely qualifies as a goodbye. Taylor flashes me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, making me grin, while Riah punctuates her performance with a playful hip thrust that turns my cheeks bright red. Despite myself, I smile back at them, a warm sense of relief washing over me. Their silent encouragement feels like the perfect send-off.


As Jake and I leave the bar, I hear the most beautiful sound in the world—his deep, soothing voice carrying the last line of the song:


“I saw the light in your window tonight.”





For the full entertainment effect, check out the song “I Saw the Light” by Wynonna Judd.