Free Winter (Four Seasons #1) by Nikita Rae Page A

index finger. “Um, thanks? I didn’t know
you played here.” I feel the need to clarify that, just to make
sure he knows I’m not stalking him or something.
    “ Yeah. I
sometimes play here before a night shift starts. Amps me up. The
twelve hour shifts can drain you sometimes.” He nods over to Noah,
still sitting behind me. “You on a date?”
    “ No. No, of
course not.” Of course not? What am I, some kind of virginal nun? I can be on
a date if I want to be. I pull my shoulders back, standing a little
straighter. “Well kind of. It might be. I’m not really
sure.”
    Luke, still
staring at Noah, frowns. His expression is a dark one. “Haven’t
defined the relationship, huh?”
    “ No, it’s not
a relationship. We don’t have…” I’m floundering. Wow, this is
terrible. Luke bends the guitar pick in his hand so hard the green
plastic turns white. He tosses it onto the bar.
    “ Okay, well
good luck with it, whatever it is. I gotta go. I have one last song
to play.”
    “ Sure.”
    He tips his
head to one side and half-closes his eyes, staring at me intently.
“Sorry about the thanksgiving text, Ave. I meant it, though. If you
need anything just holler. Especially if you need anyone’s kneecaps
breaking…” he shoots Noah a pointed glance when he says that. I
haven’t told him people call me Ave now. It just falls out of his
mouth like it’s obvious. He backs away, taking four steps before he
turns around and disappears back into the crowd. The people part
for him like he’s freaking Jeff Buckley reincarnated or
something.
    “ Who was
that?” Noah stands behind me, propping himself up against the bar
by one elbow. He’s smiling, but his forehead is
furrowed.
    “ Just a
friend,” I tell him.
    Claire walks
back behind the bar, shooting daggers at me as the crowd erupts
into cheers and whistles. From this position, I can just about see
the top half of Luke’s upper body as he climbs onto what must be a
small stage in the corner. He places a guitar strap over his head
and sits down—I’m assuming there’s a stool there.
    “ What are the
chances, huh? You know the guy who plays here,” Noah says, leaning
close so he can speak directly into my ear. His breath skims across
my neck, hot, and I have to fight the urge to take a step back.
It’s not that it isn’t nice. It is…but, I don’t know. Something’s
stopping me from enjoying his proximity as much as I might have
done twenty minutes ago. I’m not stupid enough to pretend I don’t
know what that something is. Or who . I just refuse to admit
it.
    “ Thanks for
being so welcoming tonight,” Luke says softly into the mic. His
voice is sombre, and a hush falls over the sea of people between
the bar and the stage. People whisper to each other, like it’s
imperative they hear every last word out of his mouth. “I only have
one more song to play tonight. It’s not one of mine, it’s a
classic. This song means a great deal to me, so I hope you enjoy
it.”
    Luke strums a
few chords out on his guitar, staring down at the frets, even
though I’m a hundred percent positive he doesn’t need to look to
find exactly where each of his fingertips should be. It takes a
moment before I recognize the slow progression of the chords he
strums out, and when his foot starts tapping out a familiar rhythm
against the stage my throat begins to close up. It’s Blackbird.
Blackbird by the Beatles. The only song my father knew how to
play—his favourite. Luke’s brows pull together and upwards as he
starts to sing, and my stomach lurches. Oh God. His voice is
beautiful. Rough and perfect and full of emotion. He sings like
it’s his heart that’s on the floor right now, not mine. The
words—about fixing broken things, broken hearts and broken wings,
learning to fly—each one of them punches through me until I feel
like I can’t breathe.
    “ Can we…do you
mind if we sit down again?”
    Noah nods and
gives me his trademark smile, guiding me back