Page 49 of Island Girl

The bar was busy but not packed. Ed and Margie were at their usual table, already working on their coconut shrimp. The fishermen had claimed their corner, sunburned and loud. Dottie sat at the bar, chatting with a woman Merritt didn't recognize, probably another friend she'd brought to hear the music.

And in his corner, alone as always, sat Ray.

Merritt's eyes found him automatically now. It had become ahabit, checking to see if he was there, noting the way he sat, the angle of his shoulders, the untouched glass of Jameson on the table. Tonight he looked the same as always, still, quiet, contained. But when she glanced his way, his eyes lifted to meet hers.

He nodded. Just once. A small acknowledgment.

She nodded back.

The door opened, and Sarah and Trevor walked in.

Sarah looked different outside the chaos of the inn, more relaxed, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back in her usual practical ponytail. Trevor had his arm around her waist, and they were both smiling, taking in the bar with the curiosity of first-time visitors.

Merritt crossed the room to meet them. “You came.”

“Of course we came.” Sarah pulled her into a hug. “We've been looking forward to this all week.”

“The kids were furious,” Trevor added. “Noah wanted to come so badly. But we kept explaining that this was a place where adults come. It’s not exactly something he understands. Don’t worry though, you’ll get the whole circus one of these days.”

“Especially if you get to perform on Captiva,” Sarah explained.

Merritt felt a rush of gratitude that she had people in her life who felt like family. It was a wonderful feeling, and she had Maggie Moretti and her family to thank for that. But she suddenly felt even more nervous than before they had arrived. She hadn't realized how performing for people whose opinions mattered would feel so different from playing for strangers. These were people who knew her, people who would remember this night and talk about it later. The stakes felt higher somehow, even though she knew that was silly.

Justin appeared beside them. “You must be the Captiva contingent. I've got a table for you right up front.”

“Up front?” Sarah's eyes widened. “We get VIP treatment?”

“You get friend-of-the-musician treatment.” Justin led them toa small table near the window, close enough to see Merritt clearly but not so close it would feel intrusive. “What can I get you?”

They ordered drinks and settled into their seats. Merritt lingered for a moment, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands.

“Go,” Sarah said, shooing her away. “Do your thing. We'll be right here, cheering you on.”

“Not too loudly,” Trevor added. “We don't want to embarrass you.”

“You could never embarrass me.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Merritt laughed and headed back to the bar. Crocker had already set up the wooden stool in its usual spot, and her guitar was waiting for her, leaning against the wall. She picked it up, settled onto the stool, and took a moment to tune.

The bar quieted, the way it always did when she was about to play. Conversations softened. Chairs turned. Even the fishermen lowered their voices.

She found Sarah and Trevor in the crowd. They were watching her with identical expressions of encouragement, their drinks untouched on the table.

Ray was in his corner watching her too, his guarded expression cracked just enough to let something through.

She began to play.

The first song was an old favorite, something she'd played a hundred times for her mother. Her voice came out strong and clear, filling the room with a melody that felt like home. She let herself disappear into the music, the way she always did, trusting it to do whatever it needed to do.

When she finished, the applause was warm and immediate. Sarah was clapping enthusiastically, her face lit up with pride. Trevor whistled, then looked sheepish when Sarah elbowed him.

Merritt smiled and moved into her second song.

She played for about forty-five minutes, mixing old favoriteswith newer discoveries, songs she'd written and songs she'd borrowed. The bar stayed quiet through each one, the usual chatter settling into something more respectful, more attentive. Even the fishermen seemed to be listening.

Between songs, she caught glimpses of the room. Ed and Margie, holding hands across their table. Dottie, nodding along to the rhythm. Justin, watching from behind the bar with something like pride in his eyes.