Page 36 of The Perfect Melody

Summer here feels completely different from summer in Nashville. I feel different too. Happier. Lighter. Thanks to only being part-time at Bowman’s, I’ve had plenty of free time to explore the town. Three weeks after the last night of my tour and two since leaving my old life behind, my hair dye and glasses are no longer the only changes to my appearance. There’s colour in my cheeks, I can no longer easily count my ribs, and I’ve even caught myself smiling on more than one occasion—not the customer service smile I use at Bowman’s either,realones. I’m yet to explore the surrounding area much, but Mei and Esther have suggested a few popular local walks that I plan to try next week. Not that I have any proper gear with me, but they both assured me the routes they’ve suggested are even enough terrain that I’ll be fine in my trainers.

“Can you hurry up? Some of us arebusy.”

Ah, the only downside of working at Bowman’s—Molly. Glancing over my shoulder at her sneering face, I’m careful to keep my tone polite and even when I reply, “I’ll be done in a minute.” I go back to inputting the drink order for the large group of guys who sat down in my section a few minutes ago.

“God, you’re so slow.”

Unwilling to give her bitchy behaviour my full attention, I keep my back to her, my gaze flitting between the screen and my order pad. “I’m not slow. I’ve got a table of fifteen.” Glancing to my left, I see the second till is free. “Use the other till.”

“Mei was using it.”

“Well, she isn’t now.” I give her the same bright smile I give reporters who ask invasive and inappropriate personal questions in interviews. It’s a smile that saysI’m not allowed totell you to fuck off, but in my head, I’m imagining jamming that microphone down your throat. Only in Molly’s case, instead of a microphone, it’s the pen she’s been incessantly clicking right next to my ear.

“Whatever.” She strides down the bar towards the free till in a huff.

Unfortunately, the night doesn’t get any better. It’s like Molly’s shitty attitude has infected the rest of the bar. The sheer volume of noise and people has me jittery and on edge. It’s so busy that customers and my fellow staff members have been bumping into me and brushing against me all evening, making my skin feel tight and my hands twitch with the urge to scrub at every point of accidental contact. For the first time since coming to Pine Grove, I wish Ant was here, which is stupid. It’s not like I could bring my bodyguard to the bar with me. A nervous giggle escapes me at the idea of Ant, with his signature ‘fuck around and find out’ attitude, standing between me and the customers I’ve been serving.

My table of fifteen became increasingly drunk throughout their first two courses, and now there’s an almost equally large group of women at the table next door who are nearly as rowdy. Luckily, they’re Molly’s responsibility. I try not to smirk as she takes their latest drink order, looking harried as they all talk over each other. From the glare Molly gives me, I don’t think I’m successful. Or maybe I am—she’s always shooting nasty looks my way, whether I’m being petty or not.

“Hey, what’s your number?” the guy I’m standing closest to asks. I think he’s attempting to smoulder at me from beneath his lashes, but he’s so drunk the only thing he achieves is a look of mild constipation.

Experience has taught me it’s often best to ignore questions I don’t want to answer so, instead of responding to him directly, I address the group as a whole. “Do you need anything else?”I raise my voice to be heard over the chatter coming from all corners of the bar, especially the table of women at my back. The music playing through the sound system doesn’t help matters either.

One of the slightly more sober members of the group replies, “We’re all good, thanks.”

“Great, enjoy your dessert.” I turn to leave, and several things happen in quick succession.

The bright flash of a camera goes off. Molly shoulders past me. A man’s hands land on my hips. Another camera flash. A tug at the hem of my t-shirt. Laughter.

I can’t breathe. There’s no air. No space. Hands on me, people touching me, tugging at my clothes. A tiny, distant part of me is aware enough to know this isn’t the same as what happened before—the reason I finally gave in and hired a bodyguard—but I’m so panicked I can’t hold on to rational thought.

Reaching back, I shove the strange hands from my hips and bolt for the nearest exit. Someone calls my name. A voice I know.Cassie. That’s not right. They don’t know my name. They’re screaming for Melody. Tearing at my jacket, my bracelets, my skirt, trying to take a piece of me. Everyone wants a piece of me. None of them care that there’s nothing left to take. I keep going towards the door, shake my head, my hands, but I can’t shake off the tidal wave of memories.

Digging my nails into my palms, the sharp pain helps me focus on the present. I’m in Bowman’s. Pine Grove. They weren’t taking my picture. I remember the helium balloon tied to one woman’s chair. It’s someone’s birthday. They were taking a group photo.

I still can’t breathe. I need to get outside. Nobody can see me like this. There’s a strange disconnect between me and my movements, like I’m watching myself from outside my body.Cold metal beneath my fingertips. A door slamming shut. Fresh air. Quiet.

Vaguely aware of voices coming from the beer garden, I keep moving, ragged breaths high and fast in my chest. I lean against the side of the bar, the rough brick scraping against my back through my work shirt as I slide down to the ground.

A fleeting thought crosses my mind that I’ll get my denim skirt dirty, but I can’t bring myself to care about that right now. I need to breathe. Leaning forward to tuck my head between my knees, I try to focus on counting. Unable to control my breathing enough to make it to four, I dig my short nails into my palms again and try breathing in for two counts instead. Better. Not good, but better.Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Repeat.

Something cold and wet lands on my leg. At first, I think it’s a teardrop. Then another falls, and another. Distant squawks of indignation sound, and I hear the metal door of the bar’s back exit slam shut as more drops fall. I look up. Rain. It’s raining. A hysterical giggle bubbles up my throat. Of course it’s fucking raining.

Distracted, I don’t notice there’s anyone out here with me until someone takes a seat on the ground beside me. My breaths are still too short, too shallow. That doesn’t stop me catching a hint of bergamot on the rain-soaked air.Austin.

Chapter Sixteen

Austin

Reggie and Franciscame in for dinner, and I managed to stop by their table to say hi thanks to the lull at the bar. I’m wrapping up our brief conversation and planning to help run food orders until I’m needed back behind the bar when it happens.

It’s not that I’ve beenwatchingCassie. I’m not some creep. I’m just… aware of where she is whenever we’re working a shift together. She has a strong presence, that’s all. One I’ve been unable to ignore since she started working here. Just as well, because with how busy Bowman’s is tonight, I could have easily missed the commotion at the border of her and Molly’s sections.

One woman from the birthday group gets up to take a picture, the flash of her phone’s camera obnoxiously bright, drawing mine, Francis’s, and Reggie’s attention. Bright enough to make Cassie, who’s just turned away from her table and right towards the camera’s glare, flinch. Then Molly, shoulder checks her—something we’ll be having words about later. That girl’s attitude has been a problem all week. Cassie stumbles back toward the large group of men she’s been serving. Hands grab her hips as if to steady her, but even when she’s obviously regained her balance, they don’t let go. My molars grind together as I watch the leering drunk tighten his grip, his fingers digginginto Cassie’s hips and making her shrink in on herself. Her body tenses as though she’s frozen in place.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Francis and Reggie, not waiting for a response. I won’t stand by and allow someone to lay hands on her—on any of my staff.

I’m still making my way over there when that bloody flash goes off again. Like an elastic band pulled too tightly, Cassie snaps, pushing the guy’s hands off her body and then running for the exit.