Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Noel
When I'm onstage, I lose myself.
I lose myself in the music. Soul-speaking lyrics and the strumming of my acoustic guitar distract me, filling my head with chords and notes. I focus on my voice. My smile. Engaging with the crowd and bringing smiles to their faces. Playing music brings me joy.
Every guitar scar. Every callous. All those late nights I've spent practicing and writing songs.
They're worth it.
Usually.
Tonight, I can't stop thinking about the girl in the booth. Her wheat-coloured hair and her light blue-green eyes. They're a unique shade—a lighter shade of cyan, perhaps?
Even while I'm covering today's country hits, she piques my interest. I've never seen her before. I've been attending the University of Calgary for a year now. When you perform regularly at pubs within the Calgary region on weekends, you know people.
There's something intriguing about her. Pubs are a place where friends get together. They come to relax after midterms or finals. To drink and let loose. A country club like this is no exception.
Ever since I announced covering Thomas Rhett's songs, she hasn't looked my way again. Her back is to me, and she's focused on her food and milkshake. Something tells me she's hiding. From what, I don't know.
When I finish the song, people whistle and cheer. They shout my name, asking for another song. I give them a small wave, leaning down to pick up my water bottle. Sweat drips down the back of my neck. The spotlight is hot.
As I sip my water, I can't help but grin. Wowing the crowd is my goal every night. I love bringing smiles to their faces. Hearing them sing along to my covers.
It's difficult to not brag about my talent. I'm an excellent musician. An aspiring musician.
Gramps tells me I'll make it far in the country music industry—if a label picks me up. My guitar skills almost match Keith Urban's. My voice is a cross between Kip Moore's and Stuart Walker's. A country heartthrob. One that could stand out in the country music fanbase.
In addition, I love the spotlight. Not because I enjoy the attention, but because I enjoy the reactions of the crowd. Seeing people laugh, smile, sing, and dance brings joy to my heart. My performances allow people to create new, happy memories.
After my eleventh and last song, I say goodnight to the crowd. Saturday nights usually last longer. I'm tired, though. Lately, I've been having trouble sleeping. The nights have been long. It's what happens when I leave the farm and return to campus. Soon, the nightmares will fade away. Once my body is used to the schedule.
As I gather my guitar, my eyes scan the crowd for the blonde girl.
She's gone.
The booth she was sitting at is empty, save for the ketchup-stained plate and empty milkshake. From here, I can see two twenty-dollar bills on the table.
