Twenty seconds later a girl across the street looked up from her phone, scanned the street corners, and saw Cady. She waved. Cady waved back as she lifted her guitar strap over her shoulder and started tuning it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Conn settle against the hood of the LPD patrol car parked by the corner. He was in street clothes—jeans, boots, Henley, denim jacket—but the way he exchanged a few words, then a laugh with the officer also leaning against the car sent the message loud and clear: also a cop.
The crowd gathered quickly as she started with holiday standards, then segued into popular carols. Just her voice, her guitar; no amps, no lights, nothing but her and the crowds. She tuned out the lifted phones and serenaded her hometown crowd the way she wanted to, not with a big concert, but just her, close enough to touch, back where it all began, on a corner in SoMa.
A bigger crowd was starting to form, spilling onto the brick-paved street and blocking traffic. The cop leaned on his cruiser, keeping the peace, but keeping an eye on the crowd in case he needed to shut them down. Conn was just keeping an eye on her.
“Move closer, folks,” she called. “Get comfy with your neighbor. If we stay out of the street, I can keep singing.”
She ran through all the standards, “Rudolph,” and “Silent Night,” and “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman,” even launching into “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” when a little boy shouted out the request. When she finished Dave Matthews’ “A Christmas Song,” she opened her eyes to find Conn standing next to the cop. She caught his eye, smiled. He smiled back.
“Okay,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Okay. Thanks for coming down. One more. It’s something new.”
A whoop went up.
“Really new. So it might change,” she warned. “It’s kind of a love song, and it’s kind of a work in progress.”
She sang with her eyes closed, her head tilted back, her guitar dangling from her back, keeping time with her palm against her thigh, snapping on the opposite beat. Her voice, when it emerged from her throat, started in a conspiratorial croon, rising in volume, throaty and raspy, singing the song of defiant proclamation.
It wasn’t a love song. It was real. It was the song that came to her like a gift from the gods, nearly fully formed, melody and harmony and words all at once, flowing from her in one short session. She didn’t hide behind the easy, the power ballad, the sweetness. She held up guaranteed loss, time passing, the inevitable struggle and tears and pain, then wove the most quintessential truth of all, that only love redeemed the pain. She sang a promise, that she’d stand by him forever, not just when it was easy, but when it was hard.
In the back of her mind she knew the cafés and stores were emptying, customers gathering in doorways and windows, standing on the balconies of apartments over the shops and restaurants. The crowd went quiet, so quiet she could hear the bells jingle on the carriage horse’s harness, the soft rush of tires on bricks as cars drove carefully through the intersection.
She could put this song on the label’s album. It would fit the theme. But it belonged on the album she was making now, pouring from her, songs coming almost whole. Sharing this one was the biggest risk she’d ever taken, but she’d never felt so powerful, so vulnerable, and so whole. She stopped keeping time, lifted her hand as if calling for a witness, head back, throat bared to the sky, the last notes ringing clarion clear in the cold winter air.
Silence.
She stared at them, so she wouldn’t look at Conn. They stared back, and then the corner exploded with applause and whoops, nearly lifting the bricks out of the street. She ducked her head, smiled, said thank you until she thought the words were meaningless. Then, because she couldn’t stand it anymore, she slanted a look at Conn.
Tears stood in his eyes. He hadn’t moved, looked like he wouldn’t ever move. The cop beside him had tactfully moved to the intersection and was helping a couple of tourists find a restaurant. The crowd clapped and clapped and clapped, calling for an encore, but Cady barely heard them.
She put her hand to her heart. I’m yours.
He nodded. Blinked. Looked up at the sky. When he looked back at her, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and patted his own heart. And I’m yours.
The moment broke when someone surged forward and asked for a selfie, an autograph. She said yes to everyone, until the last person walked away smiling.
Conn straightened and strolled onto the sidewalk. “Sure you’re ready to sing that for the rest of your life? Because based on that reaction, I think you’re stuck with it.”
“Every single day.” His face was relaxed, casual, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Conn McCormick, easy and happy and holding her close. “Forever and ever, amen.”
He swooped her up in one arm and set her on a low wall surrounding the planter. With the added height they were face to face, which made it so much easier for him to kiss her.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Chris said. He wore a hat with reindeer antlers on it, and carried a cup of what smelled like spiced cider.
“What are you doing here?”