Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)

When Monica is giddy, drunk, excited, or a combination of the three, she likes to shout out ‘Miss November’ as if I’m pictured on a calendar somewhere in my bra and panties. My friends typically just call me Ember, which is equally as counter-culture, but somehow “cooler”.

As I headed toward the bar, I noted a stack of CDs by the bouncer signaling who was playing tonight. The name ‘Bo Cavanaugh’ graced the CD, and his smoky hot face sat above it. Steely blue eyes were set masterfully in his pale face against a black background. There may have been a guitar on the cover, but who could be sure - and who really cares - with a face like that? What is it about a bar, and a guitar, that makes me so tingly? I shook my head at the carnal thought and met Monica, Callie and Sarah at the bar.

“Ay caramba!” Callie rolled off her tongue like the sexy Venezuelan goddess she is.

“Thank God you wore a heel, Em.” Sarah slid in, “As much fun as it is always watching you wear flip flops…” Sarah’s about 5-foot-nothing and is constantly tip-toeing around in impossible heels, God bless her. She pulls it off, though, and is nearly more graceful in her heels than out of them.

“Thanks guys, you’re all so sweet,” I gushed sarcastically. “Who’s the new guy singing tonight?

“Don’t know,” Monica entered, “Josh said he’s not from here, but has performed for years.”

Josh is Finnegan’s manager, and Monica’s boyfriend of 2 years. We’ve known him since we moved here. He is boyishly rugged with sandy hair, olive skin, and a killer smile. He helps bring in the music at Finnegan’s, so we always share our likes and dislikes, which he promptly ignores. Josh and I share musical taste so actually, I do have some input.

Artists that played at Finnegan’s were warned well in advance that the patrons enjoyed live karaoke and they were expected to facilitate that. It’s amazingly fun. My parents’ affinity for music served me well on these nights. While I never took to an instrument myself, I was able to sing along with those who could play. I rarely had anyone to sing with at Finnegan’s, since my folk-rock taste isn’t shared by a majority of the musicians that turn up. However, since Josh took over the bookings, I found myself on stage more and more.

Over the next several minutes we drank beer, talked about our week, and I reassured everyone that I’d recovered from the frightening scene at the garage; when I picked up my car on Wednesday, everything seemed in place and no one mentioned a disturbance. Josh left us, hopped up on stage, and tapped the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Josh cleared his throat into the mic and emphasized “gentlemen” in an effort to encourage his species to rise above and act as such, “Finnegan’s is excited to introduce the talented spedBo Cavanaugh!” Josh clapped, and we all followed.

“Wow, he’s hot,” Sara whispered to us as Bo walked on stage.

He was wearing dark, worn jeans and a thin, loose fitting long-sleeved shirt that looked blue under the lights of the stage. His guitar was slung over his shoulder.

“Yea, I saw the CD at the door, now shush.” I was always interested in the musical talent that Finnegan’s was able to wrangle in, and I wanted to see if this guy had chops.

Bo adjusted the microphone, and pushed his sleeves to his elbows as he took a seat on the stool. His dark hair and pale complexion suited the stage. It appeared to be just Bo and his guitar and I loved that.

“Thank you all for having me. Enjoy,” Bo’s voice was the perfect kind of husky that made my heart skip a beat; my heart hadn’t skipped in a long time. He took a deep breath and began.

His strumming took more of my heartbeats with him; he was playing one of my favorite songs. I stared at his beautiful silhouette as he began “All Over Now” by Eric Hutchinson. It’s a fairly upbeat tune that requires strumming and tapping the guitar; the acoustic version is absolute heaven.

He sang with such fluidity and passion you’d have thought he wrote the song himself and, knowing most of the people in this bar, they probably thought he did. Without removing my eyes from the stage, I backed up to the table that held his CDs. I flipped it over to check out his play list and nearly fainted. While he had some original tracks on there, the list of covers was stunning; Eric Hutchinson, Gregory Alan Isakov, Mumford and Sons, and Indigo Girls. Indigo Girls!

I walked back to my friends and mouthed a grateful, “Thank you,” to Josh for this breath of fresh air. Josh beamed a proud smile like a little boy. He knew he had nailed it.

Inexplicably, Bo’s eyes caught mine as my jaw hung open and I looked between the CD and him. He half-smiled, seemingly acknowledging my reaction, as he finished his first song. My cheeks felt flushed.