Funny Guy quickly protested that they should stay on this road because of traffic.
“Yeah, but my stop is first,” she retorted.
He tightened his arms around his chest, eyeing her. “Well, you’re going to make me late.”
“You’re going to make me late for a very important meeting.” She tried to maintain her patience even though frustration was welling in her at his presumption. First, he’d tried to take her cab, and now he was going to possibly ruin her drinks with her prospective client.
No way. So much was riding on this.
“Life-or-death important?” he asked her, brows raised, clearly not believing it was.
“Actually, yes.” Her words were firm. She knew this was more important than whatever he was doing. Some kind of open-mic night thing? It could wait.
“Okay,” he murmured, giving in.
Thank heavens. She returned her attention back to the driver and instructed him to turn right.
Into a thick batch of traffic.
“Aaaand jingle all the way,” her ride partner said flatly.
She sighed. No way could she wait in this traffic. She’d never make it in time. “Well, I’m going to walk.” She grabbed a handful of cash and handed it to the driver. “Here. Thank you. Um, good luck with your… guitar thing,” she said to the passenger.
“Happy holidays,” he told her with a slight wave of one hand.
When the woman exited the cab, Max Wingford told the driver, “Um, you can turn the music back on.”
What an odd encounter. Yes, it had left him a touch bristly over being left in terrible traffic… but he was also curious about who the mysterious woman was. Who argued logistics about Christmas songs? Strange, cab-commanding women, he supposed. Ah, well. Time to focus and get his head in the game. His audition needed all of his attention. And he knew Lauren would be grilling him about it tomorrow when she returned from her sleepover at her grandparents’. He didn’t want to let her down.
Max finally arrived at the auditorium and stared at the marquee declaring auditions tonight for the Christmas Eve concert being held there. No one seemed to be entering or exiting the building, but he was pretty sure that, even though he was late, he could probably slip in. His guitar case, as heavy as a rock, rested against his back, his hands shaking as he clenched the strap.
Passersby wandered down the sidewalk in the thickening snow, and he stood there for a moment, willing himself to go in. He could do this. Yeah, it had been a long time, and yeah, he was solo now. And okay, he was pretty out of practice, and his original songs weren’t all that great anymore without his sister’s help…
He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t make himself step inside. His feet felt glued down, his heart frozen behind his ribcage.
His throat was tight as he turned and walked down the sidewalk.
Away from the audition.
It was probably better this way.
Chapter Two
Max chopped the vegetables for the warm stew he was whipping up. The people at his diner loved it, and he only offered it during the Christmas season, which made it a special holiday treat. He took comfort in the rote action, something he’d grown familiar with since opening the diner. This was where he belonged, not on a stage. Not anymore.
As he diced and julienned, he ignored the sensation in his gut, the one that called him a coward for not doing the audition last night. He’d really wanted to… at least, on some level. But push had come to shove, and he hadn’t been able to. He was disappointed in himself. His nerves were a clear sign that it wasn’t meant to be. Right?
His niece Lauren came back in the kitchen, distracting him from his thoughts. Her long hair swayed as she walked. “Uncle Max!” she said happily.
Afternoon already? Time had gotten away from him. He shot her a smile. “Hey, kiddo! Did you have a fun sleepover with your grandparents?”
“Yup!” She settled onto a stool and watched him continue dicing up the veggies. Lauren loved observing him cook and even helping in whatever way he’d let her. She had a good sense of taste for a fifth grader. And he welcomed having her in the kitchen, even if part of him felt like this wasn’t exactly the best life for her. But he was raising her, and he had to work, so that meant she was stuck with him here.
He scooped the vegetables into the big pot of simmering liquid. “How about school? Did you guys rehearse that play?”
“Forget about me,” she said, smiling slyly. “How was your audition?”
Ugh. “I, uh…” He wiped his hands clean. “I didn’t actually make it,” he murmured in a quiet tone.
“Why?”
“Traffic jam.” Easier to blame that than his own fear. And it was kind of true—he was really late because of that woman, and there was a possibility he wouldn’t have made it in time anyway. Keep rationalizing your cowardice, Max, his conscience chided. “Sorry, kiddo,” he said when he saw her look of disappointment. He hated letting her down, but he just wasn’t ready. “Next Christmas, okay?” By then, he’d for sure have his A game back. He hoped.
“But that’s 372 days away,” she said, eyeing him. She could see right through him.
“It’ll go fast.” He scooped a serving spoon into the pot and brought it to her, laden with golden broth. “I’m working on our famous Yuletide Stew,” he said as she sipped.
She thought for a moment. “Needs more turmeric.”
He frowned. “Turmeric, eh?” He downed the rest of the spoonful to confirm her thoughts, then dug through the spices to find it. The girl was right, as usual.
Lauren gave a small sigh. “Remember when you and Mom used to sing at the holidays and write those funny songs?” The longing in her voice made his chest ache as he had a flash of memory of him and his sister. Sitting around the Christmas tree, him with his ever-present guitar, both of them laughing at their ridiculous lines and getting their whole family in on it.
They’d had such a good time. His sister had been not only his singing partner, but his best friend.
He shook the spice into the stew and said in a low voice, “I remember.”
“Why can’t you just start again?”
If only things were that simple. Lauren wouldn’t understand, though. “It isn’t that easy, kiddo.”
He glanced over from the pot to see her looking down at the floor, her face unreadable. “’Cause you have me,” she said in a hushed tone.
“Of course not,” he said, turning his full attention to her. “I love having you.” He hoped she could hear the truth in his words as he stirred the stew. “I was just never any good without your mom.” Since she’d died, everything had changed. He’d lost his mojo. His talent. His inner fire.
“But you are good,” she protested.
Max saw the meat on the cooking surface was ready to turn. He grabbed the spatula and went to it, flipping it over. “Remember when you told me you were stuck on those lines in your school play?” he asked her.
She nodded.
“I’m stuck, too.” The admission was hard to say, but he wanted her to know why he just… couldn’t. He put the spatula down and scooped another spoonful of stew for her to sample. “Come on.