Chapter 5

Jacob slipped out of The Blue Note without lingering for the final acts. The rush of performing had left him both exhilarated and drained—too many eyes on him at once, too many emotions crashing through his carefully maintained walls. Elena had caught his eye as he packed up his guitar, given him a thumbs-up and mouthed “Next week?” He’d nodded noncommittally before weaving through the crowd toward the exit.

Outside, the night air was cool against his flushed skin. A sense of satisfaction settled over him as he adjusted his grip on his guitar case. He had mastered fear once more and connected with an audience—real people who had come to listen, not just passersby who happened to notice him. Some had even approached him after his set, awkward but genuine in their praise.

Jacob walked slowly, the city quieter now as Thursday night eased toward Friday morning. He thought of his performance, trying to see how he could have made it better. The second song had started too fast; he should have taken more time with the intro. His voice had cracked slightly during the bridge of the third. And he’d rushed through his stage banter, uncomfortable with speaking rather than singing.

He made some mental notes about a proper rehearsal routine. If—and it was still a significant if—he returned to The Blue Note, he would need to polish his performance, treat it with the same precision he applied to his welding. Perhaps he could record himself practicing, listen back with a critical ear.

Twelve blocks stretched between The Blue Note and his apartment. Jacob walked home instead of taking the bus; he had energy to burn off before sleep would come. His footsteps echoed on the sidewalk, a steady rhythm that helped organize his thoughts.

Had that really been the elderly woman from the market in the back of the venue? It seemed unlikely—coincidental in a way life rarely was. More probably just someone of similar age and bearing, the dim lighting and his own imagination filling in the details. Still, the image lingered, along with the curious sense that his fictional “Raggedy Annie” had somehow transcended imagination.

By the time Jacob reached his apartment, his mind had finally quieted. He placed his guitar carefully in its stand, hung his jacket, and went through his nighttime routine. As he lay in bed, he whispered his prayer of thanks with a new line: “Thank you for the gift of being heard.”

The next day, he was back at his routine. The alarm at dawn, coffee black and strong, an hour with his guitar working on new material, then the methodical exercise regime that kept his body as disciplined as his mind. The shop was busy with a rush order, which suited Jacob perfectly. The focus required for precision welding left no room for dwelling on the previous night.

His coworkers noticed something different, though. Martinez, who operated the burn table, commented that Jacob seemed “less gloomy than usual” during their lunch break. Jacob had simply shrugged, unused to personal observations, but found himself humming softly as he returned to his station.

When Saturday arrived, Jacob felt the familiar anticipation as he packed his guitar and headed for the farmer’s market. The morning was pristine, the kind of spring day that hinted at the summer to come without the oppressive heat. The market was crowded, vibrant with colorful produce and weekend shoppers.

He set up in his usual corner, the acoustics wrapping around him like a familiar blanket. The first few songs came easily, his fingers finding the strings without conscious thought, his voice carrying across the market. The crowd formed and dispersed in its usual rhythm, some staying for several songs, others pausing briefly before continuing their shopping.

It was during his second set, as he was midway through a new composition, that he noticed the girl, Jet, watching him from the edge of the gathered listeners. Her presence was surprising—The Blue Note and the farmer’s market seemed like separate worlds, and he hadn’t expected them to intersect beyond his own movement between them.