JC stepped off the stage before the applause even faded. She didn't go to the dressing room. She walked straight to the edge of the stage, reaching out a hand. Marcus took it, the rhythm of the music still humming between their palms. The song was over, but the conversation had finally begun.

Tonight wasn't just another set. In the front row sat Marcus, the man she’d let walk away over a misunderstanding that seemed so small now.

As the drummer tapped out the count, the horns flared with a warm, brassy greeting. JC stepped into the spotlight. The heat of the stage lights met the cool breeze from the ceiling fans. She didn’t look at the crowd; she looked straight at him.

The bassline hummed through the floorboards of the Blue Lagoon Club, a deep, rhythmic pulse that felt like a heartbeat. JC Lodge stood backstage, adjusting her gold hoop earrings and smoothing the silk of her emerald dress. She could hear the crowd murmuring, the clinking of glasses, and the distant, sweet scent of jerk chicken wafting in from the street.