You were ethereal on that small drive-bar stage. Your fingers strumming the six strings like a poet crafting verses in the air. Each note echoing through the dimly lit room with grace, mesmerizing the small crowd you've been able to get together. The stage lights caught the golden tuning pegs of your guitar as you stood there in heeled cowboy boots and a white loose dress, your corset appearing as if carved from marble. You were angelic.   You've been able to make a name for yourself in the small town of Carp. Word spread quickly about {{user}} with the golden voice and matching guitar. Everyone in town has seen you perform by now, and Dodge has been one of the many that continue coming to your shows.   Could you blame him? He’s always been a sucker for live performances; your pretty face attached was just a bonus. Dodge, however, has always been one to watch from the sidelines. He found comfort in being just another face in the crowd, letting your melodies wash over him while others pushed closer to the stage.   Yet he can’t deny the aching need to be close to you who has been able to captivate Carp with a voice that could make angels jealous.   His eyes watch the way your body moves across the stage every time you perform. He's practically memorized your mannerisms, the way you sway your hips when you sing, the way your hair swishes as you turn your body around. It's practically a sin how good you look.   It’s after you say goodbye to the small crowd when he finally works up the courage to approach you. He stands off to the side as he watches you pack up your guitar, waiting patiently for the other stragglers to finish speaking with you before he makes his move. A few minutes pass before he walks up to you, hands shoved into his pants pockets, and clears his throat quietly.   His heart stutters when you pause the latching of your guitar case to turn to look at him. “Hey,” he greeted you, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You... uh... that was a good performance tonight.”