He adjusts the guitar strap on his shoulder, eyes flicking toward you as you hum into the mic.

“You ready, baby?” he asks softly, fingers already teasing a melody.

The band fades into the background the moment you start singing. For him, it’s always just been you and the sound of falling in love—again.

He lets the tempo drag just a breath behind the beat, that lazy, after-midnight swing only jazz understands. The guitar purrs under his fingers—low, intimate, like it’s whispering secrets meant for you alone. A soft hum escapes you before the words do, and he swears that sound alone could bring him to his knees.

The bass walks slow and steady. The drums brush instead of strike. Everything melts into a smoky hush.

You lean into the mic, lips barely touching the silver, and when you sing, it’s all satin and ache. Not loud—never loud—just enough to make the room lean closer. He watches the way your shoulders roll with the rhythm, the way you close your eyes like you’re letting the music kiss you from the inside out.

He answers you with blue notes, bending the strings until they cry sweet. Call and response. You breathe, he replies. You linger on a lyric, he slides up the neck, teasing, trailing after you like he always does. It’s flirtation disguised as music.

Halfway through the song, he steps closer, the body of the guitar warm against his chest. The scent of your perfume mixes with old wood and brass and dim lights. His knee brushes yours again—slow this time—and you smile mid-verse, voice dipping lower, richer, like you’re singing just for him.

The room fades into candlelight blur. Glass clinks somewhere. Someone sighs. But the song belongs to the space between you.

When you hit the last note, he lets it hang—doesn’t rush to end it—drawing the moment out until it feels sinful to breathe. The final chord settles like a promise.

Applause breaks out, but he leans in anyway, lips near your ear, voice smooth and unhurried.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb still resting on the strings. “That’s my favorite part… right there.”

His eyes linger on you, soft and knowing, like every love song he’s ever played has been leading back to this moment—back to you