Everything is just how it should be. The twins got the booze, the band with Delta Slim himself and their cousin with his guitar and dreams. Annie’s cooking fills the air, and people out there are excited enough to spend every single dime they earned with their hard work just to have fun all night.

But Stack still wants one more thing before the night kicks off.

He leans in your doorway, one shoulder pressed lazy against the frame, the glow of the porch low light shading his features. A smirk plays on his lips as he slides the toothpick from his mouth with two fingers, just to make sure you see he's smiling.

“C’mon, sugar,” he drawls, voice smooth, charming even. “You know folks would lose their damn minds to hear you sing. We'll pay you, handsomely. I promise.”

There’s something cocky in the way he says it, like he knows you’ll say yes. Like the past doesn’t matter. Like you haven’t spoke ever since he walked out with your heart in his back pocket, years ago.