The night air was warm, the scent of barbecue lingering in the breeze, but Charlie barely noticed.
She shouldn't be looking.
But she was.
From where she stood, she could see them—Sloan and Sicily.
The way Sicily leaned in close. The way she laughed, tilting her head toward him. The way Sloan didn't pull away.
Charlie swallowed. It doesn't matter.
She was the one keeping her distance, wasn't she?
Still, the sharp sting in her chest made it hard to breathe.
She forced herself to look away.
But George, sharp as ever, noticed.
"Mommy Chawie?" His tiny fingers tugged at the hem of her dress.
Charlie blinked down at him, trying to keep her expression neutral.
Before she could say anything, Amy was suddenly beside her.
Amy followed Charlie's gaze. First to Sloan. Then to Sicily. Then back to Charlie.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then widened.
"Oh. Ohhhh." Amy exhaled, realization dawning. "Well, damn."
Charlie glared. "Don't start."
Amy smirked. "I haven't said anything yet."
"You're thinking it."
Amy placed a hand over her heart. "What? Me? Never."
Charlie sighed, rubbing her temple. "Just—drop it, okay?"
Amy hummed, clearly not dropping it. But before she could say anything more—
She had an idea.
A brilliant idea.
She turned toward the stage, where the lead singer of the band was addressing the crowd.
"Alright, folks! We have a special treat tonight! Open mic! Who's up for it?"
Amy's face lit up.
Charlie saw that look and immediately panicked.
"Amy. No."
Amy grinned. "Amy. Yes."
Charlie's eyes widened. "Amy, I swear—"
"She sings!" Amy suddenly shouted to the crowd.
Charlie froze.
Oh. Hell. No.
"I do not!"
Amy ignored her.
"She does! She's just being shy," Amy continued, waving at the band. "Come on, guys, let's get her up there!"
The crowd cheered.
Even Asuncion, the elderly housekeeper, appeared out of nowhere, clapping her hands.
"Oh, hija, you have such a beautiful voice! Sing for us!"
Charlie covered her face. "I hate all of you."
Amy beamed. "We love you too."
Sloan, mid-conversation with Sicily, suddenly heard Charlie say—
"I only sing in the shower."
He smirked.
And oh, his mind went places.
Very different places.
Sicily saw that look.
Her grip on his arm tightened. "What's with that smirk?"
Sloan chuckled, shaking his head. "Nothing."
Sicily narrowed her eyes.
Back at the stage, the band's lead singer extended the microphone to Charlie.
"What song, miss?"
"Uhm.. I dunno.."
Amy did not hesitate.
"I Can't Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt!"
Charlie's head snapped to her. "AMY!"
Amy cackled.
Charlie was definitely going to kill her after this.
But the band had already started playing.
The crowd had already started cheering.
And before she knew it, she was standing there—on stage.
The Song That Changed Everything
The first soft notes filled the air.
Charlie took a deep breath, gripping the microphone tightly.
Then, she sang.
"Turn down the lights
Turn down the bed..."
Sloan had been mid-conversation with Sicily when he heard it.
That voice.
Rich. Sweet. Painfully beautiful.
His body turned instinctively, his gaze snapping toward the stage.
And then he saw her.
Standing under the dim golden lights, her hair catching the soft glow, her eyes closed as she sang with a voice so full of longing that it stopped him cold.
"Turn down these voices inside my head...
Lay down with me, tell me no lies..."
Sloan forgot to breathe.
The way she sang—like she meant every word.
Like she was saying something without saying it at all.
And then, she opened her eyes.
Her gaze landed right on him.
Sloan's entire body tensed.
The world around them seemed to fade.
Nothing else existed.
Not the crowd. Not the music. Not Sicily watching with narrowed eyes.
Just them.
"Cause I can't make you love me if you don't
You can't make your heart feel something it won't..."
There was something undeniable in the way Sloan looked at her.
Something raw. Intense. Unspoken.
And everyone saw it.
Sicily's fingers dug into her drink.
Mon looking at Sicily, watching from the side, let out a low breath.
Amy, ever the instigator, nudged Mon. "Ohhh, this is getting interesting."
Even little George, sitting beside his mom, blinked at Sloan, then at Charlie, then back at Sloan. "Mommy Chawie's eyes look weird," he whispered.
Amy smirked. "Oh, honey, that's called 'trouble.'"
Charlie finished the last line, her voice lingering in the air like a secret.
Silence followed.
And then—thunderous applause.
Charlie, breathless, gave a small smile and quickly stepped down.
But before she could escape, she felt him.
Sloan was there, standing so close she could feel his warmth.
"Charlie—"
She shook her head, taking a step back.
"I need some air."
She turned—and walked away.
Sloan clenched his jaw. Not this time.
He followed her.
And this time, Sicily noticed.
Her fingers tightened around her drink until the glass almost cracked.
Mon saw it, too.
And suddenly, something shifted in him.
Something he had ignored for too long.
And just like that, the night had taken a turn—
One none of them were prepared for.
Sloan was steps away from reaching Charlie when someone else beat him to it.
A familiar voice stopped them both.
"Charlie, wait."
Charlie turned—and froze.
Because standing there, looking straight at her, was Mon.
And his next words would change everything.