Scarlett
“N o way .” I shake my head, pressing myself to the SUV window the way a little kid would if they’d
just rolled up to Disneyland. “Morgan. You can’t be serious. Are you serious? Tell me you’re not
serious.” “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, unbuckling my seat belt and getting out to open my
door for me. “Is this why you told me to dress up?” I ask as he takes my hand and I hop out. “I told you
to dress up because I wanted to take you to dinner,” he says. “At the restaurant inside the House of
Blues?” I ask. “That would appear to be where we are,” he says with a snide smirk. “We’re having
dinner at the House of Blues,” I beam, holding his hand as we make our way to the entrance. “We are,”
he says. “And I figured while we are here we might as well go to a concert too...” And with that, I come
to a complete stop. “Wait. A concert?” “Yes.” “Here?” “Yes.”
“Tonight?” “Morgan Wade is the artist’s name.” “Morgan Wade?” I practically sing. “Do you know
her?” “I saw her open for Joan Jett and the Black Hearts!” I say, twirling around. “You saw Joan Jett in
concert?” he asks. “And the Black Hearts!” I sing again. “She’s amazing. Morgan, I mean. Well, Joan is
amazing too, obviously. But Morgan is like Country but a little more soulful. And she’s so cute and
humble and... how did you know?” I ask, and he just stares at me, continuing to lead me inside. “How
did I know what?” he asks. “How did you know that I loved her?” “I didn’t,” he says. “Okay, so how
did you know I’ve always wanted to go to the House of Blues?” I ask as we are led to a table. “Lucky
guess?” Morgan asks as he pulls out my chair for me. I think about that and honestly, it feels a little
fishy. “You’ve been making a lot of lucky guesses recently,” I say. “Have I?” he asks. I just stare at him
before rattling off, “They’re all bucket list items for me. The fish market. The waterfall. The swim suit.
The turtles. The...” I stop and lower my voice, mouthing the word. “Sex...” “You have sex listed on
your bucket list?” he asks just as the waiter comes up. Luckily, she’s a tattooed girl with winged
eyeliner and hot pink hair, and she seems entertained by the out of context conversation. I smile
awkwardly, and we order our drinks and an appetizer before going on.
“Sex under the stars,” I whisper. “Sex outside.” “We did that?” he asks, and I throw a crumpled up straw
wrapper at him. “Listen,” he chuckles. “Maybe your bucket list was on your Insta account or
something.” “My Insta account?” I ask. “Or something.”
When no single trope wins, a little browsing usually helps.
“Or maybe...” I say with narrowed eyes. I swear for a moment he actually looks nervous. “Nevermind.”
“Nevermind what?” he asks, peeling the wrapper on his own straw. “Nothing.” I shake my head. “Tell
me,” he says. “What were you going to say?” I stare at him for a moment, and Morgan doesn’t so much
as blink. “Maybe... you know me better than you think you do. Because you’ve been reading...” I trail
off momentarily, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was holding his breath. “My Blogspot,” I
say, and after a full three seconds, he finally blinks. “You... caught me,” he says. “I knew it.” I nod. “I
knew you would know what that was. You know, a lot of people don’t use it anymore. But I created one
back in the day before I became more tech savvy. And then when I realized only old people use it, no
offense, I switched to social media for my writing platform. But I never could bring myself to delete it.
And you found it.” “I... did,” he says with an awkward laugh.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I say. “I’m the one who should be embarrassed that I even posted my hopes
and dreams on there. Well. Not all of them. My actual bucket list went missing a while back. Which
makes it even wilder.” “Well, I don’t know if I can take credit for fully knowing you,” Morgan says,
reaching across the table to take my hand. “But I do feel like I am learning. And I’m enjoying every
minute of it.”
After dinner we make our way into the venue. And you better believe I document the entire thing. How
can I not? The place is amazing. It has the feel of an old building in the French Quarter in New Orleans;
old, wood, bluesy. There’s already a line of people waiting for the doors to open, most of them dressed
in band t-shirts and boots. “This is really going to be a country experience, isn’t it?” Morgan asks as he
leads me through a private door that only a couple of other people are going in. “It’s not like hillbilly
country,” I tell him. “It just feels good.” “Well, that sounds good to me.” He smiles. He plants a kiss on
my head as we head inside. Apparently he bought VIP tickets, and while that doesn’t mean getting to
meet the artist, it does mean free food and cocktails before the show. And the show is amazing. The
crowd is fun, singing along with every song. The music is energetic, soulful, and de ep. The band really
knows how to work the room. I think my favorite part of all of it is just being there. I make a point when
the lighting is right to take a photo of myself and another of us kissing that I post immediately on my
page. Moore To Explore- Dreams do come true, my loves. I have been many places and crossed many
items off my bucket list. But going to @hobmyrtlebeach has always been at the top of that list, and I am
finally here! Thank you @morganwademusic for an amazing show and of course @morganbale for an
amazing adventure.
When we get back to the hotel, my head is still buzzing from it all, and I’m humming one of her songs.
“She was pretty good,” Morgan says as we undress. “She was amazing,” I say. “And thank you.” “You
don’t have to thank me,” he tells me as we crawl into bed. “But you’ve done so much for me.” “It’s part
of the job,” he says, and my heart sinks in my chest a little. “Just for the job?” I ask, and he pulls me
closer to him. We are laying on our sides facing each other and he’s holding my hands, his face only
inches from mine. “No. Not just for the job. I like seeing you happy. I love seeing you smile. I think it’s
obvious that this isn’t just about the contract or the job or even the conflict with my brother anymore.
This is about us. The things I do for you, the places we go, the time we share both in public and private,
is all about us.” “So...” I say, biting my bottom lip. “You want there to be an us?” “Scarlett.” He smiles
warmly as he presses a kiss to my forehead. “If I am being honest, there has been an us since the day I
met you.” “What about the unknowns?” I ask. “We will face them when we get there,” he says. “All of
them. I promise.” Tears well in my eyes, and he wipes them away before kissing me again. And again.
And while each kiss grows warmer and de eper, it doesn’t lead anywhere else exc ept a content slumber.
Because it doesn’t need to. Not this time. And honestly, everything about it is perfect.