Tonight wasn't just another set. In the front row sat Marcus, the man she’d let walk away over a misunderstanding that seemed so small now.
“Let me make it up to you,” she cooed, her vibrato catching the smoke in the air. JC Lodge, Make it up to You. (Reggae)
Marcus stayed still, his arms crossed, but as the song reached the bridge, his shoulders dropped. The sway of the reggae beat was infectious, a literal heartbeat for the apology she was weaving. By the time the final dub-heavy bass note echoed out, the tension in the room had dissolved into a mellow glow. Tonight wasn't just another set
As the drummer tapped out the count, the horns flared with a warm, brassy greeting. JC stepped into the spotlight. The heat of the stage lights met the cool breeze from the ceiling fans. She didn’t look at the crowd; she looked straight at him. Marcus stayed still, his arms crossed, but as