A Trace of Passion by Danielle Ravencraft Page A

breath rushed past her lips in a heavy sigh as she sat on the worn leather stool and ordered a beer. The bartender winked at her as he handed her selection. Ophelia bit her lip. The old man remembers me after all this time…
    The lyrics stopped. The microphone gave a squeal amplified to a glass-shattering pitch. Ophelia cupped her hands over her ears and turned in her seat without thinking. Everyone stared at Trace. His eyes were so wide, she saw the whites despite the distance and crowd. Everyone slowly turned to face her. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She faced the bar and pressed the neck of the beer bottle to her lips. Just keep singing, Trace. Please, just keep singing.
    Rustling noises came from the speakers as Molten Silk rearranged themselves. Trace cleared his throat. His bashful voice spoke into the microphone. “Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen. Minor technical issue…”
    The show resumed after a moment, but Trace’s lack of zest was painfully obvious. Ophelia’s shoulders curled forward as she leaned her elbows against the counter and stared into space. She wished she could turn invisible or hide behind the bar for the rest of the night. Five beers later, the concert came to an end and the lights brightened. The throng of fans ebbed their way to the door. Since the bar was near the exit, Ophelia stayed put so her friends could find her.
    “Ophelia?” Alana’s voice came out like gravel from screaming all night. “Have you been back here this whole time?”
    Ophelia pressed the beer’s neck to her lips and swallowed the last sip in answer.
    Lizzy took a seat next to her. “You missed the whole concert?” Ophelia managed a small smile. “I didn’t miss it. I could hear it loud and clear from here.”
    “That’s not the same. The bassist almost high-fived me.”
    Alana scoffed. “Hardly. There was at least five feet worth of heads between us and the stage.”
    Ophelia shrugged. “It was a great show, really. I just didn’t feel like standing all night.”
    “Well that makes you smarter than me.” Alana reached down and undid the straps of her stilettos. “My feet feel like they got run over by a cement truck.” She pulled off her shoes and sighed in relief.
    Lizzy wrinkled her nose. “Ew, Alana, this floor is filthy.”
    Ophelia chewed her lip as she watched the crowd grow thinner. She stood and ran her clammy palms over her hips as if trying to smooth out her jeans. “Come on, let’s go.”
    Alana carried her shoes as they headed toward the exit. A large, bald man in a tight T-shirt and jeans carrying a walkie-talkie stepped in front of the door. “Ladies, the band requests your company. If you’ll wait by the bar, Trace Curtis himself will be out in ten.”
    Oh no . Ophelia’s stomach clenched in unease.
    “Are you serious? Us?” Alana arched her brow.
    The bouncer inclined his head. “You’re Ophelia, right?”
    Her cheeks burned. Before she could deny anything, Lizzy chimed in. “Yes, that’s Ophelia. How did you know her name?”
    The bouncer gestured to the bar. “Why don’t you ladies have a seat? Mr. Curtis will be out soon.”
    Alana and Lizzy squealed and hugged each other. Lizzy hooked her arm around Ophelia’s as they made their way back to the bar. “How did that bouncer know you?”
    Ophelia’s mouth was too dry to answer so she shrugged. The girls settled into the bar and fidgeted while they waited. Images of Trace filled her thoughts. Trace on the street corner, holding her while she tried to say goodbye… I won’t lose you again, Ophelia. I promise you that... The keys on Trace’s cellphone as she pressed and entered a random number into his contacts list… I’ll keep you with me always… She wished she could turn invisible or steal Alana’s car and run.
    “I wonder what happened in the middle of the show.” Alana interrupted Ophelia’s thoughts. “I don’t think it was a technical problem.”
    “Yeah,” said Lizzy. “He looked like he