The song ended and more lights were dimmed until only one bright spot shone directly over the band. From Cory’s vantage point in the darkened room, Kevyn was luminescent in a white oxford shirt, the sleeves rolled back on his forearms. He dragged a stool to the front of the stage, perched on the edge of it, and casually examined the clarinet in his hand. He put it to his lips and began a tune so mournful, so deep, it caused a hush to fall over the room. Cory moved closer to the stage and watched his fingers play over the holes, touching them firmly with confidence, familiarity, and tenderness. An intense longing felt like a stab deep below her navel. He cradled the instrument, playing the most deliciously sad song.
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