“It’s because I heard that ‘hostile kitty’ comment, huh?” I raised my brow at her.
“Oh, fuck.” She covered her face once more, peeking at me through her fingers. “You heard that?”
“Sure did.”
She laughed so hard she snorted, and it made me laugh even harder. “I would say ‘gee thanks for a fun night’ and bail, but I’m already in your car. I’m kind of committed now.”
“So, you’re not going to make a run for it?”
“No.” She paused, smirking over at me, and I felt my heart catch in my throat. “But only because I really like donuts.”
“That’s fair.” I snickered, put the car back in drive, and proceeded to the drive-thru. I ordered a half-dozen assorted donuts and two hot chocolates. I made it through the pickup window without being recognized and turned out of the parking lot onto the main road. “Now, for the main event.”
“Listen, I’m just glad you didn’t turn this Batmobile back around toward the Lion’s Den. I would have made a run for it,andyou’d have been left with no donuts.” She grinned over at me, clutching the box in her hands. “That would have been tragic.”
“Please.” I pretended to beg. “Donut run away.”
“Donut do this to me,” she fired back, throwing her head back with that bouncy laugh of hers. “Donut tell terrible donut jokes.”
“Hey, I thought that was pretty clever.” I shrugged, winking at her.
“Okay, yeah. It was pretty good.” She pressed her lips together, suppressing a laugh. “Donut go getting a big head about it.”
We howled with laughter as I turned the car and began to wind my way through the familiar roads of the Berry Hill neighborhood of Nashville.
“Hey,” she said bright-eyed. “I know where we are. Sort of. There’s that awesome coffee place with the really good lavender lattes.”
“Sam and Zoe’s.” I nodded. “Though I’m partial to the Davey Mabee.”
“Mmmm. That’s a good one,” she agreed. “This seems a little off the beaten path for you. I thought most of the record companies were around Music Row?”
“They are,” I explained, “but the recording studios aren’t.” I parked the car in an empty overflow lot, cutting off the engine.
“Wow, there’s literally nobody over here.” She surveyed the quiet street as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “It’s completely deserted.”
“It’s one of the things I love most about this spot.” I smiled over at her.
“This isn’t about to turn into an episode ofCriminal Minds, is it? If it is, can I at least have a donut first for my trouble?” Her eyes glittered mischievously.
“No.” I stuck my tongue out at her. “It’s not. Now come on. Let’s walk.”
“Wait, so we don’t get to eat the donuts?”
“We do,” I assured her. I grabbed the hot chocolates, and she carried the donuts as we started off down the desolate road. “But I’m taking you to one of my favorite spots first.”
“So, the parking lot wasn’t it?” She continued to tease me, and I loved every second of it. The air felt as though it were filled with an electric charge as I fell into step beside her.
The quaint tree-lined neighborhood was full of old homes that had been converted into various businesses. However, those businesses weren’t generally open past six or seven in the evening, leaving this little corner of the city quiet at such a late hour. “We recorded all of our last album here and part of the one before that. Blackbird Studios is a couple of streets over, but my favorite studio is House of Blues because it’s a short walk from this amazing pie diner that serves nothing but sweet and savory pies.” I gestured towardThe Loving Pie Companysign on our right.
“Apie diner?” Her eyes were wide with wonder. “That sounds like heaven.”
“It is. The owner makes these personal-sized pot pies and this mac-n-cheese pie that puts all other mac-n-cheese to shame. Mac-n-cheese.In a pie crust.”
“Sign meup.”
“I’ll have to bring you here one day.” She eyed me curiously, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t a no, so I’d take it. “Anytime we record during the day, I always try to sneak down here for pie. If we’re on a late-night schedule, it’s donuts.” I nodded toward the box in her hands. “Speaking of donuts, let’s sit down for a minute because those donuts are calling my name.” I gestured toward the small cluster of picnic tables outside the pie shop that was illuminated by twinkly golden globe lights. I climbed up and sat on top of the table, placing the hot chocolates down so I could give her my hand.
“Thanks.” She used my hand to steady herself. I took the donut box from her hands, opening it and placing it on the small stretch of the table she left between us. “What’s your poison?” I asked, handing her one of the hot chocolates.
