“Enough about Jack Midnight,” Jayson says. “How’s the music going? Any progress with that label?”
Ugh. Not the subject change I was hoping for.
My clutch suddenly feels heavy in my lap. The email from Maya at Tidal Records that I’ve read approximately forty times since it arrived earlier this week is burning a hole in my phone.She’d reached out after my last video hit 300K views, which was huge for me.
“Oh, you know,” I say, forcing my voice to stay light and casual. “I just need to somehow become a social media superstar and a flawless live performer in the next few months. No big deal. I’m also thinking about learning Latin and solving cold fusion in my spare time. Why not take on all the impossible tasks at once?”
“Sounds like you have it all handled,” Jayson says. “Very casual, very achievable.”
“Oh yeah, I’m the picture of confidence. Just call me Olivia Rodrigo Junior,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’ll have it all figured out by Tuesday.”
Maya and I had a phone call a few days before the detailed email, and Maya had been enthusiastic about my sound. She’d used words like “fresh” and “authentic” and “marketable,” which had made my hands shake with excitement. But then came the requirements list that felt like a bucket of cold water. They need me to quadruple my social media following at thebare minimum.
“We need a gimmick for your singing videos,” Jayson says thoughtfully. “Something to make them go crazy viral. Everyone at the Lantern could help. Eleanor would probably love to make a cameo, and you know the Romance Raiders would be all over it.”
I smile despite the anxiety sitting in my stomach like a rock. “That’s not a terrible idea. Get the seventy-something book club ladies in the background of my videos. Very on-brand.” I take another sip of champagne. “Then I just have to figure out how to fix my stage fright so I don’t throw up during an actual live performance. Small details.”
“Easy,” Jayson says with a grin. “We’ll get you drunk first.”
“That’s your solution to everything.”
“Because it works.”
“Very professional,” I say dryly.
“Look, I’m just saying, a little liquid courage and you’ll be fine.”
I laugh, but even now, almost two years after my divorce was finalized, my ex husband Brandon’s voice still echoes in my head at the worst moments.You’re embarrassing yourself. The music thing is just a hobby, Lark. It’s never going to happen. Stop being unrealistic.The bastard’s words still have power, all these years and thousands of dollars in therapy later.
Laila bounds over, Maren’s golden retriever wagging so hard her entire back end moves with her tail. She’s wearing a little flower collar that matches the wedding colors.
“Look who it is! Who’s the best wedding dog in the entire world?” I lean down to scratch behind her ears and she presses against my legs so enthusiastically she nearly knocks my chair backward.
“Whoa!” Jayson reaches out to steady my chair, laughing. “Incoming!”
“Laila, baby! Careful with the guests!” Maren calls, hurrying over with a laugh. She kneels down in her wedding dress, not caring at all about grass stains or wrinkles, and ruffles Laila’s ears. “You’re being so good, aren’t you? The absolute best girl.”
“She’s been making the rounds,” I tell Maren, grinning. “I’m pretty sure she conned at least three different people into sharing their cocktail shrimp earlier.”
“That’s my smart girl,” Maren says proudly, and Laila’s tail thumps harder against the grass. Maren stands up, smoothing her dress. “Okay, Lark, I need to ask you something. A favor.”
“Anything,” I say immediately. “Name it.”
Tonight’s not about my career anxieties or my stage fright or the impossible requirements standing between me and my dreams. Tonight is about Maren and Calvin and celebrating thefact that my best friend found someone who loves her the way she deserves.
“So Brett had a bit too much to drink,” Maren says, biting her lip in that way that tells me this is going to be good.
“Which one was Brett again?” I ask, mentally running through the handful of people from Calvin’s past as a literary star living in Seattle. It’s not a long list, Calvin’s more of a quality-over-quantity friend guy.
“Calvin’s friend from college,” she says, glancing around like she’s checking if anyone’s listening. Her voice drops lower. “The tall one with the glasses? He was the one who kept hitting on you during the rehearsal dinner.”
“Oh yeah, it’s coming back to me.” I laugh, remembering the guy who found approximately seventeen reasons to come talk to me while I was setting up the bar. Sweet enough.
I’d seen him earlier doing shots with the Romance Raiders, which should have been my first clue something would go wrong. Eleanor and her book club might be in their seventies, but those ladies can drink most people under the table. I’ve witnessed it personally on multiple occasions.
“Let me guess,” I say, leaning against the bar. “Eleanor and her crew got him absolutely obliterated?”
“Specifically Eleanor,” Maren confirms, her eyes bright with suppressed laughter. “She challenged him to match her shot for shot. Apparently she’s been drinking vodka since 1962 and has the constitution of a Russian sailor. Brett is currently upstairs in the bathroom. Calvin’s checking on him, but he definitely cannot MC the rest of the reception.”
