And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel alone in the silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LOU
The next morning, Patty and I listen to music on his phone while we get ready in the honeymoon suite. When it comes time for me to put on my Winona disguise, he sits in the bathroom and watches me. And all the while, his playlist scores our every move.
“I didn’t realize you were such a blues fan,” I say. “Is this Blind Boy Fuller?”
“Mississippi John Hurt,” he says. “But I think Pistol Annies are next.”
I smile, adding contour to my jaw. “You know I love Pistol Annies?”
“Like anyone could hearBaby Llama Dramaand not immediately think of Pistol Annies?”
I line my lips to make them look thinner than they are—my lips are a bit fuller than Momma’s—and then grin at his reflection. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
He shakes his head, chuckling. “A guy analyzes your musical influences song by song for months, and suddenly he’s obsessed?”
“You can’t deny it.”
He stands from where he’s sitting on the side of the tub and takes two steps forward, planting his hands at the dip of my waist. My pulse speeds up at his touch, his nearness, the absolutely starving look on his face.
“No, I cannot.”
He kisses my neck, trails his lips across my jaw, and leaves a final kiss on my cheek, right next to my mouth. Then he squeezes my waist.
“But it wasn’t sudden. It was slow, methodical, and inevitable. At first, all I wanted was to hear you sing. But now, every time you open your mouth, I want mine on it.”
Heat overtakes me, but I don’t let myself get swept away in the fire. I close my eyes as he kisses my neck, just below my ear.
“Put those masculine wiles away,” I say with every ounce of strength I have. “The car will be here any minute.”
He grumbles something about the car waiting. I expect him to kiss me, but he is almost obnoxiously respectful of whatever boundaries I give him. I’ll need to watch my mouth around him so I don’t unwittingly make a joke—no kissing on days that end in -y!—just to have him take me too literally.
Ugh. What a green flag.
He hooks his fingers into my belt loops, tugging me forward. I stand on my tiptoes and let my lips graze his.
He pulls me in for a kiss, but then a phone alarm goes off, and he releases me with a groan.
“You are more tempting than water in a desert.”
I smile and walk out of the bathroom, and Patty follows. I lean down to get my bag, but Patty moves my arm and takes it—ever the grumpy gentleman.
He really is all green flags.
The bus isn’t fixed yet, but the mechanic takes a break so the Country Soul Sisters—Annie and Miranda Ray—and I can do our interview. The women are huge social media influencers and early fans of my work. So early and so influential, in fact, that I did a “stitch” post early on using one of their videos. When they reposted it, it took off and finally made one of my songs go viral, after a year of my laboring in obscurity.
To say that I want to keep these women happy is putting it mildly.
Which is why it’s driving me uniquely crazy how much they’re talking about someone else in this interview.
And for the first time in my life, I wish it was Winona.
“I keep seeing one name pop up on every one of your posts. A fan who has quite the fandom,” Annie says in a light Missouri accent. Her denim jacket and faded rust tee with the Country Music Soul Sisters logo are the perfect blend of country glam and vintage. She purses her lips—making her burnt-orange lipstick pop against her cool brown skin—and her eyes crinkle at the corners in a conspiratorial smile.
“Any guess who that might be?”
