“I would have apologized forever if I could. It sickens me to this day that I hurt any of my fans and gave the impression that I’d use that word so carelessly. Or that I supported people who did. Those people don’t deserve to listen to my music.”
She now regretted thinking he delighted in ridiculing her when he gutted himself over hurting countless people he’d never met. He had a heart of gold—probably too rich for this world. He deserved to know that.
“I believe you,” she said. “And I think the people who love your music do too.”
His grateful smile plowed through the last few barriers she had erected.
“Thank you, Brinton.”
She nodded. “Since we’re on the topic, would you ever consider writing a song about your political beliefs?”
Jamie’s ring spun around his finger. This, she now understood, was his tell for when he was conflicted.
“My songs are about having a good time, not making political statements,” he offered.
Her brows drew together. She needed to tread carefully. So far, Jamie’s quotes were great, but she could go a little further with some luck and a teensy bit of tactful prodding.
“Well, you’re a songwriter. I’m curious: how do you decide what parts of your life you share and don’t?”
That easy comfort his body always carried went rigid. His eyes cut away from hers, like he was in the middle of an argument with himself about whether to say more or nothing at all.
“I don’t get too political. Not my place,” he said, finally.
“You don’t think you’re hiding behind that? It’s more socially acceptable than ever for artists to speak out for what they believe in.”
“Look, if you’re listening to my music, enjoy it for what it is. Why should it matter who I voted for?” he said, his tone sharper than she expected.
“Whodidyou vote for?” she snapped, then swiftly clamped a hand over her mouth. She’d come in like a wrecking ball for a conversation that required surgical precision. But her anxious mind never kept pace with her words. It was one of several reasons why, atLandmark, she spoke only on an as-needed basis.
Eyes wide and lips parted in not-quite amusement, Jamie peered at her. He probably thought she’d set him up for a hot-mic gaffe for future exploitation. But she’d never do that to him—or anyone.
All too well, she knew the agony of having your self-worth sold for parts at public auction. She was fighting to salvage what was left.
“That wasn’t—I didn’t mean…” she stammered, clutching the sides of the boat.
“You’re good,” he said.
Somehow, his short, breathy laugh steadied her, despite the vessel’s gentle sway. He tilted his head back. The moon’s antique-white contoured his sharp collar bones like chiaroscuro. “We’re having—what do they call it? A frank conversation.”
When they both laughed, she simultaneously took respite in his kindness and envied how easily he doled it out. He seemed unafraid of being misinterpreted as weak. He lived so freely, while she was entombed in an Alcatraz of her own making.
Nonetheless, her shoulders melted from her ears and she exhaled. “Okay, tell me something else I should know.”
His knee bumped hers again, triggering a zap that hopscotched up each of her vertebrae. “That’s easy. The best party I ever threw was right here, on this lake. An eightieth birthday celebration for my Mamaw.”
“I’m sorry, yourwhat?” Brinton screeched.
He smiled again. This time, a teasing one. “Mamaw. My grandmother. I must forgive you Yankees for such willful ignorance.”
“I was born in Virginia, if you must know,” she volleyed back, grateful for their newfound familiarity but certain her cheeks would scald to the touch. “My family moved to New York when I was fifteen.”
“Ah. I was wondering about your accent. Or, lack thereof.”
She winked back. “We can’t all be so charismatic.”
He barked out a laugh. How did even that sound pitch-perfect?
“Can I ask you a question now?”
