Page 39 of Where the Music Grows

The line goes dead, and I set the phone back down on the log beside me. The fire crackles softly, my source of comfort these days. I get up and grab my guitar. I tell myself I’m not going to sing, just play a little. I know I can always get better.

My fingers move on autopilot across the guitar strings, teasing out a melody that’s been stuck in my head all day. There’s a restlessness to it. This song is going to be different. Rebellious. I just have to get it down. It’s there, but I can’t quite find the right arrangement.

A twig snaps in the woods behind me.

I stop playing mid-chord, hand freezing above the strings. The forest goes quiet—too quiet. Even the crickets have stopped singing. I hear plenty of animals out here. This feels different. Usually, the other animals and crickets ignore the typical sounds out here. They sense each other. I’m thinking this has to be some kind of predator. I’m not interested in being anything’s dinner.

“Hello?” I call out, squinting into the shadows.

Silence. Then—

“Sorry!”

A figure walks out of the trees and into the firelight. Jinnie.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” she says. “I was just sitting outside and heard the guitar.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sometimes, it’s quiet enough I swear I can hear for miles. It’s good. The song you’re playing.”

“It’s not really a song yet. I’m just messing around. Trying to figure something out.”

She steps closer. “Well, it sounds like it’s on its way to being something.” She hesitates, then gestures to the log across from me. “Mind if I sit?”

“Sure,” I say, scooting over to make room. “You’re out late.”

Jinnie sits down. “Couldn’t sleep. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.” She glances at me, her expression unreadable. “What about you?”

“I’m always up late.” I shrug. “Playing at the bar has got me on a whole new sleep schedule. Way different than back home.”

“Farm, right?”

“Dairy farm.” I nod. “Cows don’t appreciate late breakfast. Calves are even worse.”

She laughs. “I bet.”

“I didn’t know your tiny house was that close,” I say.

“Sound carries out here, especially on a night like this.”

“Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You didn’t.” She smiles. “I like it. I can’t exactly go to the bar and hear you play. Everyone is talking about the musician in town. They’re acting like you’re the next Garth Brooks.”

I cringe. “No thanks.”

“Ah, you’re more of a Zach Bryan, Luke Combs kind of guy?”

I think about it. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think I have any specific lane. I just play what feels right.”

“Spoken like a true artist.” She grins. “Can I hear it again?”

I don’t know why, but having her listen feels different than sitting in front of fifty strangers at the bar.

“Sure.”

I play through the chorus, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Her foot taps along almost unconsciously, her fingers drumming a rhythm on her knee.