Page 41 of Where the Music Grows

There’s something in her voice that makes me think she’s not just making conversation. “Your parents?”

She hesitates. “They’re good people. Just set in their ways. Definitely not like your dad.”

“It still counts,” I say.

“Thanks.” She tosses the stick into the fire. “For what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice. Leaving, I mean.”

I strum a quiet chord. “Yeah?”

“Your music is good. Really good.” She meets my eyes. “The world has enough dairy farmers. Not enough people who play like you do.”

No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. Not even Mom.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the fire popping between us. It’s strange—I’ve known Jinnie for all of five minutes total, but this feels easy. Natural.

“You should come by the bakery tomorrow,” she says suddenly. “I’m trying a new chocolate muffin recipe. Need taste testers.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ll feed me?”

She stands, brushing off her jeans. “Only if you promise to finish that song and let me be the first to hear it.”

I grin, strumming a final chord. “Deal. But only if you promise to keep giving me notes. You’ve got a good ear.”

She smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don’t stay up too late.”

When she’s gone, the woods feel quieter and a lot emptier. I glance at the fire, now just glowing embers, and strum a few more chords. The song is coming together, thanks to her. It’s sharper now, more alive, like it finally found its voice.

I play it through one more time, letting the melody carry me away. It’s angry, yeah, but there’s something else there too. Hope, maybe. Or defiance. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.

My fingers slow as the last note fades into the night. I douse the fire and crawl into my tent. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel so alone.

Chapter Fourteen

Jack

The bar is packed tonight—standing room only. This is the biggest crowd yet. I walk in and make my way up to the bar where Aggie is filling glasses with beer from the tap.

“What’s going on tonight?” I ask.

“They’re here for you, kid.”

“Me?”

I turn and look around, noticing people watching me. Some are pointing and whispering. This isn’t the kind of whispering and finger-pointing I’m used to back home. These people aren’t talking shit or making fun of me. I see excitement on their faces.

Are they really here to hear me play?

“Can I get a water?” I ask Aggie.

“I’ll get you water, but I also made you some tea. You don’t have the luxury of getting a frog in your throat tonight.”

“Thanks, Aggie.

I take the water and the tea she’s thoughtfully put in a to-go cup. The stage feels different tonight, like it’s charged with some unseen energy. I set my water and tea on the stool beside me and pull my guitar out of its case, running my fingers lightly over the strings to check the tuning. The crowd buzzes louder as I sit down. I glance up to see even more people squeezing into the bar. My stomach twists, but not in a bad way—more like the feeling you get when you’re standing on the edge of something big.

I clear my throat and lean into the mic. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The response is deafening, a roar of cheers and clapping that makes me grin despite myself. I hadn’t expected that. Usually, it takes a song or two to warm them up, but tonight they’re ready right from the start.