Page 46 of Where the Music Grows

Her words stick with me as I finish my meal. Aggie has this way of saying things that make everything seem simpler than it feels in my head. I guess that comes with age—knowing what really matters and what doesn’t.

“You ever think about going bigger?” Aggie asks suddenly.

“Bigger how?”

“With the music.” She gestures vaguely toward town. “Recording. Touring. All that.”

The question catches me off guard. “I...yeah. Sometimes.”

She nods like she expected this. “You’re good enough, you know.”

“It’s not just about being good,” I mutter.

“No?”

I think of Dad’s face when I left. The way Aiden Miller used to smirk when I walked by with my guitar case. “There’s people back home who said I’d never make it.”

Aggie sips her tea, watching me over the rim. “And proving them wrong is more important than the music itself?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

After lunch, I head back out to the greenhouse, feeling rejuvenated. The sun is high in the sky now. I start measuring and cutting new pieces of wood, replacing the rotten sections of the frame one by one. It’s slow-going, but there’s something satisfying about seeing progress.

About an hour in, I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind me. I glance over my shoulder and see Jinnie walking toward me, a paper bag in her hand.

“Hey,” she calls out with a smile.

“Hey,” I reply.

She holds up the bag. “Aggie told me you were here working. I brought some of the day-old muffins.”

I grin. “Did you bring any of those chocolate ones?”

Her face lights up. “Don’t tell anyone, but I snuck one in. Those never make it to the day-old tray.”

“No kidding. They’re too good.”

She looks at the greenhouse. “I can’t believe Aunt Aggie has you fixing this thing.”

“She was inspired by your little goodie basket from your parents,” I say with a shrug.

“I bet.”

Things are suddenly awkward. I realize I’m covered in sweat and probably look like hell. There’s sawdust clinging to the sweat on my arms. I look down and my jeans are in the same state. This girl always finds me when I’m looking my worst.

“Do you want to get dinner sometime?” I blurt out the question before I know what I’m saying.

Jinnie’s eyebrows shoot up.

I freeze.

I really just said those words out loud.

“Not like—not fancy or anything. Just. Food. Together.”

Lord, please, kill me now.

She stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Then, to my utter shock, she laughs. “You’re asking me out looking like that?”