Page 56 of Where the Music Grows

The rest of the set flies by in a blur of chords and cheers. When I finish, the applause is loud enough to rattle the bottles behind the bar.

Aggie hands me a water as I step down. “Told you that stage was a good idea.”

I gulp half the bottle in one go. “Crowd was wild tonight.”

“Wild for you,” she corrects, nodding toward the tip jar overflowing with bills.

Jinnie appears at my elbow, her fingers brushing my arm. “You were amazing.”

Up close, she smells like vanilla and something citrusy. My throat is a little scratchy, but being around her makes my mouth dry. “You liked the new one?”

“I did. I was hoping I could get a ride home if you don’t mind?”

That’s a surprise. Here, I’m thinking I blew my shot with her. “Absolutely.” I look at Aggie, who’s grinning big. “I need to stay and help clean up.”

“No, you don’t,” Aggie says and shoos me away. “I’ve got a full staff tonight. They can earn their money. You two get out of here before someone busts me for having a couple of teenagers in here.”

As we drive, Jinnie rolls down her window, letting the night air rush in as we head back to the property.

“You’re really good,” she says suddenly.

I glance over. “Yeah?”

“Not just technically.” She tucks a windblown curl behind her ear. “You’re more present. Like you’re not just playing at people anymore.”

The observation catches me off guard. Because she’s right—somewhere between the farm and this moment, the music stopped being something I was using to prove a point and started being something I loved.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say, turning onto her road. “About recording some of these songs. Maybe putting together an EP.”

Jinnie sits up straighter. “That’s a great idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Jack, people love you. Did you see those girls swooning over your ballad?” She mimics clutching her chest, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically.

I snort. “They were just being nice.”

“Please. I know genuine reactions.” She turns in her seat to face me. “You could really do this. Like, really do it.”

Hearing her say it, with that conviction in her voice, makes it feel possible in a way it hasn’t before.

The truck rolls to a stop outside her tiny house.

I kill the engine. “Thanks. For believing in it. In me.”

Jinnie smiles, but there’s something wistful in it. “Someone should.”

Before I can ask what she means, she leans across the console and kisses me. It’s softer than last time, sweeter, her fingers light against my jaw.

When she pulls back, she’s smiling. “Goodnight, Jack.”

Not come inside. Not stay.

But also not running away.

Progress.

“Night, Jinnie.”