Page 59 of Where the Music Grows

I roll my eyes. “Not groupies. Just people who like the music.”

“Same difference.” She leans forward. “But listen, Jack—don’t let it go to your head. Success isn’t about how many people cheer. It’s about staying true to why you started. You’re a handsome young man and I see the way those ladies look at you. Be careful there. They want the rockstar—not the young man. That’s one of the biggest trappings of fame.”

“I’m not famous, Aggie.”

“Not yet, but around here you are. Those women are not right for you.”

I wonder if she has a certain woman in mind who is right for me.

“Trust me, I’m not trying to mess with any of them,” I say with a grin. “Cougars are not my thing.”

That makes her laugh. “Have you been checking in back home?”

“I just talked to my brother.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Still not talking to your dad.”

It’s not a question.

I shrug. “Nah. I can’t help wondering what he would say if he could see me now.”

“What do you want him to say?”

The question catches me off guard. I open my mouth, then close it. “I don’t know.”

“She’d be proud of you.” Aggie’s voice is soft. “For following your heart.”

She reminds me of my mom. If my mom would have gotten the chance to live into her fifties, I think she would have been a lot like Aggie.

I’m surprised Aggie never had kids of her own.

“You’d have been a great mom,” I say without thinking.

She laughs. “Is that your way of saying you’re ready to move out of the tent?”

I grin. “Maybe.”

“Good. Because my sewing room’s been collecting dust, and it’s not like you can’t still go outside whenever you want. You don’t need to be sleeping out there when I’ve got a perfectly good empty room here.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

She waves a hand. “It’s not imposing. I’ve had some of that fabric in there for twenty years. I haven’t made the dress I was going to make twenty years ago. I’m not going to make it in the next couple of months. It can all be put to better use by someone else. I’ve been meaning to clear that room out anyway. It’s a good excuse to have you help me.”

I think about it and realize she’s not just asking for my sake. I think she’s a little lonely.

“Okay.” I nod. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

After lunch, Aggie flips on the light in the sewing room. It’s chaos. Plastic totes are stacked haphazardly, spilling over with fabric scraps and spools of thread. A sewing machine sits on a small table in the corner, its surface buried under more fabric. And in the middle of it all is a twin bed, barely visible under a mountain of clothes and fabric and boxes of every size.

“Home sweet home,” Aggie says with a grin, gesturing to the mess. “Think you can handle it?”

I glance around the room, taking in the sheer volume of stuff. “Yeah, I think so.”

She claps me on the shoulder. “Good. Let’s get started.”