Page 2 of Echoes of a Southern Song

Jinnie claps when I finish, her laughter ringing out into the quiet evening. “That’s it! That’s the one. You’ve got it now.”

“We’ve got it,” I correct her, setting the guitar down carefully beside me. “You’re as much a part of this as I am.”

She steps closer. “I like that,” she says softly. “We.”

I stand up, closing the distance between us. “Jinnie,” I start, trying to find the right words For a songwriter, I’m not great at these intimate moments. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

She tilts her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Probably still singing about heartbreak and whiskey.”

I chuckle and tilt her chin up with my thumb. I kiss her slow and deep. She melts into it for a heartbeat—then pulls back, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, too quick. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

Her shoulders lift in a half-shrug. “Sam.”

Her husband—or soon-to-be ex, if everything goes right. Just the mention of him tightens my jaw. I didn’t think I was a jealous person, but I’ve also never been in a relationship. I don’t even know if I can call this a relationship. But I do know I want her and I don’t like the idea of her being screwed with. I want to protect her.

“You worried about running into him?” I ask.

Together, we walk to the swing and sit down. Her hand automatically reaches for mine.

“It’s a small town,” she says. “It’s bound to happen eventually.”

“You afraid of him?”

“No.” She shakes her head, but her knee bounces. “I just know how he is. He won’t agree to the annulment unless there’s something in it for him. He’s a very transactional person. He wants something in return for everything he does.”

I squeeze her hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

She gives me a grateful smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I understand if this”—I use my other hand to gesture between us—“needs to cool down. I don’t want him starting shit because he can.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not worried about him. He doesn’t want me. If he wanted me, he wouldn’t have run off without saying goodbye.”

“Does it bother you that he left you?” I ask.

She’s quiet for a few seconds, which makes my palms sweaty. The porch swing creaks softly as she shifts, her gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun is just beginning to set. “It bothered me at first,” she admits finally. “Not because I missed him or wanted him back—Hell, no. But because it made me feel...disposable, I guess.”

I feel a pang of anger toward whoever this guy is who made her feel that way. “You’re not disposable,” I say, turning to face her. “You’re everything but that. You’re smart, funny, talented as hell, and you’ve got this way of making people feel like they matter. Like they’re seen. That’s not something you just walk away from.”

She smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Jack. That means a lot.” She pauses, then adds, “But honestly, what bothers me most now is the fact that I let myself make such a stupid decision in the first place. I was young and reckless and thought I knew everything. And now I’m stuck with this mess until I can scrape together enough money to fix it.”

“You shouldn’t have to fix it alone,” I say. “Do you think he’s purposely hiding so you can’t serve him?”

“I don’t know. Or he’s just a coward.”

“Do you think he wants to come back to you?” I ask again.

“I don’t care if he does.” She shrugs. “I’m over him. I have clarity. I see him for who he is and that is not a man I want to be with.”

“I know I don’t really have a right to ask, but I’m going to.”

“Ask me anything.”