Page 2 of First Moon

The hall door opened, and Ivy James walked in.

Good lord, the woman was a knockout. She wore jean overalls that reached mid-thigh, with cherries embroidered into them. She wore minimal makeup and her hair was in a high ponytail and looked young and fresh and so pretty I wasn’t sure I’d remember how to talk, let alone sing. This was certainly different than the glamorous way she dressed for shows and concerts, but I liked it. She looked like a regular person. A very pretty, regular person. With a pair of strong legs and shoulders and blue eyes that made my knees wobbly.

I’d met her once before, at an awards show two springs back, both of us stranded in a hallway clutching trophies with no idea where we were meant to be, until Madeleine swept in and herded us to the press room like a pair of lost lambs. However, Ivy and I had had a quick moment. She’d held out her hand to shake mine; I’d marveled that a hand so small ran up and down a guitar neck the way it did. We’d locked eyes, and I’d known in my bones she was all grit and heart, in music and life. That night, they had her done up in a little pink dress with her hair set and her stage face on, but I saw who she was underneath. I recognized myself in those blue eyes. She’d come up the same way I had. One hard knock at a time. And, like me, she could hardly believe where she’d landed.

“Jack.” She crossed to me, breathless, that Tennessee in every vowel. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Phone call ran long, then I needed gas, then traffic. What is it lately with traffic? Anyway, I’m a hot mess, as usual.” She held out her arms, and what I figured would be a quick hug wasn’t. She held on tight for a few seconds, smelling like flowers mixed with a butter cookie. When she let go, the room felt suddenly cold.

“You don’t look hot,” I said.

She grinned. “Well, I didn’t have time to get fancy for you. No fake lashes today.”

And just like that I was hot. “No, I meant you don’t look flustered. Or warm. You look … just fine. Perfect actually.”

“Jack Wilder, you charmer.” She laughed and punched me softly in the arm. “You’ll have me swooning right here in the studio.”

“I mean … you’re stunning. And it’s got nothing to do with the clothes or the makeup. But I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

“A woman can never be told she’s beautiful too many times.” She leaned in close, speaking quietly so only I could hear. “I’m nervous to sing with you. I’m such a fan. Be gentle with me.”

Be gentle with me. That had me thinking distinctly ungentle thoughts.

I took both her hands. Small and a little cold, just like I remembered. “I’m the one who should be nervous.”

“I wrote this song thinking of you,” she said. “So there’s no call for that.”

Thang. God, I loved the way she talked.

“Y’all ready?” Hutch’s voice came over the talkback, from the board, without him turning around. Hutch Miles had produced half the records I’d worn out growing up, and now he produced mine. I still pinched myself every time. He swiveled the chair around at last and laced his hands over his belly. “I’ve got a wacky idea. You might hate it. But I’ve got a feeling about something.”

“Should I be scared?” Ivy asked.

“I want to cut this with the two of you in the same booth.”

“That right?” I said. “How come?”

“Song’s about two people finding each other.” Hutch shrugged. “I want to put you in there together, sing it live. I think something special might happen.”

I rubbed my chin, realizing I could’ve used a shave. “Never done it that way.” Normally we cut each lead alone and comped it later, an engineer stitching the best bits of ten takes into one performance that never actually happened.

“If we can’t use it, we’ll do it the regular way,” Hutch said.

Ivy put her hand on my arm. “I’m in if you are.”

I about got lost in those blue pools, till Knox said, “I think it’s a great idea. Nothing to lose. Other than we’d be taking the slick out of the oil.”

“Slick out of the oil?” Ivy asked. “What’s that mean?”

Knox cut a look at Madeleine. “Just that we think a lot about packaging these days.” Air quotes. “Instead of music.”

I shook my head at him. He paid me no mind.

“We’re supposed to be outlaws,” he said. “Instead we’re mainstream. And we all know why.”

I glanced at Madeleine. The jab was meant for her.

She didn’t blink. “That mainstream made you rich. You can be an outlaw on your own time.” She held up a hand. “Oh—that’s right. You already have been. Multiple times.”

I held my breath, figuring Knox was about to blow. This feud of theirs had started the first day they met and never let up, not through all our success or the money that came with it. Knox wouldn’t so much as acknowledge what Madeleine had done for us. He poked at her instead, hunting for a reaction, and mostly she acted like he wasn’t even in the room, which did exactly what she wanted. Drove him out of his mind.