Page 19 of Archer

“And he prefers to control situations.”

I nodded, turning back to face him. “He calls. He texts. He emails. He wants me to come back to Nashville and give us another chance. He swears that he’s changed, and that we belong together. All the usual garbage.”

Archer’s expression darkened. “How long ago did you break up?”

“About six months ago.”

“Right before the stalking started,” Archer said. “You sure that’s a coincidence?”

I didn’t like circling back to this. I didn’t think Blake was behind my misery and fear, but perhaps I was too close to see the picture clearly.

I rubbed my temples. “Maybe. I don’t know. Blake was overly involved in my life and career when we were together, but he was never subtle about it. He told me what to wear, who I should talk to, where I should go to be seen, network, or capitalize on situations. Everything was out in the open because he thought he had the right to run my life. He called it helping, but it wasn’t very helpful, and it ruined our relationship. I have a manager. I wanted a partner.”

Archer’s jaw set and his eyes narrowed. “And these deliveries feel different.” He repeated my earlier statement, letting me know he was listening. I’d been heard.

I appreciated that. Being young and female in my industry usually led to folks in power preferring I remain seen and not heard.

“Yes.” I nodded. I think this is something else.” I searched for the words to describe my thoughts. “It feels like the opposite of Blake’s quiet insistence. He thought he knew what was best for me. This feels almost worshipful. Obsessive. Blake never worshiped me. He wanted to control me.”

Archer moved closer, and I caught the scent of his soap and cologne. “Tell me more about your career.”

The request surprised me. Most people either already knew my songs or pretended they did. Either way, it was mildly uncomfortable. If they knew my music, I hoped they liked it. If they didn’t, I didn’t want them to feel as if they should know it or like it.

There was too much good music in the world to be familiar with all of it. I imagined that was just as true about books, so maybe Archer understood as much as anyone.

I pulled up my artist profile and handed him the phone again.

He scrolled through my singles, reading titles and release dates. His thumb hovered over the play button on my most recent release, a song called “Chasing Ghosts” that I’d written about Gram. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” I said.

He hit play, and my voice filled the cottage through the phone’s tiny speaker. Acoustic guitar, simple melody, lyrics about losing someone you love and trying to find them in memories.

Archer listened to the whole thing, attention fixed on the screen. When it ended, he looked up at me. “That’s beautiful. I don’t follow country music, but I like words, and whoever wrote this is incredible.”

The tightness in my chest loosened a little. “You mean that.”

“Yeah.” He scrolled to the next song.

I nodded, fighting a smile. “I wrote that.”

“Can I listen to another?”

“Yeah,” I croaked, throat tight.

He played through three more songs, never skipping ahead or losing focus. When he finally handed the phone back, his expression had softened.

“I’m sorry, but I had no idea who you were when you walked into Island Adventures.”

“I’m glad.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” I set the phone on the counter and met his eyes. “Everyone in Nashville knows me. Everyone in the industry, everyone at the label, everyone I meet at parties or events. They all know my name, my songs, my stats. They know how many followers I have and whether my last single charted. I’m pretty sure that’s all they see when they look at me.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” I moved into the kitchen, nervous energy keeping me in motion. “You’re the first person in months who’s talked to me like I’m just a person. Not something to be monitored.”