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She laughed. “I don't sing in public.”
“Not even for me?” He paid the cashier and walked outside. Jackson flexed his free hand inside his glove. He turned his face away from the bitter wind and headed to his car.
“I don’t know you,” Bailey said.
“My name's Jackson Mills. I have a younger sis
ter, my favorite color is gray, I play piano, and I'm a fan of sugar cookies.”
Bailey giggled. “Sugar cookies?”
“My mom made them all the time when I was a kid. I wasn't born with the gift to bake.”
“I'll keep that in mind. I don't sing in public.”
“Okay no pressure.” He cleared his throat.
“What?”
“Nothing. It's nice to put the voice with the name.”
Silence.
“Bailey?” Did she hang up? Did he sound corny? He was out of practice with dating.
“No, that was...”
“Corny?”
“Sweet,” she said. “I have to be honest. This is out of my element.”
Jackson laughed. “Me too.”
“What’s your dream with music?”
If he told her, would she listen? “Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve written songs since I was thirteen.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I would love to hear it played on the radio, or even record an album.” Here came the backlash. Didn’t anyone understand that he had to make it into the music business? He had to for… Jackson blinked. He needed to stay in the moment.
“That sounds amazing. My dad used to write songs and teach them to me,” she said.
“Sounds like a talented guy. Did he ever make an album?”
“No, he chose us over his career. Thanks to my mother.” Bailey groaned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks for listening anyway,” she said.
“I could say the same about you. It’s been a long time since someone… let me… talk.”
“What made you go through with it? The dating app I mean,” Bailey asked.
Jackson tossed his empty cup in a nearby trashcan on the side of the street. He winded his scarf around his neck. “I had nothing to lose.”
“I guess... I didn't either.”
