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“Stop distracting my employees, Mr. Big Shot. I have a business to run here, and we have plenty of open spaces,” she says as she sweeps her eyes across the café at the empty seats and tables.
I set my coffee down and step back, holding my hands up. “All right, I’ll just select my music and move to a dark corner,” I declare.
I focus back on the box of records and start rifling through the options when I catch a glimpse of a familiar cover.
I pluck it from the others and grin.
Clearing my throat loudly, I wave it in the air. “Well, what do we have here?” I ask.
Ansley finishes ringing up a customer and looks back at me.
I see the moment she registers what I’m referring to.
“What’s this?” I inquire.
“Nothing. Give me that,” she demands as she makes her way to me and starts to grab at the record.
“Oh, no, it’s not nothing. Somebody is a liar and a fan,” I tease as I hold my debut album out of her reach.
“Someone else must have put that in there,” she insists.
“Sure they did.”
“Whatever,” she says and stomps off.
I slide the record from the jacket and place it on the turntable.
The music starts, and I sing along in my head as I make my way to one of the tables nestled in the shadows.
I watch her as she waits on customers. I can see the exhaustion in her movements, but she greets every single person with a kind, appreciative smile and keeps going. I also notice that she is mouthing along to the music in between interactions.
Not a fan, my ass.
As I watch her from the shadows, the music in my head morphs, and I start to see something new forming. She disappears into the kitchen, and I snatch a pen from the cup by the register and a handful of napkins. I settle back at the table and start jotting down the lyrics.
Driving that beat-up old Chevy, tearing up the back roads.
Holding her tight and staring at the stars.
Dreaming about the years ahead.
Life changes in a heartbeat.
From those small-town roots to the big-stage dreams.
I should be happy, but I keep looking back.
We were racing hearts and sweaty hands.
Now, I’m just a broken man without my backwoodsbeauty queen.
Before I realize it, I have the entire song scribbled on three napkins. I tap the beat on the table and hum the melody.
I wish I had my guitar.
Lost in my thoughts, I hear a throat clear. I look up to see Ansley standing in front of me with her hands on her hips.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“We’re closing,” she says.
I look at the clock over her shoulder. It’s six in the evening, and the sunlight that was pouring in the front windows has faded to twilight.
I blink up at her.
“Earth to Garrett,” she sings.
“I’m sorry, Foxy. I guess I lost track of time.” I gather the napkins and stuff them into the front pocket of my jeans as I stand.
I follow her back to the counter, carrying my empty mug, and take a seat on one of the stools.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her as she takes the mug to the sink.
“Starving,” she mumbles.
“Me too. Want to grab some dinner?” I ask as I grab an iced cookie from a basket on the counter and take a bite. “Mmm. These are fantastic,” I say.
She turns and smirks at me. “Thanks. I’ll let Shana know. She is the best doggy baker in town.”
I spit out the bite I was about to swallow.
“Sorry?” I choke out.
“It’s okay. They’re free to any dog,” she quips.
“Funny.”
She shrugs. “I thought so.”
