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An air of tension eases from Luna’s whole being, and that’s when I realize she’s held tight to a bundle of stress since we left her house.
“Good.” She releases her grip on my arm and keeps walking. “And I’m not saying you have to pretend like you don’t know who Violet is or that you can’t compliment her music. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t treat her like she was a pretty toy to be touched.”
“Don’t worry.” My hands find a home deep in my pockets. “I will keep my hands to myself.”
Besides, Violet Bluefield isn’t the woman I want to caress.
We walk another ten minutes before reaching the shop, but the day is cool, and strolling quietly at Luna’s side is peaceful. My mind relaxes into the moment, not bothering with anxious thoughts or worries. I finally understand the appeal of meditation.
A collection of Gibsons sits in the window of C & M Guitars. If my guess is right, there’s one from each decade, spanning back to the 1960s. Alejandro, the bass player in my mother’s band and the man who taught me everything I know about guitars, would love this place. Hell, I bet he’s been here before.
Luna steps inside, and when I follow, I lose myself in the sights. The space is all kinds of warm wood. The floor we stand on and the instruments set out for customers to browse through. Without considering my bank account, I start making a mental list of all the pieces I’d love to take home with me.
I’m no expert musician, but I can appreciate a beautiful piece when I see one.
With impressive effort, I stifle my curious fingers, following Luna, who heads toward the back counter. Three people stand together, two of them conversing over a banjo while the third person, a tall, broad-shouldered man with hard eyes that seem to see everything, tracks my partner and I as we move closer.
“Violet. Hi!” Luna calls out when we’re still ten feet away.
The woman gives a little start, but then she turns to us with a sheepish grin.
“Hey ya, Luna. Guess I need to practice my observation skills. Didn’t even realize y’all were in the building.”
“It takes practice.” My wife’s voice has a soothing note I heard her use at the animal shelter when praising a nervous dog. “Remember to listen for more than just voices. And practice counting people in the room regularly.”
Violet nods, and I watch her gaze bounce around to the other customers, marking the number of people present.
That’s when I fully recognize her. I’d been wondering if Luna maybe saw someone else she knew and we were talking to them while waiting for the country music star. But I realize I know this woman’s face from billboards and album covers and awards shows.
The recognition took me a minute because of her hair.
Violet Bluefield has curly, moss-green hair that shines bright under stadium lights and gives her an otherworldly appearance.
The woman in front of me has straight, ordinary brown locks flowing out from underneath a baseball hat. I wonder which one is the wig. Luckily, I have enough sense not to embarrass Luna by asking the question aloud.
“Eight people in the shop, including us five. I’ll keep practicing,” Violet says. Then her attention lights on me. “Now you I don’t know.”
Luna sets a hand on my bicep, a claiming gesture. “Charlie, this is Violet Bluefield. Vi, this is Charlie. My… husband.”
At Violet’s brows raise, it’s clear I’m not the only one who heard that hesitation before the title.
The corner of Luna’s mouth ticks up. “We just got married. Last week. Still getting used to calling him that.”
The country star gasps, then opens her arms wide. “That’s amazing! Can I hug you? You can say no. Manuel says no ninety-nine percent of the time.”
Luna steps forward into Violet’s arms and lets the singer hug the breath out of her. When they separate, the woman’s green eyes alight on me.
“Same offer, Charlie. Hug. Yes or no?” She’s got her arms open again, and never one to turn down physical affection, I accept.
“Good to meet you,” I say as she wraps a firm set of arms around my ribs. I gently return the embrace, fully aware of the burning attention on me. But when I step back and glance over at Luna, she seems mildly happy. That’s when I realize the heat comes from the man who clocked the both of us the second we entered the store.
This guy doesn’t need any advice from Luna. He’s gotten his training elsewhere.
“I can’t believe you snuck yourself a husband without me knowing. And no wedding invite! You’re lucky I don’t hold petty grudges.” Violet’s eyes bounce between the two of us.
“Courthouse wedding,” Luna explains.
“Hmm. Fine. But I’m gonna get you a huge obnoxious present. Fair warning.” The musician turns to her companions, giving the staring man a knock on the arm with her knuckles as if he’s a wooden door. “This is Manuel, my new bodyguard. He’s got a stick way up his ass, but I love that about him. Plus, he hates country music. Aren’t we a pair?” She grins up at her security. “Will you give my friends a big ol’ howdy?” When Violet talks to Manuel, her accent magically grows thicker.
