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She runs her fingers softly over the strings. “We’re just passing through on our way to Nashville.”
“You want to be a big star?”
She looks up at me. I noticed before that her eyes were blue, but now I can see flecks of gold around the irises. “What I really want is to write songs that mean something. Songs that warm you from the inside out, like hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day. You know what I mean?”
Her whole face lights up as she speaks, and my gaze fixates on her lips. It takes a moment before I register that she’s stopped talking.
“Chef Boyardee,” I say.
Her forehead crinkles. “What?”
“I know what you mean about the hot chocolate, but when I was a kid, it was Chef Boyardee. My siblings and I would play in the snow until we couldn’t feel our fingers or toes. When we finally came inside, Dad always had a can of ravioli or spaghetti warming on the stove.” I shrug sheepishly. “When I think of feeling warm and loved, I think of Chef Boyardee.”
She smiles, lighting up her whole face. “Exactly. Those are the songs I want to write.”
“Ah,” I say, grinning, “You want to write jingles for hot chocolate and canned ravioli.”
She scowls at me, but the hint of a smile still lingers on her lips and in her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” I admit, “but I still don’t know why you’re in my house.”
She carefully places the guitar back in its case. “Like I said, I was passing through. I stopped for a day hike in the mountains, and inspiration slammed into me like a semitruck. By the end of the day, I’d written an entire song—and gotten hopelessly lost in the woods. My cell phone was dead, the sun was starting to set, and I began to panic. Then I stumbled upon this place.”
“The door was locked,” I point out.
She raises an eyebrow. “The doormat said, “Welcome,” and the key wasn’t even fully concealed beneath it. The top corner stuck out, gold and shiny in the setting sun. You practically invited me to come inside.”
“Nice try, trespasser,” I say with a laugh. “Then what?”
“I figured I’d charge my phone and call for help. Then I noticed your calendar on the kitchen wall. A date was circled, and AUSTRALIA TRIP was written in big, block letters. It had only been a few days since you left, and Australia is so far away, so I decided it was probably safe to spend the night.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “You’re telling me you’ve been here for almost two months?!”
She blushes, which makes her even prettier. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to stay so long.”
I shake my head. “Okay, go back. What happened after that first night?”
She takes a deep breath. “The next day, I found my way back to my car.”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t see a car parked outside.”
Her blush deepens. “It’s hidden behind the old, fallen-down barn down the street.”
“Ah, of course. Squatters have to cover their tracks so they don’t get caught.” I wave a hand, signaling for her to continue the story.
She tucks her hair behind an ear again. It falls back onto her cheek, just as before. “I couldn’t leave Mercury Ridge. Not when I felt so inspired here. So, I drove to town to look for a place to stay. I popped into Sweet Mercury and ordered a donut. As I ate, I overheard an employee talking to a girl with long, brown hair. One of them said your name and my ears perked up.”
“How did you know my name,” I ask suspiciously.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s written on your mailbox. How many Hamlets can there be in one town? Anyway, they mentioned your Australia trip, and it sounded like you’d be gone for a long time. So, I decided to crash at your place until the muse abandoned me. I’m not proud of myself. I know it was wrong.”
I glance from her earnest face to her peeling guitar case. She’s a starving artist who was just chasing the muse. I can understand that. “You’re still feeling inspired in Mercury Ridge?”
“I’ve never felt more inspired in my life. But I know my time is up.”
“What if I said you could stay?” The words fall out, surprising me. The last thing I need is a roommate.
She sits up straight, looking so hopeful, so…wholesome. Like a little kid who’s been handed a kitten. “Can I? I have a meeting in Nashville next week, but I’d love to stay until then. I could give you money for rent.”
