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“Thanks. That’s one of mine that I wrote recently.” I just don’t tell her how recently.
“I liked it.”
Heat climbs up my neck and into my cheeks. Music is art, and like any art, you aren’t human if you don’t feel some sort of worry or apprehension about how it will be received.
“Are you staying in Nashville long?” she asks.
“No, just a couple of days. While I do like it here, the lake is home. You?”
“I head to Atlanta tonight. It’s my nephew’s birthday tomorrow. We’ve been here for a few days too in a different studio.”
“Oh.” Suddenly, I feel sad that there was an opportunity to see her this week and I missed it. I also feel bad, because while she knew I was here, I guess I never stopped to ask her what she was doing.
Silence falls between us as we stare at each other. It’s been so easy chatting with her via text, but now that she’s here and in front of me, I feel like a fumbling teenage guy all over again.
“I guess that answers my question then,” I say, shoving the sleeves of my Henley up to my elbows.
“What question?” Her brows pop up like she’s eager to hear it, and the nighttime shadows sneaking into the room stretch and grow, covering half of her.
“Whether or not you’d like to have dinner with me one night while I’m still here.”
She stands up taller and her arms drop to her sides. “You want to have dinner with me?” Her voice has taken on this hopeful sound, and warmth floods my system.
I don’t answer, I just nod, and she deflates but looks optimistic at the same time.
“Well there’s always next month, right?”
Next month: April, which means she’s talking about the awards show.
At this, my shoulders drop, and I groan. She giggles.
“Avery told me you agreed to play your song, but by your expression and overall aura at just the mention of it”—she open-palm waves her hand in front of me—“I take it you aren’t excited.”
“I’d rather have a root canal.”
She laughs, and it’s the best sound.
“You’ll be just fine if you play it like you played it at the wedding. That’s what they want to hear anyway.”
“Yeah, I haven’t changed it. I’ve played it to Moose about a thousand times though. I think he’s sick of hearing it.” I run my hand over the back of my head and let out a deep breath. I don’t know why I ever wanted to do this or why I thought I needed to be seen. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, and I like my place next to Ash. Plus, on this album, I am singing more. I don’t feel like a background ornament. “I don’t even understand why they want me to play this song. The show is full of big performances. Over-the-top sets, lights, dances—it’s one giant concert, and this song isn’t that. It’s a love song about my friends. No flare, no catchy chorus, no gorgeous video. Just me and my guitar.”
“It doesn’t matter. You know the CMT Awards is the only country music awards show that is voted on entirely by the fans. The people have been demanding you play this song, so they already know what it is they are getting. And after hearing you play it, I don’t blame them. It is amazing, and you are so talented. You’re also nice to look at,” she teases, but her words have burrowed their way into my chest.
I didn’t think I needed verbal validation to do this, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe hearing these things from her is exactly what I needed.
“At least the venue isn’t that big. I checked and it only holds about fifteen thousand people,” she says.
“And then there are the five million watching online or on television,” I deadpan.
“Well, we’ll all be there for you, so if you pass out, I promise I’ll come on stage and drag you off.” She smiles, but I just stare down at her. I hate being vulnerable, but if I say the words to her then maybe they’ll stop being so large in my mind.
“You know it’s not the p-passing out, it’s the not being able to p-push my words out.” Yep, could barely say them. I shake my head in blatant frustration.
She tilts her head as she studies me, then she steps a little closer and runs her hand down my arm to my hand. My skin tingles in her wake, and I let her tangle her fingers with mine. I love that she’s touching me.
“I think you’ll be fine,” she says confidently. “Besides, I’ll stand backstage, and once it’s over, we can leave. If you’re still up for that dinner, I hear Austin is known for its amazing food.”
My fingers tighten around hers. “Food. I can do food.”
