After settling into our rooms at the resort, I change into the courtesy ski gear—some of the best gear I’ve ever used—and get on the lift that heads up the mountain. Looking out over the little valley with my legs dangling in the air, I take a deep breath, enjoying the clean smell of crisp mountain air. The years have taken a lot out of me, but this…this feels like the sort of full-circle moment I’ve been dreaming of my whole life.
Chapter2
Kinley
Not gonna lie,I’d never heard of Mackenzie Nash before tonight, and I’m about five minutes from meeting her in person.
Look, don’t judge me. I’m not an especially big country music fan.
That’s sacrilegious, considering I live in western Colorado, but it’s true. I mean, I can hang with the occasional George Strait tune, and everybody loves Dolly, but I don’t exactly keep up with what’s going on in the country music scene.
After tonight’s concert, I can confidently say Mackenzie Nash is one of my all-time favorite country music artists. Hell, she might be my favorite singer ever. She’s fucking sexy and so freaking talented. I’ve been furiously Googling her while I wait, and so far, I’ve learned that her current single has been at the top of the country charts for the last four weeksandshe writes and arranges all her music. Let’s just say I have a competency kink, and that kind of expertise is a major turn-on.
As is her sharp jaw, thick dark eyebrows, and prematurely gray salt-and-pepper fade. She’s masc as hell, stern-looking, and angular as fuck. The combination has been doing things to my lady bits all evening.
I also may have just downloaded every song she’s ever put out.
Most importantly—for my underwear, at least—Google confirms that Mackenzie is a single, out-and-proud lesbian. Honestly, nothing about her should work. Country music is notoriously conservative, at least publicly, and not particularly kind to women. That’s been changing over the years, and Mackenzie Nash clearly blew the doors off whatever was in her way.
Anyway, I’m just trying to prepare myself because how I got here is a comedy of errors. My best friend Cassie is a huge Mackenzie Nash fan. Huge. She’s happily married with three kids, but her wife, Blake, jokingly says Mackenzie Nash is on Cassie’s hall pass.
I get it. She’s about to be on every list I’ve got. Hell, she can get it anytime. Er,anyway…Blake got Cassie tickets to the show along with a VIP backstage pass, but then Cassie went and took a tumble on some ice while jogging, cracking a couple of ribs and badly bruising a few others.
This is why I stick to yoga.
After having me in tears describing the pratfall she took on the ice and snow, Cassie said she was in too much pain to deal with all of those people and offered me her nonrefundable ticket.
I initially begged off because I’m a physician’s assistant for the local OBGYN, and we’re in the middle of an epic baby boom. I’m way too tired to deal with crowds and overpriced beer. Also—and this is not the flex that it seems—I’ve got an annoyingly good ear. Live concerts are usually rife with slightly out-of-tune instruments and singers trying to hit high notes with tired vocal cords.
None of that sounded like a good time, but then Cassie, who is a pediatric nurse and knows a thing or two about exhaustion, showed me Mackenzie’s picture. Miraculously, I found a previously undiscovered reserve of energy and reminded myself that I should be open to new experiences.
Better yet, it turns out that Mackenzie Nash has somepipes. Also, whoever tunes her instruments is damn good at their job. The concert was a masterclass in lyrical artistry and technical ability. She even sang one of her songs solo, only her voice and an acoustic guitar. It reminded me of singing with my father after dinner, and I don’t regret the sentimental tears.
So yeah, I’m sitting in some backstage room at the new amphitheater, waiting for a one-on-one with Mackenzie Nash. Once everyone was shuffled into place, I was the last in line, and she’s apparently moving from room to room, kinda like the doctor I work for does.
I think it’s rather sweet of her to do one-on-ones instead of just a meet-and-greet in a general back room. Funnily enough, the thing that made me most want to meet her in person was that she messed up a song intro midway through the show. She made cracks about having to perform in a boot after a tumble on the slopes while the band reset, and it was just so…real. Real and refreshing.
“Thank God I was blessed with knowing how to sing and write songs because the tour doc officially dashed my hopes of becoming an Olympic skier,” she joked. “I believe her exact words were, ‘Don’t quit your day job, Mac.’”
The crowd laughed appreciatively, and Mackenzie sang a song about heartache and feeling like she’d never be accepted in the world and… Gosh, I might be half in love.
I’m ashamed to say that I’m looking at her fashion hits and misses when she breezes through the door. She’s changed out of her concert gear and taken a shower, and there’s something about her without all of the stage makeup and glittery attire that seems so down to earth.
Quickly closing out the app, I stand and try not to be too starstruck. It’s an immediate fail because up close, her deep blue-green eyes take my breath away. I thought she was taller because of her enormous stage presence, but no. We’re about the same height, though she’s wiry to my slightly curvier build. It’s her sexy grin, though, that sends my heart rate through the roof.
Sticking out her hand, she says, “Hi, I’m Mac,” in that soft gravel voice singers get.
“I’m Kinley,” I say, sounding like I’m talking through a mouthful of marbles. I clear my throat and get lost in her eyes for a half-second.
Say something, Kin.
“Uh. Wow, you’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”
Knocking my knuckles against my forehead, I curse myself and the generations of sweet-but-awkward types that make up my DNA. Also, why is the fact that she introduced herself asMacso hot? “Sorry, you probably get that a lot.”
Before she can answer, I notice Mac is accompanied by the kind of right-hand guy who screams efficiency. His hair is perfectly coiffed, he’s wearing thick black frames, and his outfit is more Manhattan than Summit Springs.
Grinning at him, I reach my hand out. “My best friend wears those glasses, and I love them so much.”
