“That’s the spirit,” Adele said, then lifted her hand in a wave. “Hey, Gemma!”
“Oh god,now?” Brighton said.
“Now, baby girl.”
“Fuck. Do I look okay?” She adjusted her hat so her bangs peeked out just so, made sure her coat was buttoned correctly.
Adele gave her a once-over. “Totally hot if I was into you like that.”
Brighton laughed, but Adele’s joke did help her relax. “Gee, thanks.”
“Think nothing of it,” Adele said, then chin-nodded at the woman approaching them. “Gemma, hey.” They clasped hands in a sort of high five–slash–handshake, the kind of greeting beloved by butch lesbians everywhere.
“It’s been too long,” Gemma said. “How’s Nashville?”
“Can’t complain,” Adele said. “Business is good. You still in LA?”
Gemma nodded, her gaze flicking to Brighton, then back to Adele. “Had to buy a new coat just for this trip.”
Adele laughed, then said to Brighton, “Gemma is a landscape architect. Designs, like, botanical gardens for movie stars and shit.”
Gemma shook her head. “More like koi ponds for C-list actors, but let’s go with what you said.”
Adele grinned. “Gemma, this is Brighton. She’s a musician.”
“Hey,” Gemma said, tilting her head at Brighton. “Nice to—”
“Oh, no, I’m not a musician,” Brighton said. It took her a second to realize she’d just blurted it out mid-introduction, but it felt important to start off on the right foot here. “Not really. I used to be. Guitar, songwriting, singing. You know. But I stopped. Because, well…I just did.”
Gemma blinked at her, mouth slightly parted. “Okay. Um, cool.”
“I bartend at Ampersand,” Brighton said, motioning toward Adele, who was staring at her with a horrified expression on her face. Still, Brighton couldn’t seem to shut up. “So that’s mycalling, I guess. Liquor and other people’s sad music.” She laughed awkwardly, could already feel her face heating up several degrees.
“That’s…nice,” Gemma said, then turned to talk to someone who had just come up on her left.
“Wow,” Adele said after a few seconds of shocked silence.
“I know,” Brighton said.
“You are supremely bad at this.”
Brighton pressed her hands to her crimson cheeks. “Was it as awful as I think it was?”
“Worse. Were you always this bad? Like, you’ve had hookups in the past few years, right?”
Brighton closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Yeah, I just…I’m just a bit…”
Do not look at Lola, she told herself.Don’t you fucking dare.
“I’m jet-lagged,” Brighton said. “Off my game.”
“Offyour game?” Adele said. “More like your game fell out of the airplane somewhere over the Midwest.”
Brighton didn’t reply, just filled her cheeks with air before blowing a raspberry. She glanced at Gemma. She could fix this. She’d done it before, goddammit—she’d had plenty of hookups since she’d moved to Nashville. She could be cute and alluring and even suave. Not as suave as Adele, but that’s the kind of shit one was born with. She needed to work with what she had here.
She was just about to step closer to Gemma when a blond woman in her fifties stepped up onto a crate in front of the paddock and clapped her gloved hands.
“Okay, everyone!” she said. She was wearing a puffy vest over a plaid flannel shirt, and her boots were caked in mud. Definite farmer vibe. “Most of you know me, but I do see a few new faces. I’m Jenny Hazelthorne, and we’re very excited to be sponsoringthis event for Two Turtledoves. As you know, it’s for a good cause, so take advantage of all the cash you’ve already dropped and step up your romantic game!”
