“I’m not touring,” I said yet again.
Dave nodded, like he had expected resistance. “It’s just a few shows. Play the old hits, or do you have any new songs?”
I kept my expression neutral. “Are you listening to what I said?”
He smiled wider, sensing possibility. “If you have new songs, even better. We market it as a return on your terms. The quiet music genius comes back for the holidays or a small town romance angle if you want it. That story could sell. It was smart to get her to not talk about the relationship yet. People love a mystery and it might land you an exclusive interview with someone big.”
I felt heat crawl up the back of my neck.
“Don’t do this Dave. I’m not coming back,” I said.
Dave lifted one hand. “I’m just saying what people are already saying.”
“I’m not a product,” I said, keeping my voice low and controlled. “And neither is she.”
Dave’s smile faltered for the first time. “Caleb, nobody is saying that.”
I looked at the mug again. My misspelled name stared back at me like proof. “I want you to take your box of stuff and leave.”
He straightened slowly, his charm shifting into something tighter. “You’re under pressure. I get it. But this is the way forward.”
“I already told you,” I replied. “I’m not doing it.”
The bell over the door chimed again, bright and cheerful, but the person who entered was not.
It was Kitty’s great aunt Cathy.
She wore a wool coat that probably cost more than my monthly utilities. Her hair was perfectly set, her lipstick sharp enough to cut glass, and her expression suggested she had been disappointed in someone for hours and was finally ready to address it directly.
Dave straightened, smoothing his jacket like he had been waiting his whole life to impress a wealthy older woman.
“Mrs. DeBurg,” I greeted. I had the feeling she wasn’t here to purchase anything but to make life a little more difficult instead.
“Caleb,” she replied, her gaze sweeping the counter in a single pass. The box of pathetic merchandise stillprominently displayed. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “So this is where you’ve tucked yourself away.”
“I run a music shop,” I said.
“I am aware.” Her expression could have curdled milk.
Dave cleared his throat, stepping forward with a smile that looked professionally practiced. He probably sensed some form of an opportunity. “Hi. Dave. I work with Caleb.”
“Formally worked with me,” I muttered.
“I know who you are,” Cathy said, without looking at him.
Dave blinked. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Cathy turned her full attention back to me. “I saw the little livestream. I assume you did as well.”
“I did,” I replied.
“Then you know,” she continued, “that attention is returning. People are noticing. It would be foolish not to capitalize on that momentum.”
Dave jumped in quickly, as if sensing an opening. “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. The interest is back. It’s a moment, and moments pass.”
Cathy finally looked at him, her eyes cold. “Do not interrupt me.”
Dave’s mouth closed.
