Charlotte giggled. “They’re going to want selfies, Miss Jamie.”
“Well, shoot, maybe they’ll want to take a selfie with me,” Clayton said.
“Daddy!” The girls laughed uncontrollably. “Nobody likes your music.”
I love these children.
Jamie flashed a wicked grin as she hopped out of the truck, taking Charlotte and Emily’s hands while they made their way toward their friends. A few girls were teary-eyed, their emotions running high, which sent a flicker of unease through her. Still, she offered reassuring smiles, murmured soft words to calm them, and waited until their breathing steadied.
With effortless charm she signed autographs, posed for selfies, and exchanged quick hugs. When it was time to say goodbye she pulled the twins in close, squeezing their hands before watching them disappear into the building.
She stepped back into Clayton’s truck, where he sat grinning like a fool. “What’s with your face?” she asked.
“Nothing, darlin’.” He started the engine. “Thanks for doing that.”
“Oh, no problem.” She fastened her seatbelt with quick, efficient movements, making sure he knew it wasn’t about him. It was for the girls. Only for the girls.
Clayton drove back the way they came and Jamie turned on the radio, smiling at the song playing.
“I love the Weeknd!” She turned up the volume and began to sing.
“It’s only Monday,” Clayton said, as if she didn’t know that.
“No, the Weeknd, as in the artist.” She pointed to the radio. “His melodies are catchy.”
“His name is the Weekend?” Clayton scoffed. “That’s a dumb name.”
“It’s spelled W-E-E-K-N-D.”
“Guess spelling wasn’t high on the priority list in that family.”
“It’s not his Christian name, Clayton. Do you really think his parents named him the Weeknd? Drake’s name isn’t really Drake either.”
“Who?”
“Forget it.” She shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t know why I even bother.”
Clayton stared straight ahead as he drove down the empty road. They hadn’t seen a single car since leaving his house. They were literally in the middle of nowhere.
“So . . .” He glanced at Jamie. “We’ve been invited to present at the ACM Awards. It’s in April—I think it’d be good for publicity.”
She turned to face him. “What are the ACM Awards?”
“Good Lord, woman—the Academy of Country Music Awards.”
She’d never heard of the ACM Awards, but that didn’t surprise her, considering her lack of knowledge or interest in country music. It sounded like some version of hell on earth, but then again, it might boost her profile as a songwriter.
“Will there be gift baskets?” Jamie asked, her voice filled with hope. “I mean for the presenters.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Clayton scratched his beard. “These things usually do, but it’s mostly ladies’ stuff—jewelry, chocolates, all that fancy crap.”
“Fine, I’ll do it.” She crossed her arms. “But I’m taking your gift basket.”
Jamie spent the rest of the day trying to finish her song but she couldn’t come up with any decent guitar parts, even though the melody and most of the lyrics were done. She’d always been more of a topline writer,developing the lyrics first. In contrast Clayton began his songs with the music, which wasn’t surprising, considering they were opposites.
She entered the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards to check for ingredients to make cookies. The girls were coming over after school to see Poppy and she wanted to do something nice for them. She discovered a package of chocolate chips with a recipe on the back. She’d never baked anything, partly because her parents lacked kitchenware and partly because Derrick simply wouldn’t allow sugar—even the artificial kind—in the house.
She gathered all the ingredients on the island counter and read the directions. Next she preheated the oven and sprayed the cookie sheet with nonstick oil. Unsure of what it meant to sift the dry ingredients and unable to find any measuring spoons, she guessed the amounts for each item. She mashed the wet ingredients together and added the flour mixture. Following the instructions, she poured a package of chocolate chips into the bowl before rolling the dough into balls.
