Linc examines the bottle with the new Dawson’s Brewery logo. “This is cool as shit. When did y’all do this?”
“You like it?”
“Yeah, looks really great. It’s like the old one but…better.”
“I designed it.”
“Really?”
I nod.
“I love it,” he says again, taking a long pull from the bottle.
“Thanks. I finally talked Dad into giving the brand a face-lift. Their design was simple and effective but I thought we needed something a little more modern and eye catching. He wanted to hire a design company to do it all, but after I convinced him to invest in some graphic software and doing a bit of research, I was able to create what he wanted and still remain true to the original logo. Needless to say, he was very pleased with the results.”
“Well, look at you, graphic design, huh? Might have to get you to design my new album cover.”
I gasp. “Shut up.”
“Yep, head honcho from Milestone Records came into the Bluebird a few weeks back and offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse. We go into the studio after we come off the road.”
“Oh my God, Linc! I can’t believe it. That’s so great. I’m so happy for you!”
“I’ve been dying to tell you but I wanted to do it in person.” His arms wrap around me. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Without me? Linc, this is all you. God, I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, I can…but I can’t. Oh myGod! You’re gonna be on the radio!”
Linc gazes at me longingly before interrupting the silence by clearing his throat. “I’ve been working on some new songs. Wanna hear ’em?”
“Are you kidding, of course I do!”
We’ve been outside for the last two hours. Linc has played me several songs he’s been working on for the new album. Each one different and unique but laced with Linc’s signature sound.
God, I love his voice. I’ve missed his voice. There is nothing else like it.
Lazy yet powerful.
Hard with a smooth edge.
Like a shot of whiskey.
It’s easy to get drunk off of it, just let it pull you under and drown you. You can’t help but get lost in the sound, the lyrics.
There is one in particular I want to put on repeat.
“Play it again,” I say after the third time.
We are sprawled out on a blanket I had outside for Caroline earlier, shielded from the sun by the weeping willow out back. I have the baby monitor with me so I can hear Caroline when she wakes up.
“Sing it with me.”
Linc’s head is propped up on a throw pillow next to mine, our feet pointing opposite directions. He begins to strum the melody; the bluesy acoustic sound makes my belly dip every time he leads into the song. After Linc sings the first two lines, I join in.
I’ve been down this road a million times
Tempted to cross that line
Not sure how much more I can take
