Three weeks since I last saw Miles.
We’ve spent most of that time playing phone tag. When I call, he’s on the ice. When he’s free, I’m in rehearsal. We’ve actually caught each other maybe four times in total. Seeing his face has only happened in quick flashes over FaceTime, but I’ll take whatever I can get.
We text, but even those have become sparse. Though I’ve kept up with all my good luck wishes.
It’s not the same. I shouldn’t have expected it to be. I didn’t really, but what do they say about hope springing eternal?
Miles and I will make it through this. I know we will. I only hope all the work I’m putting in and time away will pay off.
“Summer!” Cash’s voice carries from the wings.
I head toward him, weaving through cases and crew members.
He’s leaning against a speaker nearly as tall as him, looking annoyingly put-together for someone who’s been rehearsing for as long as I have.
“What’s up?”
“Interview.” He runs a hand through his hair. “My trailer. Nothing major—just a quick promo spot for the tour.”
We walk in silence, cutting through the backstage maze.
The arena is massive. In just a week, I’ll be on a stage like this one in front of thousands of people. The thought should thrillme, and it does. But it also makes me miss Miles more. Like the CMAs, I keep wishing he were here.
Cash’s trailer is nicer than mine, but at least I have my own. I half-expected them to push the “happy couple” angle and stick us together, so I was relieved when they didn’t.
The interviewer is already set up with a camera guy. She stands when we enter, all bright smile and professional excitement.
“Cash! Summer! Thanks so much for making time.” She shakes our hands. “Miranda Wright.”
“Of course.” Cash settles onto the couch, gesturing for me to sit beside him.
I do, making sure to leave the appropriate amount of space between us. Not too close. Not too far. The dance we’ve perfected over the past three weeks.
“This’ll be quick,” Miranda promises, adjusting her mic. “Just a few questions about the tour, the single, the whole collaboration. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.” Cash beams.
The camera guy gives a countdown.
Miranda’s smile brightens even more. “I’m here with Cash Walker and Summer Starling, and let me just say—For the Recordiseverywhereright now. How does it feel to have a number one hit?” She directs the question at me.
“Incredible,” I answer, and it is. It’s also exhausting and lonely, but I don’t say that.
“Summer, you’ve had quite the year,” Miranda continues. “From reality TV to opening for one of country music’s biggest stars. What’s that been like?”
Of course, it’s the reality TV show they care about, not the years I spent grinding to get here. I should be used to it by now. At least she’s asking about my career and not my “relationship”with Cash. Most reporters skip over my music, like my love life deserves more attention than my talent.
“It’s been a dream come true. I’m so grateful for the opportunity.” I smile extra wide, all teeth. “My friends back in Nashville know it’s been a long time coming.”
“And Cash, what made you want to work with Summer?”
Cash leans forward slightly. “Her voice. When I heard her demo, I knew we had to work together.”
“There’s definitely chemistry,” Miranda says with a knowing smile. “On stageandoff?”
Here we go.
“She’s incredibly talented, and I’m lucky to have her join me on tour,” Cash says smoothly.
