I’ve never had stage fright in my life, but I imagine this is what it’s like. Everyone’s watching, and I just… freeze.
“No one’s immune to pressure. We all feel it.” He taps a finger on the arm of his chair. “You know why people don’t make it? Not lack of talent.”
I go to say something, but he barrels on, “How many great artists have you watched grind it out in Nashville?
“More than I can count,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You know what therealstars have?”
“What?”
“Grit. They don’t just survive pressure.” He leans forward. “Theyuseit.”
For a man who largely avoids eye contact, his attention pins me in place.
“Like a diamond,” I say under my breath.
“Exactly.” Boone nods once. “So, are you going to become a diamond, or are you gonna stay graphite?”
I fight back a smile, but I don’t think I succeed. “Graphite doesn’t sound nearly as appealing.”
“So be afuckingdiamond.”
He’s not asking if I can handle pressure. He’s asking if I’m willing to let it change me. Break me down until something better forms.
The question is:am I?
“Any tips onhowI can do that?” I give him my best smile now. This is the most I’ve gotten him to talk since we’ve been working together, and I’m not wasting it.
He tosses his hat off, and it lands with a thump on the sound boards. “What’s your favorite song?”
I may have never fallen in love with a man, but songs? Too many to count. “Jolene, Sleeping on My Side, Cowboys Cry Too, You Should Probably Leave, Before He Cheats—Oh, Hurricane?—”
“What do you think they’ve all got in common?” he cuts me off.
“You produced some of them?—”
He huffs a laugh. “Sucking up isn’t what those artists have in common.”
“They…” I start, suddenly eight years old again and waiting to be wrong in front of the class.
He takes pity on me. “They make you feel something, don’t they?”
I hum in agreement, leaning back, the chair dipping with my movement.
“You know where that starts?” He rests his forearms on the arms of his chair, looking bigger and more confident than he usually does. “With the artist feeling it first. Feeling something they gotta let out.”
He taps his fingers to his chest. “The thing that’s hard to share. The thing that costs you something to say out loud.”
Well, damn.
I catch my bottom lip between my teeth.
“What aren’t you letting out, Summer Starling?”
My lip pops free.
What am I not letting out?
