“Stop trying to figure it out,” he says, without looking up.
“I'm not.”
“You are. You get a line right here when you're thinking.” He strokes a finger between my eyebrows.
“What tricks have you got up your sleeve?”
“You like all the tricks I have up my sleeve.” The eyes glimmer. “And you ain’t even seen them all yet.”
On Saturday I start to get an inkling.
It’s when he tells me to bring a friend to Sutton’s. To wear that dress. When he promises he's driving and I climb into the truck and see our passenger in the back seat: his Martin guitar, in its case.
“Walker,” I start.
“Hush now, baby.” He puts the truck in reverse. “You're too fucking smart and I know the gears are turning. But I promise you, you don't know everything.”
I look at the guitar case. Look at him. Look at the guitar case again.
He reaches over and takes my hand and holds it the whole way there.
Sutton's is packed the way it only gets on Saturday nights in the summertime. Every table full, people three deep at the bar, tourists and locals alike.
Walker walks through the door and Sutton's does what every room does when Walker Rhodes, Grammy winner, stadium headliner, country music superstar, walks into it. Reorients itself around the gravity of his star.
The last time he was here, crashing what he thought was my date, he was almost incognito in a backwards baseball cap. Now, in head to toe black, from his boots to his cowboy hat, he looks even taller than his towering 6'5 height. Iconic, instantly recognizable.
And I know what he looks like with all of it off.
I watch it happen: the double takes, the nudges, the phones rising. Walker Rhodes, here, on a random Saturday night in Marble Falls.
He doesn't notice. Or if he does, he doesn't care. His hand finds the small of my back and stays there as he navigates us through the crowd. Not to the bar. Not to any of the tables near the back where a man trying to avoid attention might sit.
To the best table in the house. Front and center, direct sightline to the stage.
He pulls out my chair. Every woman in this bar is looking at him and he's looking at me.
He leans down, lips brushing my cheek. “Don't move,” he murmurs. “I'll be right back.”
Then he's gone toward the stage and I'm sitting alone at the best table in the bar with the sense that my feet aren’t quite touching the ground.
Tanner appears beside me and pulls me into a quick hug. “Hey, favorite sister-in-law.”
I pull back, blushing a little. “I'm not your sister-in-law.”
He shrugs. “Not yet.” Then he's already turning to flag down a server, completely unrepentant.
I turn to find Cassidy staring at me with her drink halfway to her mouth.
“Did I miss something?” she says.
I give Cassidy a hug. She's beautiful the way she always is, fresh-faced, simple tank and jeans, brown hair loose.
“You made it,” I say.
“Wouldn't miss it.”
I add, “Tanner's just teasing.”
