“Kind of, but more intimate than that,” Hunter said. “And the audience is there specifically to listen—not to drink and talk over you. They want to hear the songs and the stories behind them. Where they came from. What you were going through when you wrote them. It’s one of the few places in the music business where the song is the whole point. Not the performance, not the image. Just the song.”
“That sounds cool,” Tyler said.
“The most famous one’s The Meadowlark Café,” Ivy said. “Tiny little place. Ninety seats maybe. Looks like nothing from the outside. But a lot of famous singers were discovered there. Which is where we were when Hunter spilled his drink on me. I’d just come to town and was doing whatever it took to stay afloat working at bars and coffee shops and then going to playmy music wherever they’d let me. That night, Hunter played one of his songs and I knew it. This guy’s the real deal.”
Hunter shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. I understood it exactly. As much as I loved when anyone gushed over my books, it also made me feel a little embarrassed.
“And we’ve been best friends ever since,” Ivy said. “Been through a lot stuff over the years but one thing’s remained the same. As long as we have the music and each other, we’ll be just fine.”
“We say that now,” Hunter said, chuckling. “But we were really broke back then.”
“So broke,” Ivy said. “Hunter started selling songs a bit after that and he let me move into his apartment. I slept in the kitchen. Remember that place?”
“We thought it was luxurious back then,” Hunter said.
“We were just happy to have the heat on,” Ivy said. “But that’s when we really started collaborating. We sold a few songs we’d written together. And then, just seven years later, I finally got a break. A record deal. That was the beginning.”
“Seven years,” Tyler said. “That’s a long time.”
“I told my mama I’d not give up, and I didn’t,” Ivy said.
“And now you’re the biggest country music star in the world,” Tyler said. “That’s amazing. Inspiring too.”
“Couldn’t have done it without my best friend,” Ivy said.
“Tell me about the record you’re planning,” I said. “Tyler and I are dying to know all the details.”
The table animated immediately. Ivy leaned forward, her eyes glittering. She explained how she was leaving her record label to have Wes produce it instead. “We’re going rogue,” Ivy said.
“Heck, yeah,” Wes said. “I’m a little rusty, but it’s all coming back to me.”
“We recorded the acoustic single of Hunter’s new song already,” Ivy said. “We’ll play it for you live after dinner. Hunter’s nicknamed it ‘Seraphina’s song’ because she inspired it.”
“Ivy, you have a big mouth,” Hunter said.
“I’m honored,” I said.
We were finished eating by then and got up to clear the table. Hunter and Ivy went to get their guitars, promising a concert in the living room. Tyler and Wes went out to check on the ice cream. I rolled up my sleeves and helped clean up the kitchen, feeling full, both emotionally and from Margaret’s fantastic tacos.
“This is really fun,” I said to Margaret. “Thank you.”
“We’re glad you’re here. Both you and that fine boy of yours.” Margaret gave my shoulders a quick squeeze and for a second I understood what it was like to have a mother.
Fifteen minutes later,we gathered in the living room. Wes settled into a chair by the fireplace. Tyler dropped onto the floor cross-legged. I took the end of the couch closest to Hunter’s chair.
Hunter had Georgia in his lap. Ivy sat across from him on a wooden chair she’d pulled from the corner, her Martin between her hands. They had clearly worked together for years. I could see it in the small adjustments as they tuned their strings, nodding to the other.
“Okay,” Ivy said. “We’ll do ‘Finally Home’first. That’s the duet we wrote together last night. The one I want to record with Jack Wilder.”
“Do you know him?” Tyler asked, eyes wide.
“I’ve met him a few times at award shows and stuff,” Ivy said. “Very nice. Kind of quiet.”
“I know him from Nashville,” Hunter said. “Before he made it big he used to play smaller venues. Figured it was only a matter of time before he broke out.”
“I’m hoping he loves the song and wants to record it with me. But first, let’s see what y’all think.” She settled her guitar. “Okay. Here we go.”
Hunter played the opening chord progression and to my surprise he sang the first verse. His voice was gritty and lived in. Maybe not commercial enough for Nashville but it suited me just fine. I could listen to him all day.
