"I’m betting it doesn’t matter." She smiles flatly.
"Alright fine. So what am I supposed to do between my set and this group number?"
"Enjoy the festival? Eat fried food, get your face painted, meet people."
"Sounds great." I lie.
The phones clank on the countertop Zara has been leaning on and she crosses her arms. "You’ve been in a funk for a while now. Are you still hung up on Mike Kerr?"
I huff a laugh hearing his ridiculous name again. Meek spelled M-I-K-E? How was that not an immediate red flag? "I’ll perk up before the set." I promise instead of explaining I have barely spared a thought for Mike because I’m hung up on a flirty hockey player.
And just when I had stopped hearing phantom notifications he actually texted me last night.
Zara side-eyes me but doesn’t press. For all her "involvement" in my life, she actually tries to keep a level of ignorance about how I’m really feeling. She says it helps her do what’s best for my image.
"Alright, but I want you to know I’ve clocked that you’re off. I’m here for you, in a superficial way of course."
I huff a laugh. "I know."
"But, I get how lonely this job can be. I can try to get you introduced to other musicians if you’re looking for friends or something."
"I appreciate the offer, I’m good. Things are lining up for September?"
"Yeah. They’re excited to have you for the first semester. You’ll wrap up in early December. And then I’ve booked you with Lennox Calloway tostart working on the album after you go home for Christmas. We’ll get it all laid out before Valentine’s and then we’ll announce the summer tour in early March."
"You got The Kingmaker to produce this album?"
Zara shifts her attention from her dueling screens to me. "Of course I did. When Lennox, Kingmaker, Calloway is interested you book it."
Shit. This is real. And I would be ruined for cancelling on Lennox.
I choose to ignore the pressure of the most sought after producer being lined up for my album, and next year being already scheduled. Instead, I’m choosing to focus on the fact I’ll be moving to D.C. in a couple months.
It still surprises me, how quickly I rearranged my life to be closer to Duncan. The only other time I’ve run with my instincts like that is when I sent a demo to a record label.
I remember feeling like I had to do it. Like I would always regret not trying.
It worked out for me with my music. I hope I’m as lucky when it comes to my heart.
Chapter nineteen
Duncan
"I'm a great friend." With benefits.
Ipickupthepackage from Lake Belmont that's waiting at the front desk of my building on my way out to Crosby's the next afternoon.
My phone is fully charged and already streaming Rhys’s concert outside of Nashville. And, I’ve packed an Aux cord so I can hook up my phone to Felix’s TV later. I’m sure everyone at the party will appreciate a little patriotic country music today.
I hop in the rideshare and head to Crosby's. When I get there he's mainlining Sour Patch Kids and pacing his kitchen.
"Dude, chill."
"Chill?" He says in a tone that shows exactly how not-chill he's going to be about this.
"Fine, I'll go first." I unbutton my short sleeved linen shirt and leave it hanging open while I untangle the cords for the microphone. "Technically I don't need to tape it to my chest but I'll do it for you out of solidarity."
"Wow, what a good friend." Crosby deadpans and I know when the sarcasm returns he's inching away from the edge of pure panic. Mission accomplished.
