“His wife, Susan. She helps us sell merch sometimes if she’s not teaching. She substitutes.”
She’s slender with blondish-gray shoulder-length hair and a tote bag slung on one arm. She reminds me of a younger Helen Mirren.
When Frank brings her over, Jace sets down his guitar and jumps up to hug her. “So glad you could help us, Suze. Thanks for coming.”
She grins. “Your festival gave me a reason to visit some family.”
“Excellent.” He grabs my hand. “Susan, this is my wife, Rory, and that little squirt in the stroller is my daughter, Layla.”
After she coos at the baby, she gives me a warm smile and hugs me. “When Frank told me Jace got married, I nearly fell out of my chair.”
I don’t know how much of the truth Frank told her, so I go with something safe. “It’s been a whirlwind.”
When she steps back, she nods at Jace. “It’s about time you found a nice girl to ground you.”
I can’t help but notice the yarn sticking out of her bag. “Do you crochet?”
She pats her tote. “Yes, but I love to knit, which is what I do if there’s a long stretch between customers at the merch table.”
Frank gives her a warm look. “My Suzy can make anything.”
Gosh, they’re cute together.
Before she leaves, she squeezes my hand. “I know that taking care of a baby is a lot of work. I’m only here for the festival and I’ll meet up again with the tour in Texas, but if you need anything while I’m around, just say the word.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
When the bus doors close behind her, I turn to Frank. “I love your wife.”
He looks down, affection in his eyes as he nods. “She’s pretty great.” But an alarm on his phone buzzes, and he’s back in manager mode. He reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a box, which he hands to me. “For the kid.”
I open it to find some noise-canceling headphones. “This is perfect.”
“Jace said if you wanted to come to the concert tonight, you could bring the baby as long as she wears these.”
Jace smiles at me from across the lounge where he’s once again strumming his guitar. “Up to you. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Frank frowns. “Jace, we need her to get footage for your social media.”
Before they get in an argument, I hold up my hand. “I can go. I’ll wear Layla in a sling so I can use my hands. But is it okay if I duck out before it’s over? Crowds give me hives.”
Jace chuckles but Frank just looks confused, shakes his head, and walks off the bus.
“Why do I feel like I just told him the Rolling Stones suck? I mean, I’d never say that. They’re amazing. But he looks like I just disparaged an icon.”
“Which of their songs is your favorite?”
I nibble my bottom lip. “I’d say ‘Give Me Shelter’ or ‘Paint It Black,’ but that seems too obvious, so I’ll go with ‘Dead Flowers.’ There’s something poetic about telling your ex to send you dead flowers and that you’ll remember to put dead flowers on her grave. Of course, the Stones might’ve been talking about heroin, so I don’t know. But that album also has ‘Wild Horses,’ which is a classic.”
His always-present grin widens as he starts to play “Dead Flowers.”
Then he opens his mouth to sing.
And I am straight-up gobsmacked by his voice.
I sit down before I fall over. The man plays the entire song and sings it to perfection, doing variations on the melody that make it fresh and give it a unique feel.
When he’s done, I press my hand to my chest. “Shut up. You never said you were that good.”
