Every album was personal in a different way.
Was I dating anyone?
Sophie coughed loudly behind the camera.
I smiled.
“My schedule is my most committed relationship right now.”
The interviewer laughed.
Everyone laughed.
The answer would appear online within an hour under a headline suggesting I had made a devastating confession about love.
The meet-and-greet came next.
Fifty people in twenty-five minutes.
Smile. Hug. Turn slightly toward the light. Ask names. Sign posters. Accept bracelets. Avoid promising things. Never look rushed, even when someone was already guiding the next person forward.
Most interactions lasted less than a minute.
A girl named Kayla told me she wanted to become a songwriter. I told her to write the songs people advised her not to write.
A man in a cowboy hat asked me to sign his chest. I signed the hat.
A woman brought a photograph of herself and her wife dancing to one of my songs at their wedding.
“They wouldn’t play it on the country station where I grew up,” she said. “But we played it anyway.”
Her wife squeezed her hand.
I looked down at the photo.
They were laughing beneath a string of lights, foreheads touching, completely unafraid of being seen.
For a moment, I forgot the cameras beside us.
“I’m glad you did,” I said.
The woman hugged me.
It was against the usual rules, but I hugged her back.
When they moved on, Sophie leaned toward me.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
The word came automatically.
Always fine.
The label dinner was held in a private room at a steakhouse ten minutes from the arena. Richard Greene sat at the head of the table, smiling as he talked about numbers.
Streaming growth.
