Page 33 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

Chapter Eleven

Jinnie

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I LIE IN BED STARING at the ceiling. It’s cold and I don’t want to get out of bed. I also don’t want to lie in bed all day. It’s my day off but I can’t sleep in. My body has its own internal clock. Nothing I do allows me to sleep past seven. Never mind I stayed up late last night trying to pretend I wasn’t waiting for Jack to call.

I didn’t even know where he was or what time zone he was in. He fell off the face of the earth. Well, I would think that if I didn’t constantly see and hear about all the places he’s been over the last few weeks. It’s been seventeen days since Jack’s last call.

I scroll through my phone, thumbing past video after video of Jack. There he is, flashing that easy smile I used to love, but now it feels different. Calculated. In one clip, he’s meeting fans, signing autographs, and leaning in for selfies. He’s wearing that damn purple shirt again, the one Liz probably picked out for him. It’s too shiny, too perfect—nothing like the worn cotton t-shirts he used to wear. The ones that stretched across his broad chest and showed off the defined biceps that came from years of working on a farm.

In another interview, he’s talking about his “journey” and “gratefulness” to the label. His words sound rehearsed, like he’s reading from a script. And then there’s the many photos plastered all over the internet. Jack Hayes, all clean-cut and polished in designer suits that cost more than my home. He looks like a stranger. The way he poses, the way he smiles—it’s not him. Not my Jack.

My thumb hovers over a video someone posted of his live performance in New York. I press play before I can stop myself. The crowd roars as he walks on stage, guitar slung over his shoulder. But it’s not the one he played at Aggie’s bar. It’s some sleek, glittery thing that looks like it belongs in a museum. He starts playing. The music is good—better than good—but there’s something missing. That raw, unfiltered emotion that used to pour out of him whenever he sang is gone. It’s been replaced by something polished, something...safe.

I close the app and toss my phone onto the bed. Max jumps up beside me, curling into a ball at my feet. I scratch behind his ears absently, staring at the ceiling.

“He’s different,” I say aloud, though Max doesn’t respond. “He’s changing.”

And maybe I knew this would happen. Maybe I should have seen it coming from the moment Liz took him away. But it still hurts. It hurts to see him becoming someone I don’t recognize. And just as I expected would happen, he’s forgotten all about me. I’ve gotten a couple of random texts, but no phone calls. I think I’d forget the sound of his voice if I didn’t hear every time I turned on the damn radio.

I drag myself out of bed and go into the kitchen to make coffee. The flowers are long gone, but for some reason, I keep looking at the space they occupied for more than a week. They’re gone...just like him.

The coffee maker gurgles as I lean against the counter, hugging my arms around myself. It’s colder today than it was yesterday. I can feel winter creeping in at the edges of my tiny house. Or maybe it’s just loneliness settling into my bones.

My phone buzzes on the counter, breaking the silence. For a split second, my heart leaps—maybe it’s Jack—but then I see it’s just an email notification from work about next week’s schedule.

I sigh and pour myself a cup of coffee, wrapping my hands around the mug for warmth. “What am I doing?” I mutter to no one in particular.

Maybe it’s time to let go. Maybe it’s time to accept that Jack isn’t coming back.

Of course I’ve said that probably a thousand times and I never do it. I sip my coffee and decide I don’t want to sit around home today. I did tell Stephanie I would take some pictures and schedule social media posts. I didn’t get time to do it yesterday. I may as well do it today.

I shower and head to the bakery.

“Jinnie?” Stephanie asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to get ahead on next week’s posts.”

“But it’s your day off. You should be—”

“Nothing better to do,” I interrupt, my voice too bright.

“Well, while you’re here, maybe you can take a few pictures of the wedding cake I’m just finishing up.”

“Absolutely.” I smile.

Stephanie is putting the final touches on a three-tiered masterpiece. The cake is stunning—white buttercream with intricate lace detailing and sugar flowers that look almost real. I snap a few shots, the camera shutter clicking softly as I circle the table, capturing it from every angle.

“This one’s going in the portfolio,” Stephanie says, stepping back to admire her work. “The bride wanted something classic but with a modern twist. What do you think?”

“It’s incredible,” I say honestly, zooming in on the delicate sugar roses. “You’re going to get so many bookings after this.”

She smiles. “Jinnie, can I ask you something?”

I lower my phone. “Sure.”

“Are you okay? You’ve been...quiet lately. And you’re here on your day off. That’s not like you.”