Page 10

He laughs. “I’m a producer.”

“You sing, write, and produce,” I correct.

He gives me a sideways stare. “I guess you probably looked me up, huh?”

Truthfully, last night, I snapped and typed his name into the search engine. But only his Wikipedia page, which had so many attributions, it required an entire second page for his songwriting credits. It appears Coen Taylor is the mastermind behind over half the music coming out of Nashville. I wonder how that feels for him, knowing every hit on the radio has passed through his hands.

“You like writing country music?” I ask.

He’s quiet and then shrugs. “I am a writer by trade.”

I wait, unsure what that means. When he doesn’t respond, it gets awkward.

“You want to come inside?” I say finally. “I should start breakfast for Serena and Dad. And you should probably meet them.”

He nods. Silent, we go back through the barn. He’s the quiet, perceptive type. I feel his eyes soaking everything in as we cross the lawn. The dogs see him before he gets to the bottom of the porch steps. The Kid does a quick lap around him and then looks at me. Billy doesn’t get up.

“The dogs like you,” I say, smiling. “That means Dad will too.”

“Oh yeah?”

I nod. He puts out his hand, and The Kid licks it. He doesn’t know it, but that’s the ultimate stamp of approval, second only to both Maligators escorting him to the front door. Inside, I lead the way to the kitchen. Serena is already up, sitting at the breakfast bar. She looks up, then down, then up again as she realizes who’s behind me. I half expect her jaw to drop; instead, her eyes narrow, but not in a judgmental way. Her expression is thoughtful more than anything.

“This is Coen,” I say, gesturing at him.

He gives her a polite smile, holding out his hand. She shakes it and gets up to circle him. She’s acting worse than the Maligators. It’s confusing, but as she comes back around, I realize what’s going on here.

Oh no, she’s going to try to set me up with him. She’s sizing him up, making mental notes, seeing how we look together.

I’ve been here before.

“You mind making everyone coffee?” I say firmly.

“Yeah, I can,” she says, backing up without taking her eyes off him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says.

She jerks her chin as she grabs two extra cups and starts fixing coffee. I glance at the clock. We have less than a minute before I hear Dad shuffling from the office.

“Serena, did you help Dad downstairs earlier?”

She shakes her head. “He got up during the night and let the dogs out.”

Frowning, I stomp down the hall and yank open the office door. He’s circling the desk, where I can see the obvious indent of where he slept in his chair.

“Did you come downstairs without help last night?” I scowl.

He waves a hand. “I’m fine.”

“Dad–”

“Brina, I’m fine.” He manages to get up some speed so he can get past me before I can light into him again. “Let’s go meet this young man from Nashville.”

I don’t correct him that Coen’s from Wyoming. Instead, I take a beat and take a breath. Dad is getting older, but he’s still a grown man, and I don’t want to be the stifling helicopter kid, always nagging him. It’s just…I have a knot in my chest, worrying about him falling when I’m not around to call the paramedics. The thought of him on the office floor in the dark turns my stomach.

“Brina!”

It’s my sister. I go back into the kitchen to find Dad sitting at the breakfast bar with Coen, already chatting. Dad has his phone out, showing him something. If I had to guess, probably photos of the guitar collection he has in storage. I wonder how long it’ll take him before he’s asking me to drive him down to the unit to get one of them out.