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“Do you get a lot of that? Fans breathing down your neck and all?”

“Honestly, no,” I answer. “Most people are pretty respectful and keep their distance when they ask for autographs or whatever. And you know, it’s really nice when people tell me that my music helped them or got them out of a rough time emotionally. That makes me feel good to hear.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Tate says. “It’s not the same, but whenever people come to my restaurants on an anniversary or something, I can’t help but think that they could have chosen anywhere to eat on their special day, but they chose my place.”

I nod, a little smile playing on my lips. “No, that’s similar enough. It makes you feel special. Like you’re doing something right. Or good enough that it reached somebody when they needed it. I’ve always written my songs for me, to get my emotions out or just because I thought a tune or lyric was catchy. Knowing that it resonates with other people just makes it all worth it.”

“Is that what keeps you going? When it gets hard? I know there are days where I wish I could scrap my whole menu and start over, but then someone will come in and order an old favorite, and it makes me remember why I put the dish out there in the first place.”

“Pretty much yeah.” Or at least, it used to be like that. Seeing people in the crowds singing my songs, watching them scream when I come out on stage… all of that used to be the thing that made me want to keep doing it. Whether it was a crowded venue or a tiny club, the fans’ reactions and love for what I do used to inspire me so much. Now I’m a little bit exhausted of it all. More than a little bit, if I’m being honest. It’s been wearing me down lately, and as much as there are amazing highs when it comes to recording music and touring, there are also some incredibly low lows. The hours are exhausting, and there are times when I drag myself off stage after the encore and then flop into bed in whatever hotel I’m staying at, only to get about three hours of sleep before I have to be ready to go to the next city.

It’s grueling, and it never stops. That’s what it means to be a popular artist. When I was smaller, just starting out, I booked shows where I could, and it was usually just a few a month. Easier to manage. But now that the demand is there for my music and my shows, I have to meet it. Even when it grinds away at me little by little.

But I don’t say any of that. None of that is the glamorous stuff people expect from musicians, and the truth is I’ve been very lucky. I don’t want to complain and sound ungrateful.

Tate is still listening, so I tell him about the good parts instead. About the energy of a hyped up crowd and the fact that most of them can sing my songs word for word. About looking out onto the faces of the fans and seeing some of them crying, or holding up signs talking about how a certain song saved them.

“It was overwhelming at first,” I admit. “Knowing that it meant that much to some people, but I think I’m used to it now. And I love what I do. I don’t think I could do anything else at this point.”

“What’s your favorite song you’ve ever written?” Tate asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t think I could pick. They’ve all meant something to me at different times. I think every song is my favorite and least favorite when I’m writing it, but it’s hard to rank them. I will say I have favorite versions of my songs though. Like everything from my Live from Elegant Coup Studios album is my favorite version of those songs.”

I recorded that a few years ago, and it was one of the best experiences. Just me in a booth, singing my songs acoustically. It turned out so well, and I still go back to those when I need inspiration.

I’m aware that everyone in the car is listening. Even Ares, although a quick glance in the mirror shows he’s still got his face tipped down, staring at his phone. But I know what it feels like to have his attention.

When I glance away from Ares, Callan is looking at me again.

“That version of Meet Me at Sunrise is your best,” he says simply.

I try not to stare at him, but it’s hard not to when he keeps revealing that he listens to my music. That he’s followed my career. Because Meet Me at Sunrise is one of my earlier songs, and the live recording of it is one of the earliest versions. It’s possible he could have come across it recently, but the way he says it makes me think that’s not true.

Tate glances at him in the mirror as well, amusement and curiosity in his eyes. “We have a Brynn fan in this car too,” he says, teasing.

Callan clears his throat and looks out the window. “Fuck off,” he grumbles. “I’ve listened to some of her music, it’s not a big deal. You can’t walk into a grocery store without hearing it. And one of the musicians I tattooed wanted to play it during our session.”

He brushes it off like it doesn’t matter, but I’m so confused now.

Callan has never tried to hide the fact that he doesn’t like me. He’s not as bitter as Ares, but he’s barely said ten words to me this whole trip. It’s clear he doesn’t want me along for this shitty ride and is ready for when we can go our separate ways.

But at the same time, he’s listened to my music. Enough that he knows lyrics and the different versions of old songs? I have no idea what to think about that.

Maybe it’s the whole separating the art from the artist thing. Meeting me in person might be hugely disappointing to him. Callan is hard to read, and it’s not like I’m going to ask him how he feels, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.

Tate keeps talking, moving past the awkward moment. He’s good at that, and if Callan is like this with other people, then he probably gets a lot of practice.

“I think I’ve only heard some of your newer stuff,” he says. “Some of the line cooks at the restaurants will play it during prep.” He gives me a look that’s half amused, half apologetic.

“That’s okay,” I say, laughing a little. “It’s not like I was getting Top 40 radio plays until a couple years ago. A lot of people who know me now had no idea who I was before.”

“Do you want to know my favorite song?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Sure. Oh wait, let me guess. Is it Duvet and Down? That one is a little bit sexy.”

Tate snorts. “You would think that about me, wouldn’t you? I do like that one. But no, I usually like when my sous chef puts on Apple Blossom Fall. I like the vibes.”

We talk a bit more about my songs, with Tate trying to get me to name one after him, coming up with increasingly more silly reasons why I should. It’s lighthearted, and the combination of that and being on the road after so long spent cooped up in hotels makes me feel lighter than I have since I got off the plane a few days ago.