Page 26 of Reckless

“Wow, that’s a lot.”

“It’s second nature. Is it the same for you, writing songs?”

“When the muse is there, sure.”

“Is that an issue?” Krista sips her soda through the straw, drawing my eyes to her mouth. Fuck.

“On and off. We all write for the band, so when one of us is having an off day, the others pick up the slack,” I frown. “I don’t think there has ever been a time when we’ve all been off our game. At one point or another, we’re creating.”

“Do you think that is why you’ve come to this point, because you don’t switch off?”

Is it? I rub a hand over my mouth and place my elbow on the table. I need to shave. Before we head back to the RV, I should stop off and grab what I need. I didn’t bring anything with me to Bill’s party because I figured it was one night.

“Like our output was our downfall?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that but, if you have tons of material, the logic says you put it together and create music to put out at a fast pace.”

“Maybe,” I shrug. Some of what we write doesn’t go to the producers, but a lot of it does. It’s an interesting take, that’s for sure.

Our food is delivered and we both tuck in. Krista definitely has an appetite. I like it.

We chat a little more about our next few stops. She has it all planned out, down to the very last detail. I suppose that is the best way to do a road trip. Our tours are always planned to death. We can’t afford to go off track, given the schedule.

“Do you ever deviate from what you’ve planned out?” I ask, pushing my empty plate away. That was one of the best burgers I’ve eaten in ages.

“Sometimes,” she muses. “It depends where I’m passing through if there is something I haven’t seen before. Or if I’m having a slow writing day. Other times, I set up wherever I’m parked and read, or catch up with friends. Or video call my PA to go through stuff when I’m unable to switch off. I go with the flow, I guess. I try not to take for granted that I’m able to do this. Many people don’t get the opportunity.”

She finishes up and says she wants to call in at the bookstore before we go back. I’m intrigued, so ask if she minds me tagging along. She’s surprised but doesn’t say no.

The bookstore is much like the music one. It’s not a big-name place, it’s independent and there is a small cafe on the upper mezzanine floor. Krista goes off to browse through one section while I head to another. I’m not a big reader, so nothing but local history books interests me.

After a while, I grab a coffee and sit by the balcony, looking over to where Krista is walking around. She already has a stack of books under one arm, which makes me smile.

She stops and talks to people as she moves between the shelves. There is an air of excitement around her, especially when she grabs a book for her pile. She’s passionate about this, it’s not a trait you often see in people. Most people I come across are overworked and not enjoying what they’re doing.

At the sound of a woman squealing, I look over the rail and see Krista with two women. I half rise to make sure she is okay, but she’s smiling. They recognize her.

It’s kind of ironic she’s the one recognized. It makes a change to be the anonymous one. She talks with them for a while, signs their books and takes pictures. She’s gracious through it all.

Lately, I’ve wanted to get off stage and back on the bus. I’ve forgotten what it’s like for the fans, the high I used to get meeting and talking to them. Now we can’t even sign autographs without dealing with the darker side of the fandom. So many of them are reaching out and trying to grab at us. It makes it harder to want to put myself in those situations.

As the women head off, Krista goes to the cash register to buy her books. I head down to help her because she’s gone overboard. All those books will be heavy. I almost offer to pay but she won’t appreciate it.

“My, aren’t you a tall drink of water?” the cashier says, looking at me.

Krista gives me an anxious look, but I smile politely, letting it roll off my back. She doesn’t mean it the way the other women who harass me do.

“You’re a lucky lady,” she says to Krista as I pick up her bag of books.

“Nah, I’m the lucky one,” I wink, earning a funny look from Krista. “Shall we head back?”

“Yeah, thanks so much,” Krista says to the cashier.

“Anytime, Krista. And please, next time you’re in town, let us know. We’d love to host a reading or signing.”

“I’ll get my assistant to contact you,” she smiles, then looks up at me.

With another smile at the cashier, I put my hand on Krista’s lower back, guiding her away, then open the door when we reach it. She doesn’t mention the woman’s insinuation we’re together, or me adding to it. And she doesn’t say anything about me touching her back. It wasn’t a conscious thing, it was almost instinctive.

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