Page 7 of Movers and Shakers

In my midnight social media doomscrolling, I saw some weren’t happy. They missed my old stuff.

But then Mia showed me the records I was breaking, which shut me up.

However, the doubt always continued. No matter what I did, someone was always disappointed in me.

The man standing before me was different than the company I’d kept over the last few years. He’d turned down the money and askedmea question. This was a clean slate, someone I didn’t know yet, and it was exciting.

That must have been why I answered.

“I was supposed to be seen with Blaze and I couldn’t do it.”

“Blaze, huh? What did he do to you this time?”

“How do you know he did anything to me before?”

“You try to be subtle in your dissatisfaction with him, but it’s a little like a sledgehammer to those who listen enough.”

“So you’ve heard my songs?” I asked, heart skipping a beat again.

“Every word.” His voice was soft. “So, tell me, what did he do?”

“He lost focus,” I said, eyes closing as I remembered that waitress. “I don’t know if I can talk about it.”

Not without a nondisclosure agreement at least, and I didn’t know how to bring that up to a man I didn’t know. Usually, Mia handled that.

Through the door, I heard people searching for me, calling my name. Blaze had joined in, his voice the loudest. They must have been in the alley.

I closed my eyes. I could see the pictures of him valiantly searching for me. It was as vivid as his lips on another woman’s.

“You’re safe here. They don’t know where you are.”

The words soothed me more than I could let on. “S-so, where am I? What’s this safe place called?”

“A bar. It’s called Movers and Shakers.”

“One of those legendary country bars I hear Nashville has?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“What else is there here?”

“Nashville’s a city of music. All kinds of music. I showcase it all. Plus the occasional dance night.”

“You dance?”

“Not really,” he said.

I could picture him twirling a woman around a dance floor—one who’d managed to snag his attention.

“What about with the right person?”

“Are you offering?” he asked slowly.

“Oh, no. I’m exhausted from my show. I mean someone who’s not . . . me.”

“Maybe.”

“Then I hope you meet her soon.”

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