Page 96 of Sweet Escape

A photo of her and Murphy on the first night she came to town.

And then there’s one I always look at for longer than I’d like to admit. The one of her legs stretched out in front of her, sunset over the vines in the distance, and me, seated on the edge of the porch with my legs dangling over the side.

It’s an innocuous photo. There isn’t really anything special about it. Except for the fact that we were together, and I often wonder what it was that she saw when she took it. Why she posted this one and not one of the many others she captured that evening.

I feel like an idiot checking her social media, trying to find deeper meaning in a simple photo.

She told me it wasn’t worth it to try.

She told me that she wanted to go home, to her life.

To the things that matter.

That should be enough for me to let her go.

It should be.

God, it really should be.

So I click into her story one last time, watching the quick video of her cat rubbing up on the corner of her couch, and then the video of her singing into a microphone in one of those fancy recording studios.

And then I close it out, promising myself it’s the last time.

Chapter Twenty

Vivian

I tuck my phone against my shoulder to listen to my voicemail while I scan my items through the checkout at the grocery store.

“Hey, Vivian, this is Gigi Wright. I was the announcer at the open mic night last month at The Standard?”

I pause, holding a bottle of wine over the scanner, surprise rolling through me at the idea I’m getting a phone call from Gigi. I try to remember when I might have given her my phone number.

“I hope you’re doing well, sweetheart. I remembered you talking to Errol after your performance, and when I asked him he said you’re pretty good friends with Murphy Hawthorne. Well, I saw her at Rosewood Roasters a few days ago and asked her for your number, because I’ve been reaching out to all the open mic performers over the past few months. Would you be interested in performing at our Fall Festival?”

My head jerks back in surprise, and I almost drop my phone. What?

“Originally, we had this band scheduled to perform. It’s Shane Eldridge’s son, Spencer, who is a really great country singer. You know, he went to LA once to perform on thatX Factorshow on TV?”

I glance around, confused about who Shane and Spencer are and thankful that there’s nobody else in line to use the self-checkoutmachines. I seem to be really struggling to follow this voicemail and handle my groceries at the same time.

“Well, anyway, he broke his arm last week in some accident involving a horse drag race? I’m not really sure. I try not to ask too many questions. Anyway, he’s not going to be able to perform on Saturday night, and I came up with the idea that we could do a big open mic night with some of our best performers over the past few months, and I just knew I needed to reach out to you and invite you to perform, if you’re interested.”

There’s a brief pause, and I wonder if she ended the message without saying goodbye, but then she starts speaking again.

“Oh, and one other thing. I completely understand that you don’t live in town. Murphy said you’re in LA, but I figured I’d let you know that each of the performers will get a fifty-dollar stipend and a coupon to get a cinnamon and sugar pretzel at the festival. You know, just in case that sways you at all. Okay, dear. Give me a call back. Hope you’re well. Bye now.”

I chuck my phone into my purse and then swipe my card to pay for my order. When I finally make my way out of the little market around the corner from my condo, my mind is retracing over everything she said.

A part of me wants to say yes to Gigi’s request. The idea of playing a few songs at a Fall Festival in the middle of wine country sounds incredible. All the wine and pumpkins and fall festivities, not to mention the excitement of being onstage.

That’s not the real reason.

I sigh as I dig around for my keys, trying to ignore the voice in my head that’s telling me I’m only interested because it means I might see Memphis again.

But unlike many of the other days when I’ve dismissed my thoughts, today it’s not so easy.

I miss him. More than I thought I would. More than I want to.

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