Page 98 of Sweet Escape

“I think he misses you, though,” she added.

I laughed, shaking my head, surprised at how her words filled my heart with joy.

“Nah, he just misses the sex.”

Murphy gagged, and we both laughed and moved on.

But her words stayed with me all night.

He misses you.

Once Jonas has had a chance to listen to the updated version, he gives me a call.

“It’s perfect,” he says, his voice coming in loud through the speaker on my phone. “Thanks for sending it over, Richie. Go ahead and wrap that. That’s the final version.”

Richie starts to press buttons on the soundboard. “Sounds good, boss.”

I take Jonas off speaker and step out of the studio, heading into the hallway as I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey, before you go, can I ask a quick question?”

“Shoot.”

Licking my lips, I debate with myself again, not even really sure why I’m asking, but still compelled to. Still wanting to know for sure.

“There’s this Fall Festival. It’s up in Rosewood, that place I went to write last month?” I push through the door that leads out to a long hallway, then rest my back against the wall. “How would you feel if I went up there and performed a few songs? Maybe got a little more inspiration?”

Jonas’s response is quick.

“You know how the label feels about performances before an album releases,” he says. “The official position is always going to be no.”

I nod, though he can’t see me. I knew that was going to be the answer. It’s one of those realities you face when you sign with a label. Not everything is up to you anymore.

But part of me still needed to hear it. Still wanted confirmation.

Just on the off chance ...

“But listen,” Jonas continues, interrupting my thoughts. “Todd made it abundantly clear that visiting that town is what fueled you to create some of this new music that is just ... so fucking good. And the reality of any hard-and-fast rule is that there arealwaysexceptions, no matter what anyone says.”

I swallow thickly, my lips parting a bit as I listen.

“So consider this my personal permission—no, myencouragement—for you to go back to that town and perform your little heart out.”

My head falls back and thuds gently against the wall behind me as surprise fills me.

“Whatever muse of yours they’ve got hidden away in wine country up there”—he chuckles—“go back and let it speak to you.”

He says a few more things before we get off the phone, and I sink down to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees.

I don’t even know why I asked.

I mean, it was a pointless question.

Of course I’m not going to go.

What real purpose could it serve?

You know why you asked. You want to see Memphis again.

I roll my eyes and go back inside to talk to Richie and make sure we’re wrapped for the day before heading home.

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