Page 90 of Sweet Escape

“I hear you’ve been writing some pretty incredible stuff,” Jonas says, leaning up against the soundboard, his arms crossed. “I’m looking forward to hearing it.”

“I shared a few of your recordings with Jonas,” Todd interjects. “Had to make sure he knew that you were really up to something special on your trip.”

“I’m really, really happy with what came out of this trip, and I think it will be well worth it,” I say to both of them.

Jonas nods but doesn’t look entirely convinced, though I think as the head of A & R, it’s his job to be skeptical until he hears proof that the music is worth the hype. Todd, on the other hand, looks like a proud father, which helps alleviate some of the pressure.

I get out my guitar and start strumming, warming up and humming the melody as Richie messes with the soundboard.

“You know what?” Todd says, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “We talked about recording ‘Sharp Heart’ today, but why don’t you play one of the new tracks. I have a really good feeling about this new stuff. Jonas, I’d like you to hear at least one full song before we get started. What was the one you sent to me?”

“‘Sweet Escape,’” I tell him, my fingers fluttering across the strings.

It’s the one song I didn’t practice last night, of course. My emotions felt too raw to relive my performance at The Standard, so I’d skipped over it.

They still feel that way now. But as I begin the opening chords, the melody flows out of me. It’s almost effortless, the way my fingers move. The way my memory recalls the lyrics and how my voice rolls over the tune.

Easy. Natural.

The welling of emotion in my chest that I felt as I wrote it, with each change I made until everything was perfect.

And by the time I finish, I’m on the verge of tears, singing about finding something special, finding belonging, in a place I hadn’t expected.

I finally look at Todd when I’m done, and a thrill races through me at the smile on his face. Jonas sits with his arms crossed, one eyebrow lifted high on his forehead.

“Well, fuck. I don’t know where you’ve been for the past few weeks, but you are free to head back any time if it’s going to bring us something like that.”

At Jonas’s reaction, Todd claps and says something to Richie, and then we’re moving, all of us, getting me set up with the mics behind the glass.

There are only two things on my mind.

Holy shit, it’s really happening.

And, surprisingly . . .

How much I wish I could share this with Memphis.

Chapter Nineteen

Memphis

When I pull on the door to enter the restaurant, it doesn’t budge. I peer through the tinted glass, taking in the fact that the lights are off and the chairs are upside down, resting on the tops of tables.

Which is when I realize ... we’re not open on Mondays.

I stand outside, my hands on my hips, unsure of what to do. The autumn sun warms my cool skin.

I’ve been losing myself in work over the past two weeks, waking at oh-dark-thirty each morning and joining the harvest crew to cut bunches of grapes. It’s physically demanding, and the manual labor is a great stand-in for the workouts I’ve been struggling to fit into my routine. The work also keeps me just on the edge of fatigue and doesn’t allow my mind to wander too much.

An appreciated exhaustion, because I know exactly where it would wander off to if it could. Or I guess ...whoit would wander off to.

After the morning work and then a few hours at my desk, I typically swing by the restaurant to finish out the day, even though it’s becoming increasingly clear how superfluous my presence there is. But if I don’t go, I don’t know what to do with my time, an embarrassing reality that I face as I stand in front of a closed restaurant, trying to decide how to spend my suddenly free Monday evening.

Ultimately, I head back to the house. Family dinner is in full swing, so I dip into the kitchen, planning to grab a bowl of the cheesy pasta on the island and hide away in my office.

“Memphis!”

I groan internally, turning toward where my aunt is sitting at one of the tables out on the patio with some of the crew.

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