Page 8 of Off the Record

“I’m happy with what I ordered, thanks,” I say without looking at him.

He put his hand up. “Alright, alright. You wanna dance, lil lady?”

Good grief. No, I don’t want to dance. What I want is a fully written article to fall in my lap. Or even just an idea for one. I’ll happily do the work if I can just get inspired.

Besides, his smell will probably rub off on me.

He clears his throat.

“Not tonight,” I tell him without looking, taking a sip of my extra lemony soda water.

The guy huffs in irritation and leaves.

“Good riddance,” the bartender says.

I shake my head, giving her a commiserating smile. “What happened to that man to make him think any of that was a good idea? Yes, great job. I’m definitely going to fall into your arms now that you called my drink boring.”

The bartender leans against the counter, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders. “Once I had a guy tell me he could fix my tattoo if I ever wanted to stop by his shop, like he was doing me a massive favor.” She holds out her wrist to show me a vine snaking around it like a bracelet. “Not sure when insulting my skin became a pickup line.”

I cringe. “I bet you see all sorts in here.”

“I could write a book.” She grins, showing me a set of straight teeth.

My brain snags there. She could probably write anarticle, too. “I’m Paisley,” I tell her, reaching over the bar to shake her hand.

She returns it with a firm grip. “Tina.”

I nod toward Simone. “I’m waiting here in case I need to step in and save my friend from a terrible Tinder date. I’m supposed to be writing an article about an interesting historical figure in Nashville, but I’d rather write about this place.”

“Start your recorder,” Tina jokes. “I can fill your article with horror stories.”

My spine straightens. This isn’t what Hudson had in mind, but it would be far more engaging than a museum every local has been to on a fourth-grade field trip. My mom has always been the type to get lost in conversations with complete strangers, and I think I inherited that trait from her.Everyone has a story, she would say by way of excuse when my siblings or I would complain about having to wait for her to finish chatting with the supermarket checkout attendant or the man pumping gas beside us.If we sit and listen, we’ll learn something new. She was right, as always, but I’d never understood that when I was younger.

My phone buzzes, so I swipe it open to find a message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number

Making any progress?

On what, exactly? I exit the message and return to my notes. “Have you had any notable figures play here?” I ask, gesturing to the stage and the band currently playing a song that a third of the room is line dancing to.

“Oh, loads,” she says, wiping wet rings from the counter with a rag. “A few years ago, Carolina Blue was one of our regulars before they got signed. They actually—” Someone down the way gestures for her attention, and Tina shoots me an apologetic look. “Be right back.”

The next hour follows the same pattern. Tina starts telling me something interesting, we get interrupted, she fills glasses for other people, then returns to finish her story. Over the course of the hour, despite the constant disruptions, I have enough notes about different bands and patrons to fill a column for the rest of the year.

Simone’s date convinced her to dance with him, so they’re long gone. My phone has buzzed twice more with texts fromthe unknown number that I haven’t bothered to check, but my mind is swirling with ways to make this bar into my next human interest piece.

“Can I get your number?” I ask Tina after she returns from filling a tray of shot glasses. “Just in case I have any follow up questions.”

“Sure.” She rattles it off, and I pull up my messages to send her a quick text in case she thinks of anything she wants to add later. When I swipe out of her message thread, the unknown number catches my eye.

Unknown Number

I realize it’s only been a day.

This is Hudson Owens, by the way.

My stomach swoops clear to the floor and back. When he mentioned being willing to workshop ideas with me, I thought he meant his door is always open in that way people had of offering things they don’t expect you to take them up on. This active checking in with me is so unexpected I just stare at my screen.

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