Page 9 of No More Love Songs

CHAPTER THREE

SKYLAR

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I end up sleeping forover an hour. By the time I wake up, Kit and Grayson are nowhere to be seen. I’m tempted to go have a listen to what they recorded while I was passed out, but I know Gray hates when I mess with his equipment about as much as I hate when he messes with my lyrics, so I practice restraint and make my way upstairs.

As expected, I find both of them camped out in the kitchen with two cups of coffee and a box of fresh donuts sitting open between them on the table.

“You guys made a donut run while I was sleeping?” I ask, suddenly not so sure there was much to listen to after all.

“Brice went,” Grayson says in a tone that suggests he knew exactly what I was thinking. “We only barely made it up here before you did.”

“I tripped over a cord leaving the room,” Kit adds apologetically. “That’s probably what woke you.”

Between the unshaven face and the shoulder-length hair tucked haphazardly under his baseball cap, the worn tee, covered by an equally weathered flannel paired with ripped jeans and scuffed up boots, Kit’s rugged exterior has a definite ‘rough around the edges’ vibe about it. Judging by the deep, raspy voice, within isn’t much different. But there’s also no denying the southern charm that quietly simmers beneath the surface in true country boy fashion. It’s most endearing this way, the subtle vibe versus the oozing sort most men I meet like to leave in slimy trails everywhere they tread. I love country music, but I wholeheartedly blame the industry for ruining the cowboy and turning a way of living into a trend few can live up to.

“Well, in that case, thank you for tripping,” I tell him as I make my way to the coffee maker smirking at Grayson as I go. “I was only taking that nap so Gray would let me have another cup of joe.” I pull the largest mug from the cupboard and fix it just right before I join them at the table. “So, what did I miss?” I pull a chocolate cake donut drizzled in chocolate icing from the box and turn toward Kit. “How do you feel about the song?”

Kit’s lip curls ever so slightly at the corner before he sets down the cup he was drinking from when I sat down. “Am I meant to have feelings about it? I thought it was your feelings I was hired to cater to here.”

“I do like that in my musicians,” I agree. “But if we’re going to make magic together your soul has to be in it when you play. Is your soul in it?”

He holds my gaze a moment and this time both corners of his mouth reach up in a notable smile. “You know, I can’t say I’ve ever recorded music for someone like you before.”

“I notice that was vague enough to be either insulting or complimentary, so I’m going to accept it as the latter,” I grin back at him. “There’s no need to stall if you don’t like the song. I’m a big girl, Kit. I can take it. Chances are the studio’s gonna hate the whole damn album, so one song really isn’t much to cry about it in the grand scheme of things.”

“I like the song just fine,” he says slowly. “Just wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Because it’s not a love song,” I say flatly. If I’m honest, I was hoping this would come up. The more often I get to make this argument, the more ready I’ll be when it counts. With the label. The press. The critics. My peers.

My fans are the only ones I’m not worried about. I think they’re craving this change as much as I am.

“Because it’s a bit shallow,” he counters.

“Shallow?” That was unexpected.

“Yeah.” He nods, for the first time looking a little uncomfortable. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pretty sounding melody and the lyrics are catchy, but there’s no heart in it.”

“Right.” So it is the love song argument. “Well, maybe my heart just doesn’t want to be out there anymore.” It comes out snippier than I mean it to.

“She’s giving up love songs,” Grayson covers for my little outburst. “Her manager isn’t supporting her choice and she’s just the first one to find out about it.”

I watch Kit’s face closely for some sort of a reaction, but if he finds this news surprising, he’s not showing it.

“Hey, it’s your art, right?” he says instead. “If anyone should get to decide what it sounds like, it’s you.”

“Exactly!” I may have to find other jobs to hire Kit for. Having him around from now until everyone is convinced I’m not destroying my career could go a long way in keeping me strong in my convictions. Not that I can be pressured into doing something I don’t want to anymore, but even I’m not immune to self-doubt and berating myself for making choices the rest of the world currently deems idiotic. “Thank you. I really appreciate you seeing my side of this.”

He does a sort of undecided nod before he stops showing signs of agreeing with me all together. “I do. And I think every artist should have room to stretch and grow beyond their comfort zone.”

“But?” I can hear a tactful criticism when it’s coming.

“But I don’t think this new material has your voice in it yet.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I turn to my producer. “Grayson? Do you think that too?”

Gray gives me the deer in the headlight look over the rim of his coffee cup and I know he could see this moment coming. “I think I probably know you well enough to hear your voice in everything you do,” he says, ever the diplomat. “But I can see where Kit’s coming from. Your old work lives and breathes with you and that’s how people receive it. They can feel every note you sing on a soul level because that’s where it’s born. This new stuff, it’s still coming from your head.” He takes a moment to see if I’ll respond, when I don’t, he goes on, “Which is totally normal. This is all completely new to you. You have to get acquainted with this new music, this new life you’re trying to bring into the world. You’ll do it though. We both know you will.”

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