Page 141 of Forever To Me

I haven’t been this keyed up in a long time. I’m so excited about all of this. My mind whirls and buzzes with energy. I don’t want to sit around and wait on this. I know exactly who I can talk to more about this.

Will picks up on the second ring.

“You got five minutes, Walker,” he says. "I’m about to walk into a meeting with Royce Records where I have to pretend to be nice, smile like I don’t want to strangle someone, and resist the urge to flip a table."

I smirk. “I’ll make it quick. I'm starting my own label.”

Dead silence. Then, “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me. I’m done watching Royce screw people over. I want something better. Something fair.”

I expect him to call me crazy. Hell, I half expect myself to call me crazy. But the second I say it out loud, it clicks. This isn’t just an idea. It’s a damn good one.

Will exhales. “Well, shit. I can’t even make fun of you because that’s a damn good idea.”

“You can still make fun of me. I know you want to.”

“Oh, I will. Later.” He pauses. “How's Rip Heeler doing?”

I grin. “He's living the dream, chasing goats. Thanks again for that, Maren."

"Alright, so remember when I asked you for a favor for that?" he says.

"Yes," I say hesitantly.

"What if I kick this meeting, and we sign my artist to your future label? Sure would like to deal with you and not Royce ever again."

I grip the back of my neck. “That’s exactly why I want to do this.”

Will hums. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that you’re madly in love with Violet Wilson?”

I scowl. “That's...”

He sounds amused as hell. “Because last time I checked, you were a grumpy bastard, and now you’re out here playing ‘Love Me Tender’ on your guitar like a damn fool.”

I sigh. “Are you done?”

Will laughs. “Oh, I’m not even close to being done. But just know that the next time we talk, I’m bringing popcorn to watch you trip all over yourself for this woman.”

I should deny it. I should roll my eyes. But instead, I just smirk and say, “I already fell, Maren.”

And I don’t want to get back up. I'm a goner for Violet Wilson.

Violet paces back and forth like a caged animal, mumbling song lyrics under her breath while clutching her guitar like it might strangle her if she lets go.

We’re only a week out from the county fair, and tomorrow night is her practice run at the Black Dog. But with every passing hour, her nerves grow.

I lean back against the couch, arms crossed, watching her and wondering when she’ll wear herself out.

She’s doing that thing again, winding herself up until she’s ready to combust. And damn, if it isn’t kind of adorable. She chews on her bottom lip and mutters under her breath like she’s trying to bargain with the universe. I should let her burn off some of this nervous energy, but if I don’t step in, she’s liable to wear a hole through my damn floor.

“Red.”

No response.

“Violet.”

Still nothing. She’s muttering to herself now, something about forgetting chords and making a fool of herself.

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