Page 91 of Goalie Interference

He froze.

“I’m a fully grown woman who’s been handling her own business for years. I do excellent work when I repair guitars, but it’s been a while since I made one. I don’t think it’s the best guitar ever assembled, but it’s not shit either. I just want feedback to know what’s good with what I’m doing, and what I can do better.”

His eyes moved over my face, checking my resolve. Then he nodded. “I’ll be nicely honest.”

“Don’t say something is good when it’s not. Other people who aren’t related to me aren’t going to worry about being nice.”

He cocked his head. “Have people been mean?”

“People are people. Some of them are assholes.”

“Don’t do business with the assholes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like you’re going to turn down superstars because they throw tantrums? It’s part of life and I can handle it. I’vebeenhandling it.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine. But if someone crosses the line, let me know.”

I tried to hold in a grin. “You gonna tell them off for me?”

“I’ve got influence. I can use it.”

He turned to go, but he hadn’t been joking. Damn it, I should have talked to Cash years ago. Sure, he felt protective, but he could have opened doors for me. I was good. Getting more people to notice that was how to make a success of my business. And maybe, in the future, Diane’s.

I’d been upset with Cash and my dad for ignoring what I did. With my dad, that was warranted. But I hadn’t said anything to Cash out of fear. If I was the badass luthier I was claiming to be, I had to get past that. And I would.

Surprisingly, I slept fine the night before Cash was coming with me to String Theory. The guitar I was making wasn’t perfect and he’d have comments, but I wanted to learn. And for someone who hadn’t done this for years, and never seriously, it was actually not bad. I was believing my own hype.

We parked in the empty lot. The restaurant and spa were still closed at this time of day.

“Cash!” Diane smiled when we came through the door.

“Diane!” He pulled her into a hug.

“It’s been too long.” She embraced him tightly.

“We barely said hello at Christams. Why haven’t we kept in touch?”

Diane stepped back. “Because you’re too famous now?”

Cash laughed. “I’m busy and should probably cut back on my work hours.”

“Like you will,” I muttered.

He shot me a look. “But I came to see Sophie’s guitar. She’s made me promise to be honest.”

Diane headed toward the workroom. “She’s right. If she doesn’t get good feedback, she can’t improve. But don’t worry, she’s doing an excellent job.”

Diane was biased, but she also hadn’t built up her business by flattery. We’d talked about my guitar, and I knew the things I’d done that were different from how she would do it. That was fine. I wasn’t trying to replicate her work but instead find my own way.

I brought it out and handed it to Cash. I didn’t need to worry about his handling of it.

He took his time, looking at every detail. “You went with a linear dovetail?”

“Diane likes the traditional, but I wanted to try this instead.”

“And you chose sapele, not rosewood or mahogany?”

“I liked that the sapele is sustainable. It has sharper high-end sound, and I love the red striping in the wood.”

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