Page 62 of Fire and Icing

“Well, I’ll be. You’re handsome and you can sing like you’re in the Grand Ole Opry. My Emberleigh sure hit the jackpot, didn’t she?”

“I guess so.”

Dustin looks a little uncomfortable, but only for a split second, and then he’s picking at the guitar, smiling and starting up another song. It’s upbeat, something you’d dance to on a barn floor.

Gran starts clapping her hands, and I figure this is my chance to slip past them, pour a glass of water and make my way back upstairs unnoticed.

I take one step down and it creaks. And not a little.

“Emberleigh?” Gran says.

“Yes?”

“Well, I thought you had retired for the night. Come on in here and listen to Dustin. He’s quite something on this guitar.”

“Okay. I’ll be right there. I just need a glass of water …”and a getaway car. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m good. Thank you for the offer.”

Dustin’s just strumming chords, waiting for us to finish talking. As I walk past the open doorway, his eyes lift and he smiles at me as he starts singing the next song.

I’m not a country music fan. Around here that’s nearly a misdemeanor. What can I say? I like Funk and R&B. Give me some old school disco any day. Country sounds like whining to me. Or howling. Or both. And it’s always songs about trucks and dogs and dirt roads and girls and beer. That’s not far off from what life can be like around here, but do we need to make a billion songs about it?I drove my pickup down the long dustyroad, my hound in the back, his name was Toad. Met my friends for a couple of beers, just like we’ve been doin’ for all these years.Something like that. I chuckle to myself. Maybe I ought to give Dustin those lines for free.

When I return to the living room, Dustin’s eyes are closed. He’s playing an old John Denver song about country roads. Dirt roads, country roads … same difference. I can’t say I hate this one. But it’s still too country for me.

Gran is mesmerized.

I take a seat on the sofa across from the two of them.

Dustin plays while Gran watches and I take in the two of them. He’s such a massive man, burly and strong, and yet, in the moment, he’s all softness and tenderness. I sold him short after my first impression. I’ll admit it.

He finishes the song and seems to almost come out of a trance, returning my gran’s warm smile and then glancing at me with his brows raised.

“Oh,” Gran says before I have a chance to open my mouth. “Emberleigh doesn’t like country music. Not even a little.”

“I like John Denver.”

“He’s not exactly country,” Gran says with a cluck of her tongue.

“What is he then?”

“Well,” Gran deliberates. “I don’t rightly know. But it’s not country.”

“The song is actually calledCountry Roads,” I say.

“Well just ’cause an animal’s got long ears, that don’t make him a jackrabbit. He’s not country, that’s all I know.”

“You don’t like country?” Dustin asks me.

“It’s not my favorite,” I admit.

“Hmmm.” He ponders my response.

“By not her favorite, she means she hates it more than a baby hates his first bite of creamed spinach.”

Dustin chuckles.

Then he surprises me. “Tell me one of your favorite songs.”

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