Page 93 of A Country Kind Of Love
“Can we stand at the back, please? I don’t want to distract her.”
Jesse nods. They grab two cold beers and situate themselves at the back of the room. There’s a dark corner and about ten ginormous men between her and the stage. Depending on how she positions her head, Peyton can bob and weave her way into more favoured positions as and when she pleases while remaining safely hidden fromCleo’s view.
“Do they seem cosy to you?” she yells inJesse’s ear.
He shakes his head.
“Do you think they’re dating?”
He shrugs.
“Do you think she’s Cleo’s type?”
Jesse shrugs again.
“Do you...”
Jesse brings his hand down on top of Peyton’s. His smile is fake. “Peyton, stop.”
“Sorry,” she mouths. She can talk too much when she’s nervous.
For the next twenty minutes she ducks behind her glass every time Cleo looks in their direction. A pint glass isn’t the most illustrious disguise. She finds the fault with it when she’s due a refill, but it’s either that or she drops to the floor like she’s doing intermittent burpees, and she doesn’t have the energy for that.
Peyton figures if she stays inconspicuous she still has the option of leaving, and she isn’t about to rule that out. There’s a giant brown sign with the bars name directly behind Cleo’s head; Peyton traces the barbed wire art around the edge of the sign with her eyes. Her vision blurs; the combination of lights and what she would categorise as a daydream send her into a daze. The wall on her left is covered by a giant portrait of The Highwaymen. It looks as though Willie Nelson is smiling at her.
Peyton.
“Peyton... Peyton...”Jesse yells.
She shakes her head. “Sorry.”
“Cleo’s set is finished. Shall we go over?”Jesse asks.
Shit.
“Erm...”
She can feel all seven pulse points on her body vibrating. She learnt all about the human structure and function in her anatomy and physiology class back in high school. They failed to prepare her for the chest-crushing, life-ruining, helpless feeling of falling in love.
There really should be a test. It’s a bit like being sprayed in the face with pepper spray; you have to experience it to understand how it feels, and to make god damn sure you don’t let it happen to you again. The police seem to think it’s a vital part of the training academy. Peyton thinks there should be a similar test for students. Maybe not pepper spray—she can revisit that theory later.
There needs to be a giant warning sign, like the man being electrocuted in the yellow triangle. It should read,Danger of Death—Don’t fall in Love. Perhaps she’s being dramatic, but nobody prepares you for this.
Cleo walked into her life, and suddenly she’s the reason Peyton gets up in the morning. She’s the reason Peyton writes romantic songs. She’s the reason Peyton dreams of a life that once seemed so out of reach. She’s spent the past month serving coffee and daydreaming. She pictures Cleo at Thanksgiving, birthday parties, on family vacations, and most importantly, she pictures her beside her on stage battling through the murky waters of the music industry.
Side by side.
She’s in deep.This is bad.
“Just go and speak to her,” Jesse urges. He gives her a polite nudgeon the back.
Cleo chats with a girl by the stage; there’s a group of college students all dressed in Vanderbilt trademarked clothing waiting for Cleo to take a picture with them. One of them removes a black marker pen from her bag and asks her to sign her grey sweatshirt. It’s heart-warming. Cleo handles the interactionswith grace.
She looks up once, but she doesn’t register Peyton. She looks again, and her mouth curls just enough to make Peyton feel marginally less nervous. She excuses herself; the college girls scowl. They are displeased not being at the centre of Cleo’s attention.
Peyton still can’t fathom how Cleo looks as good as she does. She’s rushed from venue to venue, been caught in the rain, and had to change into a creased sweatshirt that looks like it’s been stuffed in the trunk of her car for months. The wet hair only makes her more attractive. Peyton’s hair would be so frizzy that no detangle brush on earth would cure it, but Cleo looks like she’s done it on purpose. She has a sun-kissed look going on, even though it’s the middle of winter—Peyton’s in awe.
“Hi,” Peyton croaks.
