She’d just started to strum the chords to the old hymn “I’ll Fly Away” when someone in the back said, “Play your songs again!”
And so, not knowing what else to do, she had—one right after the other. And everyone seemed to like them even better the second time around. Some people even sang along with the choruses.
Now, perched comfortably on a barstool, AnnieLee wasn’t sure if she was glad her set was over or if she wanted to run back onstage and do it all over again.
Billy held out a menu to her, but she waved it away. She couldn’t very well admit that she didn’t have enough money to pay for dinner. She wanted to be remembered for her performance, not her poverty. Besides, she had granola bars and gorp in her backpack, so she wasn’t going to starve.
Not yet, anyway.
“Suit yourself,” Billy said amiably.
“They make a good burger here, you know,” came a new voice. “Of course, it’s cat meat.”
AnnieLee swiveled around on her stool and saw a man in a denim shirt and faded blue jeans smiling at her. He was dark-haired and coal-eyed and as long-legged as a young Johnny Cash, and her heart gave a little skip in her chest. He had just about the nicest face she’d ever seen.
“I’m kidding. I hope that’s obvious.” He held out his hand. “I’m Ethan Blake,” he said. “I’m a big fan.”
She drew in a slow and deliberate breath. She’d die a thousand deaths before she’d let him see that he’d flustered her. “Are you, now?” she asked.
His smile got wider, and a dimple appeared in each lightly stubbled cheek. “Yes,” he said. “I’m really a fan, and my name is really Ethan.” He gestured to the empty seat next to her. “Do you mind if I join you?”
She gazed down into her drink; the ice cubes had all but melted. “Suit yourself,” she said.
“Can I buy you a beer?” he asked. “Or a glass of wine, or a carton of milk?”
She bit back a smile as she stirred the club soda with her straw. “No, thank you.”
“You were really something, though,” he said. “You wrote those songs?”
That made her look over at him again, and this time there was fire in her eyes. “Of course I did. Does that surprise you, Ethan Blake? Do you think I look too young to write them? Too meek? Too female?”
He held up a hand. “No, no, not at all. Sorry. I’m just trying to make conversation.”
AnnieLee scooted her stool a few inches away from him. The last thing she needed was a man hitting on her; it didn’t matter one bit how handsome he was. “Well, I don’t generally talk to strangers,” she said.
“Okay, I get it,” he said, and he sounded good-natured as opposed to defensive. “That’s totally fair. But Nashville’s a small town, and maybe someday we’ll be friends.”
“I doubt it,” she said.
He put a twenty down on the bar and called, “See if you can buy her a drink for me, will you, Billy? She did good up there.”
Then he walked away. AnnieLee watched him go, prepared to look the other direction if he turned back around. But he didn’t. He just picked up that same old bar guitar and started heading toward the stage.
Her stomach gave a terrible lurch. Keyes, you utter fool, she thought. You were rude to the next act.
Chapter
8
AnnieLee grabbed her coat and ducked out of the bar before Ethan Blake started to play. If he was bad, she didn’t want to hear him. And if he was good—well, she didn’t want to know. No sense kicking herself all night for being snotty to the next Luke Combs. She’d been kicked enough already.
Outside the air was cool and the street empty and quiet. Lower Broadway, Nashville’s honky-tonk hotbed, was just a few blocks to the southeast. But from where she stood, AnnieLee could hear nothing but the electric hum of a streetlight and the whir of a police siren far in the distance.
After glancing around to make sure that she was alone on the block, AnnieLee hunched up her shoulders and started walking. The early spring breeze was chilly and her shirt was still damp with sweat. She walked quickly, alertly, occasionally stopping to look behind her, wary as a rabbit in a wide-open field.
But no one was following her. She slipped along the streets, beneath flowering crab apples whose blossoms seemed to glow in the darkness. She turned one corner, then another, heading for the water.
Along the Cumberland River, which snaked its way around and through Nashville, lay a narrow strip of a park that AnnieLee had called home for two nights now. She’d slept in better places, that was for sure. But she’d also slept in worse.