I open my eyes, and he hangs his head, sighing dramatically. But he doesn’t remove his hand right away. And I don’t want him to.
“Garth? Seriously?”
“Well, come on,” I say. “There’s no way I’m going to guess. I’ve only known you, like, five minutes!”
“You’re right,” he says, removing his hand and straightening an imaginary bow tie. “Hello, Miss Barrett. My name is Kai. Kai Chandler. It’s nice to meet you.”
He holds a hand out, and I shake it. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Really nice.
“So I hate to burst your bubble with that last guess,” he says, lowering his voice, “but I don’t really love country music.”
I pause. “Um, bubble burst.”
He smiles. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, I love your stuff—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, taking a drink of pink lemonade and looking away.
“No, really,” he says. He touches my arm again. I look back at him. “You don’t understand. What I meant is that while country music is okay, this is just a job for me. If I’m in my car jamming out or something, I prefer to listen to indie bands, like Bedlum or Zane and Cass, you know?”
I shake my head. “Who?”
He nods, almost as if expecting that. “They’re small bands out of New York and LA. Do you know Hard Break for Bugsy at least?”
I shake my head again, feeling like things are going downhill. “I listen to everything, though,” I say. “I try to keep my mind open to all kinds of music, so I’ll definitely check them out.”
“Cool, cool. Electropop is kind of the thing now, making its way into a lot of indie stuff.” He shrugs. “I’m not loving the fad since mainstreamers grab on to anything that’s easy to imitate, but I do like it mixed with honest lyrics. Weighs down the pop part. I like music with depth, you know? Soul.”
I nod, not understanding one hundred percent what he means but able to agree that every song I write needs to have a little piece of my soul woven in.
“The melancholy of ‘Emma’s Watercolors,’ for example.” He looks over my shoulder, almost far away. I feel both moved by his passion for music and lost at the same time because I don’t know these groups. He looks at me and says, quite frankly, “I cried the first time I heard it.”
My face must register my surprise. No guy I know would admit to that.
He grins. “Like a baby.”
I look down at my plate, completely wowed by this boy. He’s into music, he’s beautiful, he’s fit but not macho, he’s… perfect.
I notice the tables around us starting to thin out and check my phone. I need to go back to my dressing room to get ready for the show tonight, but I don’t want to leave, at least not on such a deep note.
“You know,” I say, looking up and leaning in conspiratorially, “the first time I heard Jolene Taylor sing ‘Pink Pumps and Purses,’ I cried, too.”
He is so surprised that he guffaws, drawing the attention of a few guys nearby.
“Because you liked it so much?” he asks, playing along.
I shake my head mischievously.
“Because you hated it?” he whispers.
I nod.
He leans in close, our faces inches apart. The lines of his nose and cheekbones are so straight and perfect, his jawline hard, like it’s etched in stone. He is the definition of handsome.
“You know, I’ve worked a lot of shows, and I could tell you things you’d never believe. But Jolene?” He glances over his shoulder. “Oh man, she’s the biggest diva I’ve ever seen. She brings her own Pilates studio with her on tour and demands that everything in her dressing room be pink, even the yogurt and vitaminwater stocked in her minifridge.” He glances around again before going on. “And get this: There was this lighting tech that got fired a few weeks ago because Jolene thought the lights made her look older than she is.”
“Are you serious?” I whisper, totally stunned.
He nods dramatically. “But you can’t tell a soul, or I could get fired, too.”
“My lips are sealed,” I say, zipping them up.
“Well, you’ll probably need those tonight for your show,” he answers, barely touching the corner of my mouth when he “unzips” my lips. It takes everything I’ve got to keep my composure. “Just keep it confidential.”
He gathers his trash, and I do the same, snapping out of it. I follow him to the bins, admiring his lean, hard build. I am shaken up. Worked up. Cannot wait to get out on that stage and let loose, give these feelings an outlet.
We walk down the corridor side by side, quiet. A few paces before my dressing room, he touches my arm again. This boy and those hands…
“I really love ‘Before Music’ by the way,” he says. “It’s so honest. It’s my favorite part of the show.”
I feel warm all over. “Thank you, Kai.”
“Break a leg,” he says, heading toward the stage. I watch him go, dazed, feeling like maybe I just dreamed the last half hour. But I can still feel his warmth on my forearm, and I know that we had a connection. I smile, floating into my dressing room on a cloud.
6
“BIRD, YOU WERE even better tonight!” Stella says the minute I step offstage. “I didn’t think that was possible, but you were amazing.”
“You do wonders for my self-esteem, Stel.” I give her a giant hug, and as the band files past, I spin her so that she’s looking in Kai’s direction and say softly, “Look at the boy behind me and get ready for details later.”
“Which one?” she asks. “It’s dark.”
“Okay, okay, never mind, then,” I say, pulling away. The last thing I need is to be caught drooling over a boy… by the boy.
She squeezes my hand, eyes wide. “You vixen. What have you been up to?”
I don’t leave out a single detail once we’re safely in my dressing room.
“So how hot is he, exactly?” she asks.
“Really hot.”
“Is he taller than you?”
“My height. Shorter if I’m in heels.”
“Fine. So you become a sandals girl. Although the cowboy boots might be a problem.” Her eyes light up. “Oh! Was there ever, like, that sudden, quiet almost-kiss moment?”
I laugh out loud. “Stella, it was just one conversation! It was only half an hour or something.”
“Great romances have started in less time.”
There is a knock at the door, and I glance at the time on my phone. Jolene’s set starts soon. We leave for LA tomorrow, so I’m sure my glam team is ready to pack up and punch out.
“Hey, guys, sorry—” I say as I open the door. But I am completely shocked to see that the person standing outside is none other than Kai himself, looking adorably nervous with something in his hand.
“Bird. Hey.”
“Kai!” I say. In my peripheral, I see Stella bolt to attention. “Hey.”
“Sorry, I know this is totally out of the blue,” he says with a sideways grin. “And I don’t have a lot of time before I have to get back out there for Jolene’s set, but I uploaded a few tracks for you after dinner. That song ‘Emma’s Watercolors’ is on there and some of the other bands I was talking about before.”
“Oh, wow!” I say, taking the flash drive from his hand. “That’s so nice.”
“It was no big deal.”
“Thank you. Really.”
“Sure.”
Pause.
Pause.
I can’t think of anything else to say. He rocks back on his black boots and glances over his shoulder as a couple of guys from the crew pass, but they’re walking in the opposite direction of the stage, so we still have some time.
Pause.
Should I invite him in? Or is that weird? Kai’s so good-looking that I feel self-conscious around him, like I don’t know what to do or like I might say something stupid.
Then, Stella clears her throat dramatically, snapping me to my senses. “This is my best friend, Stella,” I say, loo
king at her with immense gratitude as I step back into my dressing room and gesture for him to follow. “Stella, this is Kai. He works lights for the show.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says, standing up and offering her hand.
“You too,” Kai says as they shake. I slip the flash drive into my purse and turn back to him as he takes it all in. I try to see it from his eyes: the clothing rack full of more wardrobe options than I’ll ever possibly need, the big mirror with a few pictures of me with my family and Stella tucked into the frame, the rows of shoes and accessories, all the makeup, the hot irons and hairbrushes. I realize I must look very high maintenance.
“If I didn’t know better,” Kai says, “I’d say you were kind of a big deal.”
“It’s crazy,” I say, waving it away.
Pause.
“So Bird tells me you’re from LA?” Stella pipes up. Kai grins and glances over at me. I could kill Stella. She might as well have said, So, Bird hasn’t stopped talking about you since you met. I feel a furious blush creep up my neck. So busted. “That’s the next stop, right?” Stella continues, oblivious.
Kai nods. “Yeah, I’m really looking forward to getting back. I’ve been with the Sweet Home Tour since it started, so it’ll be good to be home for a few days.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say, finally finding some common ground. “I loved growing up on the road, but sometimes it’s nice to stay put for a little while.”
“Definitely,” he says. “Are you guys going to check out the city while you’re there? I could suggest a few good spots, you know, like record stores, coffee shops…” He shrugs and flashes me a bold grin. “The places the cool people go.”
I melt a little.
“Not me,” Stella says with a frown. “I’m tagging along on the bus, but my mom has a gig back home this weekend. I’m headed back to Nashville with her once we get to La La Land, but you should totally give Bird a list. She and her mom are going to explore while y’all set up the stage.”
“Oh, really?” he says, pulling out his phone. “What’s your number, Bird? I’ll text you some must-sees.”
I feel a little breathless as I give Kai my number. While he punches it into his phone, I glance over at Stella, who is clearly satisfied with herself.
“Okay, got it,” Kai says. He pulls a pen from his front jeans pocket and scribbles a reminder on his palm. “I’ll put a good list together. You’ll definitely want to check out Spring for Coffee. And Makana for dinner. Oh, and go to Jet Rag if you like vintage.”
“I adore vintage,” Stella says. Then she looks at her phone and says, “You know what? Dylan just texted me that they’re making dinner reservations, so I’m going to step out and call him back.” She holds her phone up. “I can’t seem to get a good signal down here.”
I try to suppress a smile as she makes a hasty exit and then it’s just Kai and me, alone, in my dressing room. It feels like when Stella left she took all the oxygen along with her.
Kai actually seems to have the opposite reaction. He looks a lot more relaxed once Stella is gone, and he walks over to my guitar. “May I?”
“Oh, sure,” I say.
He picks it up and lets out a slow whistle. “This is gorgeous.”
“Do you play?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not really. I know a couple of chords, but that’s it.”
“That’s all Johnny Cash knew,” I say. “And look at his career.”
Kai grins at me. “Well, I am dressed in black every day.” He walks over and sits next to me, holding my guitar out. “Play something?”
I am taken off guard. “Um, well, okay,” I say, taking the guitar from him. “What?”
He shrugs. “Anything. What are you working on right now?”
I bite my lip. The song that I’ve been stuck on lately is one about Adam ditching Nashville—and therefore a future with me—for Austin, but it’s not ready and it’s not something I want to share with Kai.
Although I am inspired.
“What chords do you know?” I ask.
“Um, a few,” he answers sheepishly. “C, F, G. I don’t know. I’m definitely more of a music lover than a music player… or musician, I guess.”
“Okay, so let’s see,” I say, strumming. “Hmmm…” Something comes to me, and I decide to go with it. “All right, so this is off the cuff, okay? Don’t judge me.”
Kai puts his hands up. “No judging.”
I only have one line in my head, and it’s going to be so obvious that this song is about him, but I’m going to go for it. Stella would tell me to, I know it. And if I learned anything from my short-lived attempt at a relationship with Adam, it’s that if I want a guy to know how I feel about him—even from the start, even if I embarrass myself, even if he doesn’t feel the same way—I just have to go for it.
“Fill up my plate with Southern cookin’,” I sing to the tune of Johnny Cash and June Carter’s famous duet “Jackson.” “Pile it on in great big heaps,” I continue. “There’s a boy in black, standing at my back,” I sing. Kai chuckles, but now I’ve strummed myself into a corner. Heaps. What rhymes with heaps? “Got me thinking he might be for keeps.”
Oh my God, what the—?
My cheeks flame, so I look down at my fingers as if I need to see the strings when, really, I just don’t want to make eye contact. Surely there’s another freaking word I could’ve rhymed with heaps. I shake my head and just keep going:
“Oh, teach me ’bout music.
You tell me what moves you.
Yeah, show me your music.
I’ll learn a thing or two.”
I cut it with one big strum and laugh nervously. “Ta-da!”
Kai claps. “Wow, you just made that up? Like, right now?”
I nod self-consciously, fiddling with the tuning keys. “Just joking around, though.”
“Wow,” he continues. “That’s talent. Seriously.”
I shrug. “Eh, I was inspired.”
“Well,” he says with fake swagger, “I tend to do that to the ladies.”
I look up at him and laugh out loud. It suddenly feels like I’ve known him forever, when only minutes ago, I didn’t have a thing to say. As our laughter dwindles to smiles, he holds my gaze a little longer than would be considered “just friendly,” and my heart flutters.
“Oh, man! What time is it?” Kai says, suddenly serious as he stands up and pulls his cell phone from the front pocket of his black jeans. “I have to go.”
“Yes, of course!” I say, also standing. Time does weird things with Kai, like thirty minutes at dinner and we are already good friends; five minutes in my dressing room and I get the feeling we could be more.
“Listen to the songs on the flash drive, okay? I want to know what you think,” he says, hustling out. “There will be a quiz!” he calls, backpedaling down the hall.
“I’ll be ready!”
Smiling, I walk down the hall in the other direction, where Stella is leaning against the wall. She looks up, and I can see the approval on her face. “Bird, oh my God, you weren’t lying. Team Jacob, baby.”
I laugh. “He does look a little like Taylor Lautner. But cuter I think.”
“Cute?” She fans herself dramatically as we push open the back doors and step out into the summer night. “Try hot. Face of Taylor Lautner and body of Taylor Kitsch. Suh-mokin’ hot. I can’t even.”
I laugh at her theatrics but couldn’t agree with her more.
My phone beeps, and my stomach flips. Kai texting me this soon is definitely a good sign. But when I look at the screen, I am surprised to see that the message is actually from Adam:
So, Lady Bird, how’s life back on the road?
“Kai?” Stella asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Um, Adam,” I say.
Her jaw goes slack, and she looks over my shoulder as I reply:
So far so good.
I push SEND and then let out a heavy sigh.
“You okay?”
/>
I shrug, taken back to the moment when Adam suggested we slow things down, the day he broke my heart. “It’s a little weird to be texting again.”
“Maybe your mega message last night reopened the door,” she says.
I hip-check her. “Yeah, thanks for that.”
Just like the old days?
Adam writes back.
Not exactly, I think.
We left things between us so weird over the winter, and honestly, I miss Adam. But now, as I glance over my shoulder back toward the arena, where I know Kai is manning a big light at stage right, I can’t help but think that I’m looking forward to the new days.
I text Adam a smiley face and a thumbs-up, loop my arm through Stella’s, and open my heart for wherever the highway will take me next.
7
“WE’RE LIKE A moving city,” Jacob says as the sun climbs into the sky.
“This is nothing, son,” the bus driver says. She’s almost sixty, smokes an electronic cigarette, and goes by Sissy. She’s rough and country, full of crazy road stories; I’m so glad she was assigned to my bus. “You should’ve seen the way Madonna toured. Who-ee! Now that was something.”
Grinning, Jacob glances back at me over his shoulder, and I giggle. While the Barrett family is accustomed to life on the road, this is a scale of production none of us has ever seen: four buses, nine big rigs, and lots of vans and cars. We’ve covered some distance from Omaha to Los Angeles, but having my family and the Crossleys on board has made the time fly. We had a jam session yesterday, we’ve watched a few movies, and I’ve demolished everybody at the alphabet license plate game.
“Phew!” my dad says as he walks out of the back bedroom and heads for the coffeepot. We’ve barely seen him, which is pretty wild considering we’re all crammed in one bus. “This is great, huh? The whole family on the road again.”
“Can you imagine if we’d traveled the country in this thing, though?” Dylan asks. He is lounging on the leather massage chair, eyes closed.
“Her name is Dolly,” I remind him.
“I beg your Parton?” Stella chimes in, right on cue. We lose it, falling over each other on the couch, while everybody looks at us like we’re crazy… or mildly annoying. Let’s just say that the joke was hilarious the first time, but we seem to be the only ones who still find it funny after a few days on the road.
The Road to You Page 4