She felt her eyebrows go up. “How?”
“Get your guitar and show me what you’ve accomplished.”
She hadn’t accomplished dinner. That was one thing she’d let go, and she felt bad about it. He bought the groceries; she did the cooking. They had a deal. But ever since those texts from Derrick, she’d been consumed by the same fear that had made it so hard for her to function in Nashville. “I added a bit more to that anthem you like.”
“Good. The sooner you’re done with it, the better. That’s a kick-ass song.”
She favored songs about women overcoming challenges or beating the odds, which was why Martina McBride and Kelly Clarkson had always been two of her favorite artists.
“What about the ballad?” he asked.
“I fiddled with the melody, changed the key to make it more interesting, but...nothing more.”
“So let’s hear it.”
Normally, they had a companionable dinner. Then they’d have a glass of wine, which they’d take into the living room, and she’d test various lyrics or melodies on him. He seemed to enjoy listening to her. He claimed he didn’t possess any musical or writing talent, but she’d tweaked several things because of his feedback. She’d also come up with a name and a few bars for one song she hadn’t told him about—“Refuge,” the song she’d thought of that first day when she’d moved into his house and felt so inspired by how safe she felt here. She wanted to finish that before she mentioned it. She doubted he had any concept of how much their friendship had helped her, coming as it did at such a critical time. She’d been prepared for the worst Christmas ever, one full of heartbreak and confusion and loss. Instead, she was finding a completely unexpected sense of steadiness and calm.
“After I get you something for dinner.” She stood up, but he caught her hand as she walked by.
“Let’s go out. You’ve been in this house for over a week. You must be claustrophobic by now. I think it would be good to get a break. It might even help your writing.”
She had been feeling a little confined. But she didn’t want to run into anyone who might recognize her, especially now that there was so much gossip going around the internet.
“We could drive over to Jackson,” he said before she could refuse. “You could wear a hat and glasses, if you like. Other than our server, there really wouldn’t be anyone to make a fuss. If anything like that starts to develop, I’ll put a quick stop to it and get you out of there, I promise.”
Had she trusted him any less, she might not have agreed to go. But she knew he’d do his best to look out for her.
“We can drive around and see the Christmas lights afterward,” he said.
The thought of putting on some makeup and heading into the cool December air was invigorating. Going out allowed her to escape her computer, which seemed ominous sitting there on the table. Maybe she could just be a woman having dinner with a nice man and not the has-been artist, dumped-for-someone-else girlfriend of her fickle manager. “Okay. Where will we eat?”
“There’s a dimly lit steak house with excellent food that I like. I suggest we go there.”
She started down the hall. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
19