Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Whit
S ix nominations.
Six .
More than I’d anticipated, for sure.
Best Country Solo Performance. Best Country Song. Best Country Album. Best Album. And there they were—Best Pop Duo/Group Performance, and Best Record for the song I did with Jamie. I swallowed, chuckled a little bit, and clutched the phone.
A weird, giggling laugh broke out as tears leaked from my eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
Nikki shook her head, allowing herself a full smile, for once. “I can. You’ve worked yourself nonstop since you won that contest, and it shows. Your work is paying off. This is going to go a long way toward working with Johnson.”
At the moment, I didn’t care about Johnson—I wanted to scream and jump on the bed and drink a bottle of champagne alternating with homemade ice cream. And the strangest thought that I wanted to toast with Ben.
Hmm .
I hadn’t seen him in two and a half weeks—between Thanksgiving, my schedule, and his, especially since he was about to take two weeks off to join me on tour, we hadn’t planned any dates.
But I’d missed seeing him. We’d swapped Happy Thanksgivings and otherwise hadn’t interacted. But then, as though I’d summoned him with my thoughts…
@TheRealBenHolder: Congratulations! Just saw the very impressive list.
I smiled to myself, a simmering pleasure growing in my chest as I thought of him checking for my name on the list of nominees.
@WhitGranthamOfficial: Thank you! I’m blown away.
@TheRealBenHolder: We should celebrate. You can’t be this fancy and not get taken out by your boyfriend, can you?
That feeling in my chest warmed, expanded, took over, but then, I realized I was booked solid tomorrow and Friday. I didn’t have time for him again until Saturday for our next date.
@WhitGranthamOfficial: I’m sad to say I don’t think I have time until Saturday.
@TheRealBenHolder: What about tonight? It should be a rule that you don’t wait more than a few hours to celebrate six Grammy nominations.
Well, that was adorable. And appealing. I checked my watch—four o’clock. I was pretty much done for the day.
@WhitGranthamOfficial: I could actually do something tonight .
@TheRealBenHolder: Done. I’ll be there at six—six thirty at the latest.
@WhitGranthamOfficial: See you then.
I wandered around the house after Nikki left, chilled a bottle of champagne, put things in my Amazon cart and then didn’t check out. Finally at six-fifteen, the doorbell rang. Knowing he was right outside had me jogging to the door.
I hauled it open (it was a huge, heavy door), and there he stood, looking more handsome than I remembered him looking. Had he gotten taller? Maybe that’s because I was barefoot.
He stepped through the door and kept coming until he’d hooked his arms under mine and around my back, then lifted me up, hugging me and circling around.
Exactly the right kind of hug.
“Congratulations,” he said as he did it.
I chuckled and hugged him back as he turned and set me down.
“Thank you.” My eyes were surely twinkling and my face beaming.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his face full of a genuine happiness.
His gaze flickered down over me, taking in my sweats, bare feet, and the super soft unicorn T-shirt. His smile changed to a look of confusion.
“Would you mind if we stayed in?”
It would be insanity if we went out. I didn’t want to make statements, do the whole adorably overwhelmed thing. I wanted to relax and catch up with Ben and celebrate without a million eyes on my every move.
“No, of course not. It’s just… I assumed you’d want to go somewhere and toast to your success? ”
I grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind me into the kitchen. “I do want to toast. I have champagne.”
I dropped his hand as we entered the bright white room and found the bottle on the fridge door. I pulled down two fancy champagne flutes and grabbed a kitchen towel. “Okay if we go to the living room?”
“Whatever you want,” he said, typically easygoing.
He followed and pulled off his coat. A huge sectional sofa with a big ottoman took up the middle of the space. On it was a large tray that allowed the ottoman to act as a table. I set the flutes, bottle, and towel there. A roaring fire lit the fireplace—one reason why this was my favorite room, especially this time of year. I hadn’t put up a tree or any decorations because I knew I’d be gone for the holiday itself, and then when I got back, it’d be January, and there was nothing worse than lingering Christmas décor when you just wanted to get on with it.
“Just toss that on the back of the couch, or wherever. Sorry I didn’t grab it from you,” I said as I saw him looking for a place to drop his jacket.
I settled into the corner of the couch and pulled the tray so I could reach. Ben sat on the cushion next to me, though not all that close, and watched as I removed the cage and covered the bottle, cork intact, with the towel. Then, very slowly, I eased the cork out, no sound but a small hiss, like the bottle took a breath, before it was out completely.
“That was ninja-level champagne popping. Or, not popping,” Ben said, wonder in his voice.
“Ah, yes. A kind of reverse party trick in that it’s completely unimpressive and not at all showy, but I learned at an early age that letting the cork pop, at least according to my father, bruises the champagne. It’s probably the most valuable thing he taught me.” I poured us both some of the golden, bubbling drink, and handed him his flute.
His smile looked warm and sweet. “To the hard work and sacrifice you’ve made to get here, to the Grammys recognizing that, and to whatever is in store next. Congratulations, Whit.”
I couldn’t speak, feeling choked up at his genuine joy for me, the real congratulations, and the realization that this was the first time I’d celebrated anything like this with someone I wasn’t paying. Technically, he was contractually obligated to me, but in the end, I knew in my gut he was here just for me.
I nodded in thanks and touched my glass to his, the light ting sounding loud in the room. We each sipped the fizzing liquid, and I grabbed a remote to turn on some music so the fire wouldn’t be our only accompaniment.
“Do you feel like you’re floating?” he asked, watching me take another drink and curl into the corner of the couch, my knees pulled up next to me.
“Sort of. It’s surreal.”
“But you won a Grammy for your first album, right? Or, more than one?”
I nodded.
“So were you expecting this? Tell the truth—did you expect it, or was it a surprise?” He eyed me, waiting for my response.
“I expected one, maybe two nominations. I didn’t expect six . I thought maybe best Country performance and maybe one for the song with Jamie since there’d been some Oscar buzz about the movie, and people had said the song had a chance, too. But not six. It’s an embarrassment of riches, whether I win a single one or not.”
He gave me a look. “Really. ”
It wasn’t a question.
“Of course I want to win. I’m not one of those people who will pretend to demur and say winning doesn’t matter. It does. I want to. I want all six of them, now that I know it’s possible. It really is an honor to be nominated. But I won’t pretend I don’t want them.”
The smile he gave me was its own kind of fire, brilliant and hot.
“That’s one reason I like you, Whit. You’re not afraid to be you . You’re not afraid to go after what you want and work hard and admit that you work hard. I admire that.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure everyone agrees with you, but I appreciate the thought.”
I tipped back my glass and finished it, then poured a bit more. Ben hadn’t had more than a sip or two.
“I think six nominations can officially serve as your notification that, whether people say they like your ferocious work ethic and your talent, they like what comes from it and want more.” He quirked an eyebrow at me.
“Fair enough,” I said, and took a drink, then let my head rest against the back of the couch and watched the fire crackle and pop, tendrils of smoke swirling up into the chimney. “I wish it’d snow.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice,” he said, and settled back into the cushion, his head a foot or so from mine.
“I bet we’ll run into snow on the tour. We’ll be in New York, Chicago, all kinds of places between. There’s a good chance.” I let my eyes close and breathed deep.
When was the last time I’d just sat with someone, music in the background with a fire in my fireplace?
Had I ever done that?
“What’s wrong?”
His voice cut in, and I rolled my head to look at him .
“I just had this thought that I’m not sure I’ve ever done this—just sat on my couch with someone and listened to the fire and music. I don’t slow down well, and I’m rarely with people I don’t employ.” The heat then stung my cheeks. “I guess I sort of employ you, don’t I?”
He put his big, warm hand on one of mine. “You aren’t paying me, so no. I’d like to think we were becoming friends anyway, but now we definitely are.”
The smile crept over my face as I looked back into his blue eyes. Friends. I like that . “Good.”
“So you and Jamie never just… hung out? Or other friends?” He set his glass on the tray and settled back in.
“Jamie and I were never just relaxing together,” I started, then saw his eyebrows raise and quickly added, “not like that. No, we liked each other, but we were hardly ever together. Neither one of us was very good at taking down time. I think Jamie and I are actually a little too alike in terms of our intensity with work.”
“I can see how that would make it difficult to just be together. But that resting is particularly important when you’re worked to the bone. Isn’t it?” He held my hand palm-up in his, and with the opposite index finger, traced slow shapes into my wrist.
It was an unexpected kind of contact. It felt intimate, sweet, a little seductive. But it felt simple and comforting, too.
“I’m sure it is. Kendra tries to help build in mandated rest. But it’s usually pretty solitary, or I end up doing it with employees who’ve become friends. I love Amanda and Damon. Nikki and I get along well for the most part, and Ru and Kendra are great. I have a few other people you’ll meet on tour—all great. So I know I’m blessed in that way. The people who work for me are amazing. ”
He waited, evidently hearing the words I hadn’t said. “But they work for you.”
“Yep.”
“Sounds lonely.”
He looked down at the finger that traced unknown messages into my skin. Watching his finger sliding along that parchment-thin part of me, feeling the warmth of his hand cradling mine gently, a pang of longing hit me so hard that my chest ached.
“It is.”