Chapter 10 #2
We talked while he waited for his set to start—about music, about Nashville, about the weird adjustment of building a new life in a new city.
When I mentioned my job in marketing, he didn’t glaze over like most people did.
Instead, he asked what kind of campaigns I worked on, and when I told him about the diabetes awareness project, he said, “So you’re basically saving lives while I’m teaching twelve-year-olds to play ‘Hot Cross Buns’ on the recorder.
No pressure.” I laughed harder than I had in weeks.
When he mentioned he’d moved to Nashville three years ago from Austin, I found myself relaxing, sharing my own story of starting over.
“So you just packed up and left?” he asked. “That takes guts.”
“Or desperation,” I said lightly.
“Nah. Desperation makes you run away. Courage makes you run toward something better.” He glanced toward the stage where the band was setting up. “I should get up there. But hey, would you stick around? I’d love to talk more after my set.”
I found myself nodding.
Vaughn was good. Really good. His voice had this raspy quality that made every song sound intimate, and the way he played guitar—eyes closed, completely lost in the music—was mesmerizing. I watched him perform and felt something I hadn’t experienced in months: attraction.
When he came back to our table after his set, his hair was slightly sweaty, his eyes bright with performance adrenaline.
“You were incredible,” I told him.
“Yeah?” He grinned. “Incredible enough that you’d let me take you out sometime?”
“Maybe,” I said, surprising myself with how easily the flirtation came. “Tell me more about this music teacher slash aspiring rock star thing.”
We talked for another two hours. At some point Emma and Sarah left—I couldn’t have said exactly when. Vaughn talked about teaching middle schoolers to appreciate jazz, about the dive bars where he played his original songs, about his dream of recording an album someday.
“I should let you get home,” he said finally, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost midnight and you said you’re moving tomorrow.”
“I am.” I realized I didn’t want the night to end. “But this was nice.”
“Yeah, it was.” He pulled out his phone. “Can I get your number? I’d really like to see you again.”
I gave it to him without hesitation.
As I drove back to my apartment, I found myself smiling. Not thinking about Dutch, not comparing Vaughn to anyone from my past. Just enjoying the warm glow of a good night with an interesting man who’d made me laugh.
I was living again instead of just surviving. The promotion, the new apartment, Vaughn’s number in my phone—these were all pieces of a life I was actively choosing.
Tomorrow I’d move into my beautiful new apartment. Next week I’d start my new position. And maybe, if Vaughn called, I’d go on a date with a hot wannabe rock star.
My life was finally moving forward. And it felt liberating.
?
Three weeks later, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
“I’m serious!” Emma said, gesturing wildly with her wine glass. “He showed up to the first date wearing a fanny pack. A FANNY PACK. In 2026!”
“Please tell me you gave him a chance anyway,” Sarah said, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Oh, I did. The fanny pack was actually the least weird thing about him.” Emma took a dramatic sip of her Chardonnay. “Halfway through dinner, he pulled out a laminated list of his deal-breakers. LAMINATED.”
We were at The Vine Bar, our new favorite spot on Music Row, celebrating what Sarah had dubbed “Indira’s Fuck Around and Find Out era.
” The three of us had grown close over the past few weeks—real friends, not just acquaintances from networking events.
They knew about my move to Nashville, though not all the details about why.
They’d watched me go from the quiet, guarded woman I’d been in September to. .. whoever I was becoming now.
“Okay, but can we talk about how Indira has been on dates with three different men in three weeks?” Sarah raised her glass. “THREE. Meanwhile, I’ve been home reorganizing my closet.”
“Vaughn, David, and who was the third?” Emma asked.
“James from the gym,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm. “We went hiking at Radnor Lake last weekend.”
“And?” they both demanded in unison.
“And he was nice. Good conversation, very fit.” I smiled. “But Vaughn texted yesterday asking if I wanted to come to his gig this Friday, and I said yes.”
“Ooooh, Vaughn.” Emma wiggled her eyebrows. “The hot musician. You’ve been seeing him the most.”
“We’ve been on, what, four dates?” I counted in my head. “Five if you count the night we met.”
“That’s basically a relationship in Nashville dating years,” Sarah teased. “So tell us. On a scale of one to ten, how good is the chemistry?”
I felt heat rise in my face. “Let’s just say... it’s been a while since I felt this kind of attraction to someone.”
“YES!” Emma practically shouted, drawing looks from nearby tables.
“Sorry, but FINALLY. When you first showed up at that networking event all those months ago, you looked like you’d been through hell.
Now look at you—glowing, confident, going on dates with a multitude of men. You’re like a different person.”
“I feel like a different person,” I admitted. It was true. The woman who’d fled Millfield felt like a stranger now. “I’m remembering what it’s like to just... enjoy myself. No drama, no complications, just having fun.”
“To Indira’s FAFO era,” Sarah raised her glass.
“To fresh starts,” Emma added.
“To living,” I said, thinking about my conversation with Vaughn that first night.
We clinked glasses, and I realized with startling clarity that I meant it.
I wasn’t recovering from Dutch anymore—I was actively building a life that had nothing to do with him.
The dates, the friends, the career success, the confidence I felt when Vaughn looked at me like I was the most interesting woman in the room. ..
None of it was about Dutch. All of it was about me choosing to be happy.
“So when do we get to properly hang out with Vaughn?” Emma asked. “Because if you’re seeing him Friday, that’s date number six. That’s definitely double-date with friends territory.”
“Maybe,” I said, but I was smiling. “Let me see how Friday goes first.”
“Fair,” Sarah said. “But for the record, we already looked him up on Instagram and he’s gorgeous. Also, his band’s music is actually really good.”
“You stalked him?!” I laughed, then paused. “Wait. You introduced me to him. Why would you need to stalk him if you already knew him?”
Emma and Sarah exchanged a guilty look.
“Okay, so...” Emma winced. “We didn’t actually know him. We just saw him setting up with the band and thought he was hot. Sarah dared me to go talk to him.”
“You set me up with a complete stranger based entirely on his looks?”
“In our defense,” Sarah said, “he had really good looks. And he seemed nice when Emma chatted him up for like thirty seconds.”
“We figured one of two things would happen,” Emma added. “Either you’d hit it off and go home together for some much-needed stress relief, or you wouldn’t click and no harm done. We weren’t exactly expecting you to start dating dating him.”
“You thought I’d have a one-night stand with a random musician?”
“We hoped!” Sarah said cheerfully. “You needed to get laid. We were being good friends. Best way to get over someone is to get under someone, right?”
I stared at them both for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You two are ridiculous.” I shook my head. “And for the record, I haven’t been under or on top of anyone.”
Though I’d definitely thought about what it would feel like to be under Vaughn.
More than once, actually. The way his hands moved on his guitar, confident and precise—I’d caught myself wondering how they’d feel on me.
And when he’d kissed me goodnight after our last date, that gentle pressure with the promise of heat underneath, I’d gone home and spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining what might have happened if I’d invited him inside.
“Ridiculous but effective,” Emma pointed out. “Look how happy you are. You’re welcome.”
“So the stalking,” Sarah continued, “happened after we realized this might actually be a thing. We had to vet him properly since we’d essentially thrown you at a stranger.
And based on our research, we approve. He seems like a genuinely good guy who’s actually interested in you, not just looking for a hookup. ”
“Unlike David,” Sarah muttered.
“What’s wrong with David?” I asked. I’d been on two dates with him too—dinner and a documentary screening. Both perfectly pleasant, if not particularly thrilling.
“Nothing’s wrong with David,” Emma said carefully. “He’s just... practical. Safe. The kind of guy you date because it makes sense, not because he makes your heart race.”
“And Vaughn makes your heart race?” Sarah asked, studying my face.
I thought about the way Vaughn played guitar, about his laugh, about how he’d kissed me goodnight after our last date—gentle but with an underlying heat that promised more if I wanted it.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “He does.”
“Then forget David and focus on the hot musician,” Emma declared. “Life’s too short for practical when you can have passion.”
“Amen to that,” Sarah said.
As the night wound down and we paid our tab, I checked my phone and saw a text from Vaughn: Thinking about you. Can’t wait for Friday. Maybe after the gig we could grab late-night tacos and you can tell me more about that campaign that’s been kicking your ass?
I smiled and texted back: It’s a date. Fair warning: I might talk about target demographics for an hour.
His response was immediate: I’m a middle school music teacher. I once listened to a 45-minute debate about whether BTS or Stray Kids is better. I can handle marketing talk.
“That smile,” Emma said, pointing at me. “THAT is the smile of a woman who’s moved on. I’m so proud of you.”
“Me too,” I said.
Dutch was my past. Vaughn, and David, and James, and whoever else I might meet—they were my present. My choice. My life.
And it felt damn good.