Echoes of a Southern Song (Echoes of a Southern Song #2)

Chapter One

Jack

“S ing my song for me ,” Jinnie says from behind me. She’s sitting in the porch swing, gently swinging back and forth while I sit on the steps with my guitar. It’s one of those perfect evenings. I’ve got the night off and Jinnie only had to work a few hours at the bakery.

If my dad saw me, he’d call me a layabout. Or lazy. He’d be pissed I wasn’t busting my ass doing one thing or another. He was the one missing out on life. Those damn cows weren’t going to hold his hand when he was sick or love him on his death bed.

This was what life was about. Getting to sit on a porch with a glass of ice-cold lemonade with a beautiful woman on a perfect night was heaven. I didn’t even mind the mosquitoes.

“You want me to sing your song?” I tease.

“Yes.”

“How do you know that song is about you?”

“Stop it. I’m not going to help you with the bridge on that other song if I don’t hear it. I need inspiration.”

I play the first few chords and then change it up.

“Stop!” She laughs and gets up to come and sit beside me.

Her shoulder brushes against mine.

I sing quieter than I do on stage, just for her. I’ve performed the song several times now, but it’s not a regular part of my set list. It’s special and I don’t want to wear it out.

Jinnie exhales, her breath stirring my hair that’s definitely moving into shaggy territory. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my back as I sing and play.

She sighs when I play the last note. “Beautiful,” she murmurs.

“Just like the person it was written about.”

“Smooth, cowboy.” She giggles.

“All right, now, about that bridge on the other song,” I say.

She stands up and steps down the stairs and turns to face me. “Play it. I want to hear it from the audience.”

I strum the opening chords of the other song we’ve been working on all day, my fingers hesitating slightly as I try to remember the melody. Jinnie watches me intently. She’s barefoot on the gravel, her arms crossed over her chest, her head tilted slightly as she listens. Her freckles stand out on her makeup-free face. She’s wearing a pair of cutoff shorts and a tank-top. I’m pretty sure she’s the prettiest woman on this planet.

And she’s looking at me like I hung the moon.

The song starts slow, a little melancholic, but it’s supposed to build into something hopeful. I fumble through the first verse, my voice cracking on a high note. “Sorry,” I mutter, laughing at myself.

“Don’t stop,” she says firmly. “Just keep going. I told you; I hate perfect. Your fans hate perfect. They like you. The raw and imperfect you.”

So I do. By the time I reach the chorus, I’m more confident. I can see Jinnie nodding along, her lips moving silently as if she’s already crafting the words for the missing bridge. Her face lights up with an idea just as I hit a sour chord.

“Wait,” she says, holding up a hand. “What if you switch it here?” She hums a quick melody, her voice soft but sure. It’s perfect—exactly what the song needs.

I try it out on the guitar, adding my own little flair, and it clicks. The song smooths out, like a puzzle piece sliding into place. “You’re a genius,” I say, grinning up at her.

She beams back at me. “Told you I’d help.”

“You’re really talented,” I say.

“Yeah, yeah, play it through again. Play it like you mean it.”

I take a deep breath, letting my fingers find their place on the strings again. This time, I pour everything into it. It’s the way I want to perform it on stage. I can see it with bright lights and a crowd ten times the size of Aggie’s bar. I close my eyes and imagine me with a band behind me and people screaming in front of me. The song builds, just like we’d planned, and when I reach the bridge, I can feel it. It’s alive, breathing, like it’s been waiting for this moment to finally come together.

Jinnie claps when I finish, her laughter ringing out into the quiet evening. “That’s it! That’s the one. You’ve got it now.”

“We’ve got it,” I correct her, setting the guitar down carefully beside me. “You’re as much a part of this as I am.”

She steps closer. “I like that,” she says softly. “We.”

I stand up, closing the distance between us. “Jinnie,” I start, trying to find the right words For a songwriter, I’m not great at these intimate moments. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

She tilts her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Probably still singing about heartbreak and whiskey.”

I chuckle and tilt her chin up with my thumb. I kiss her slow and deep. She melts into it for a heartbeat—then pulls back, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, too quick. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

Her shoulders lift in a half-shrug. “Sam.”

Her husband —or soon-to-be ex, if everything goes right. Just the mention of him tightens my jaw. I didn’t think I was a jealous person, but I’ve also never been in a relationship. I don’t even know if I can call this a relationship. But I do know I want her and I don’t like the idea of her being screwed with. I want to protect her.

“You worried about running into him?” I ask.

Together, we walk to the swing and sit down. Her hand automatically reaches for mine.

“It’s a small town,” she says. “It’s bound to happen eventually.”

“You afraid of him?”

“No.” She shakes her head, but her knee bounces. “I just know how he is. He won’t agree to the annulment unless there’s something in it for him. He’s a very transactional person. He wants something in return for everything he does.”

I squeeze her hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

She gives me a grateful smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I understand if this”—I use my other hand to gesture between us—“needs to cool down. I don’t want him starting shit because he can.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not worried about him. He doesn’t want me. If he wanted me, he wouldn’t have run off without saying goodbye.”

“Does it bother you that he left you?” I ask.

She’s quiet for a few seconds, which makes my palms sweaty. The porch swing creaks softly as she shifts, her gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun is just beginning to set. “It bothered me at first,” she admits finally. “Not because I missed him or wanted him back—Hell, no. But because it made me feel...disposable, I guess.”

I feel a pang of anger toward whoever this guy is who made her feel that way. “You’re not disposable,” I say, turning to face her. “You’re everything but that. You’re smart, funny, talented as hell, and you’ve got this way of making people feel like they matter. Like they’re seen. That’s not something you just walk away from.”

She smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Jack. That means a lot.” She pauses, then adds, “But honestly, what bothers me most now is the fact that I let myself make such a stupid decision in the first place. I was young and reckless and thought I knew everything. And now I’m stuck with this mess until I can scrape together enough money to fix it.”

“You shouldn’t have to fix it alone,” I say. “Do you think he’s purposely hiding so you can’t serve him?”

“I don’t know. Or he’s just a coward.”

“Do you think he wants to come back to you?” I ask again.

“I don’t care if he does.” She shrugs. “I’m over him. I have clarity. I see him for who he is and that is not a man I want to be with.”

“I know I don’t really have a right to ask, but I’m going to.”

“Ask me anything.”

“If you decide you guys want to give it another go, please tell me,” I say. “Give me a heads up. Don’t just ghost me or lead me on.”

She stops swinging and looks me directly in the eyes. “I’m not going to get back together with him. I can promise you that.”

I nod, feeling a weight lift slightly, though my chest still feels tight. She’s still got a husband out there. One who doesn’t want to let her go. I’m not afraid of a fight, but I need to know it’s one worth taking on. “Good. Because I’m not great at sharing.” I try to keep my tone light, but the truth is, the thought of losing her to him—or anyone—makes my stomach twist.

“You don’t have to share me, Jack. Not with him or anyone else.”

We start rocking again, the rhythmic creak of the porch swing and the distant chirping of crickets coming out. I can’t help but think how different this is from the life I left behind.

“What are you thinking about?” Jinnie asks softly, breaking the quiet.

“Just how different everything is now,” I admit. “I mean, I know it’s only been a little over a month since I left Wisconsin, but it feels like a lifetime ago.”

She nods. “Sometimes life changes fast when you’re finally where you’re supposed to be.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It does.”

She leans her head against my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her instinctively. It feels natural, like we’ve been doing this for years instead of weeks.

“You hear from your family lately?” Jinnie asks after a while.

I grimace. “Caleb texted last week. Dad’s still radio-silent.”

“Still mad?”

“Probably always will be.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to. “He wanted a farmer. Got a guitar player instead.”

Jinnie’s thumb strokes the back of my hand. “His loss.”

A car’s headlights cut through the gathering dark, pulling into the driveway. Aggie’s car pulls to a stop.

“Well, look at this,” she calls, grinning as she climbs the porch steps. “My two favorite people, serenading the mosquitoes.”

“Hey, Aunt Aggie.”

Aggie drops into the rocking chair across from us, groaning as she kicks off her shoes. “Damn, my feet are killing me. Remind me why I run a bar again?”

“Because you love bossing people around,” I say.

“True.” She winks at Jinnie. “How’s the bakery?”

“Good! Busy.” Jinnie’s voice pitches higher than usual. “We got a wedding order for next month—two hundred cupcakes.”

Aggie whistles. “That’s great, sweetheart.”

I watch Jinnie closely as they chat. The way her fingers twist in her lap. The way she carefully steers the conversation away from anything personal—especially the lawyer, especially Sam.

Aggie doesn’t seem to notice. But I do.

Later, after Aggie heads inside with a yawn and a promise of pancakes in the morning, I catch Jinnie’s wrist. “Hey.”

She stills. “Yeah?”

“You could tell Aggie, you know. About the lawyer. She’d understand.”

Jinnie shakes her head. “I know. I’m not ready.”

I want to push, to ask why, to demand what she’s so afraid of. But the look in her eyes stops me. It’s none of my business. This is her problem to solve. I’m doing what I can. That’s all I can do.

So I pull her close instead, tucking her under my arm. “Okay.”

We sit like that for a while. I can feel the steady rise and fall of Jinnie’s breathing against my side. It’s calming, this quiet. It’s easy to forget the chaos of everything else when it’s just the two of us like this.

“I should go,” she says. “I have to open at the bakery.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

Together, we cut across the property to her tiny house. I don’t ask to come in. I know she needs to sleep. I give her a kiss and promise to see her tomorrow before walking back to Aggie’s house. When I crawl into bed, I can’t stop thinking about this other man in town who has a claim on Jinnie.

I don’t like it. I’ll play three shows a day if I need to. Whatever it takes to raise the money she needs for her lawyer.