Chapter 9
“Jo Jo, I’m here,” I whisper-yell, careful not to let her broken screen door slam shut. There’s always something in her house in a state of disrepair since single mom equals single income. She hasn’t seen a dime from Chad since he left, which means everything falls squarely on her shoulders.
Josie refuses to accept help from anyone, but I’ve gotta hand it to her, the girl can YouTube and DIY the hell out of most things. If she can’t figure out a fix, she shrugs it off and says she’ll get to it one day. She teaches art at the local high school, and let’s be honest—teachers don’t make much, especially for a single mom with two kids. She recently started an Etsy Shop where she sells hand painted family portraits to make ends meet. Between that and her teaching job, she barely has any time left to worry with house repairs.
We’ve been friends since she moved to Singing River in elementary school. After Josie’s mom’s mental health began to deteriorate, she and her brother moved in with their grandparents, who lived a few doors down from me. These days, Josie hardly hears from her brother, which means on top of everything else she manages, she’s also responsible for handling all her grandmother’s medical care.
Being three years younger, I’ve always looked up to her in that way kids do with their older friends. We were joined at the hip until she graduated high school, and we have some wild stories in our shared history. Her grandparents were strict, so she’d often spend the night at my house since Dad didn’t do a good job keeping tabs on me.
After she graduated high school, though, things changed. She got busy with college and life pulled us in different directions. Little by little, we drifted apart, and we were all but strangers by the time I went off to college.
When I returned to Singing River I felt lost, even though I’d grown up here. I’d been living in Nashville for a few years. Meanwhile, life in Singing River churned on without me. Needless to say, when I returned, I felt like a stranger in my own hometown.
One day, an Instagram post from our local bookstore caught my eye. It advertised their upcoming romance book club, and I was desperate for adult female interaction. I walked in, and there Josie was. It was like no time had passed between us and we picked up right where we’d left off. We’ve seen each other at our worst, and she’s been by my side as much as she can since my dad died. She’s always reminding me that we can do hard things.
Slipping my shoes off in the foyer, I tiptoe to the living room since Abby and Jay are already in bed. Even though their fevers are gone, Josie said they still felt puny. Her miniature long-haired dachshund, Smudge, bounces on his stubby legs waiting for me to pet him, so I crouch down to scratch behind his ears.
Josie walks in holding two glasses of our favorite boxed Cabernet and places them on the coffee table. Her grayish-blue eyes light up as she shimmies her shoulders, making a "gimme" gesture with her hands. Strands of her blonde top knot come loose with the motion.
“So what’s he like?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows.
Grabbing a glass, I gulp down a healthy swig. Apparently word travels fast in Singing River—and by word, I mean Jackson.
I roll my eyes but tell her as much as I can. Some of it is his story to tell, not mine. Josie’s eyes turn to saucers when I mention Austin sleeping in his van and now staying in my apartment.
“I’m calling it now, you’re gonna wind up sleeping with Austin James! This right here is the forced proximity trope! You know damn well how that trope always ends.”
I shoot her a withering look. “That is absolutely not happening. This isn’t one of our romance books. This is my real life, and I have to keep things strictly professional.” Even as I’m saying them, the words sound hollow to my ears.
She raises a skeptical eyebrow, her lips tipping in a grin.
"I'm serious! You know women like me have to set way more boundaries than men. I’ve worked too hard to be taken seriously. Getting involved with him would undo all of that."
She flicks her hand dismissively. “Pfft. I’m just saying, I bet he’d keep it y’all’s little secret. And, girl, you need to get out there and live! You’re thirty-three years old and you work non-stop. Also, you might put on that happy smile for everyone else, but you’re not fooling me. When nobody’s looking you’ve got this whole resting sad face going on.” Josie waves her hand around my face wildly. “If you don’t have a little fun soon I’m afraid your face will get stuck like that. If I had him living that close to me I’d have a hell of a hard time sticking to those boundaries.”
I snort a laugh at my ridiculous friend, but she’s wrong. After Eric and I broke up, I tried a few attempts at casual, and I learned the hard way that I’m not built for it. At least in a committed relationship, you’re eventually comfortable enough to be yourself. The usual song and dance of getting to know someone requires more bandwidth than I have time for lately. Plus, I’m bad about letting big, messy feelings get in the way, and when they’re not returned I’m left feeling foolish and hurt. No, I wear monogamy like it’s written in Sharpie across my forehead. Casual is not in my plans.
Josie is fearless, though. She’s always said that after Chad left, she stopped caring what anyone thought of her. The pitying looks from everyone in town thickened her skin up. Also, despite her own failed marriage, she's a hopeless romantic. Love—in all its shapes, forms, and fashions—is what she lives for. She gobbles it up and wants everyone to have a happily ever after. Well, everyone except herself. When Chad walked out, it was like she hung up a "permanently closed" sign on her own love life.
She and I settle in for an evening of catching up and sipping our wine. We talk about everything from what we’re reading to the art piece she’s currently working on. She confesses that she’s been really worried about Abby. Abby is almost fourteen, and full of all the angst and drama that comes with that age. She’s been struggling with her friendships, and Josie’s afraid she might make poor decisions to fit in.
“We did some pretty stupid stuff when we were teenagers, and we turned out all right,” I reassure her.
“Right? That’s what I keep reminding myself. I’m certainly paying for my raising. At least once a month I apologize to Mawmaw for being such a little shit,” she says, laughing. “She always tells me to trust that I’m raising mine right and everything will work out.”
“Well, she’s a smart lady.”
“That she is,” Josie agrees.
“How’s she doing?” Her Mawmaw’s health hasn’t been great lately. There have been a few times when she’d go to the grocery store and forget where she was. People in town call Josie to help her get back home.
“Last week she didn’t know who I was. It was only for a second and she tried to play it like it didn’t happen. It just sucks.” She goes quiet, blinking furiously. “I’m taking that one day at a time. Anyway, enough sad talk.”
* * *
The night passes with laughs that we both desperately need, and we end up having one too many glasses of wine. It’s rare for me to get tipsy, but when I do I get silly. It’s like I turn back into twenty-one-year-old Penny who is carefree and full of life. Josie suggests we move to the porch since we aren’t great at modulating the volume of our snort-laughs after too much wine.
I’ve completely lost track of time when I spot a familiar Longhorns ball cap bobbing toward us. Since Austin has no idea where Josie lives, he doesn’t notice us at first. But as he approaches her front walk, he slows to a stop.
“Penn, that you?” he calls out, and Josie’s head snaps over at me. My eyes cut to hers, and she mouths “ Penn ” to me, her own eyes full of mischief.
“It’s me. Come up here and meet Josie,” I yell back to him. “But hush up! Her kids are sleeping!” I motion toward her house with clumsy gestures.
He jogs up the steps, and I’m smiling up at him like an idiot, my wine brain dialed up to ten.
“Well now, looks like y’all had yourselves a good ol’ time.” He returns my smile, eyeing the boxed wine.
“Austin, this is Josie. Josie, this is Austin.” I introduce them while trying to keep a straight face. “He wants us to know he’s a famous country singer and also not an asshole.”
They both crack up and he shakes Josie’s hand. He spots Smudge and immediately kneels to pet him. My heart melts into a puddle watching him give Smudge belly rubs, Smudge’s back leg thumping away.
“D’ju have fun?” My words come out slightly slurred and I clap a hand over my mouth, giggling.
Austin sits, leaning against her porch railing, chuckling at my obvious state of inebriation. In his short time here he’s mostly seen the serious side of me. Business in the front, but sadly, no party in the back.
“Yeah, I had a real good time. Jackson was on his best behavior, and luckily, that poster on his wall captured my good side.” He turns his face like he’s modeling.
“Cocky asshole,” I reply through a breathy laugh.
“Yeah, but I think you don’t mind this cocky asshole too much.” One side of his mouth tilts up in a grin. “I'm growing on you.”
Josie’s head swivels between us, and I know all my words about professionalism from earlier have flown out the window as he and I shamelessly flirt back and forth.
“You’re all right, for a…Slonghorns fan. No. A Longhorns fan.” My words slur together, and both Josie and Austin burst out laughing.
“Oh, it’s like that now, huh? I see how it is.” He jumps up and plops his hat onto my head, but I flick it off like it's a bug.
Smudge takes off after the hat, and Austin has to wrangle it from his mouth. Eventually, Smudge loses interest and Austin secures it back on his head.
My wine buzz has me pleasantly fuzzy-headed as Austin and Josie make small talk about his time here. But when a huge, open-mouthed yawn escapes me, Austin stands.
“Looks like I need to get Miss Lightweight here home.”
Josie hugs us both, telling us how much she loves us. She loves everybody when she drinks. Austin shakes his head, chuckling, and then he and I head down the steps toward my house, his hand on my arm to steady my wobbly steps.
“Easy there, tiger,” he says when I sway slightly. “Here, hop on.” Austin squats, gesturing for me to jump onto his back.
I might be short, but I’m on the curvy side. Normally I might worry about being too heavy for someone to carry, but Austin is all muscle. I don’t know if that tour bus has a gym or what, but the man is fit. So I don’t think twice about whether he can hold me.
After a few tipsy false starts, I manage to clamber onto his back and he hefts me higher. My sandals keep slipping off, so Austin takes them, dangling them from his pinky. Leaning my nose close to his neck, I breathe in a whiff of him because, apparently that's what I do when I'm on the wine. He smells like clean laundry mixed with something spicy and dark from his cologne. I’m 100 percent certain that if I could bottle the mixture of all his scents, I could sell it and never have to worry about money again.
“Mmm. You smell good.” I sniff him again for good measure so I don't forget it.
“You’re killing me, Penn,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice dropping lower. The sound vibrates against my chest that’s currently smashed up against him, and heat pools in my belly at the sensation. His fingers dig into my thighs, causing all sorts of mental images to flash through my mind.
Before I know it, he’s jogging down the sidewalk and I’m clinging to him for dear life, both of us laughing our heads off.
When he reaches my steps, he runs up them, turns, and drops me onto the porch swing. Then he sits right beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. There’s a comfort between us that isn’t normal for two people who only met two days ago.
“Guess you didn’t think you’d be piggy-backing a tipsy studio owner while you were here,” I say.
Austin lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “Can’t say I minded it though.” Turning, he drapes one arm across the back of the swing and those blue eyes meet mine. I swear I feel it all the way down to my toes, and I scramble for a safer topic.
“So, um…UT, right?” I say, awkwardly gesturing toward his ballcap. “You were probably one of those wild guys who painted their body orange for football games, weren’t you?” Of course I’ve been Googling him again. Turns out he went to the University of Texas to play baseball, which probably explains the broken nose. From the looks of it, he was a great ball player.
“Nah. Didn’t have much time for all that. I was a pretty serious student. I wanted to make my family proud. When I wasn’t studying or playing ball, I was busking around campus and town with my guitar case open, hoping for a few bucks. The frats would get me to play at their parties, and eventually, some of the bars let me perform. That’s how my label discovered me. I saw dollar signs and dropped out to play music.”
“Do you regret it?” There’s something in his voice that sounds an awful lot like regret.
Austin pauses, his brows creasing. “I did well in school. Loved baseball. But music feeds my soul, ya know? Do I wish I’d handled fame better?” He pauses again, nodding his head. “Hell yeah. But I don’t regret it.”
I get that. Deep in my bones I do. Music feels like it’s stitched into my DNA, like it’s the oxygen I need to breathe. I completely understand how it feeds his soul.
“Seems like we’ve talked a lot about me but hardly any about you. Who is Penny Miller?” he asks.
Though the wine has loosened my tongue, I’m still hesitant to open up to him. "There’s not much to tell,” I say, unsure how to answer his loaded question.
“I’m one hundred percent certain that’s not true.” Austin’s gaze lands steady on me, and heat creeps up my neck. After a beat, he adds, “Tell me what it was like growing up at the studio. Let’s start there.”
I smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Honestly? I didn’t know it was anything special until I was a teenager. When musicians were here, it was kept so quiet I just thought it was normal. It was the family business. Dad owned it, Mom did the bookkeeping and I basically ran around like the band’s kid sister, doing whatever I wanted."
A wave of nostalgia and love washes over me, thinking back to those days with my parents. “I had a fun life with my mom and dad. They were great. My dad showed what it meant to love unconditionally by loving us both that way. You’d think that spending all day, every day together, they’d argue or need a break from each other. But not them. Not once did I hear them argue.”
"Listen, this is none of my business. If you don't wanna answer, tell me to shut the hell up. But what happened to them? Your parents," Austin asks. He's trying to get to know me, and I might regret unloading all this in the morning, but right now, I decide to let him in.
“When I was eleven, my mom was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. It didn’t respond to treatments and it spread quickly. She was gone by the time I was twelve. Just short of a year later.” Austin’s eyes that are locked on mine soften sympathetically. “Dad hid his grief as best he could from me. I mean, I was a kid who’d lost her mom. But I worked extra hard to be the bright spot in his life. Now, as an adult looking back, I can’t even begin to imagine how he must have felt. He lost the love of his life.”
“What about your grief?” he asks. “I’m sure losing your mom at that age was hard.”
Austin reaches out and lays his hand on top of mine. The simple gesture is so caring and kind that I come close to telling him just how little grief I’ve allowed myself for both my mom and my dad, how alone I feel even when I’m surrounded by people. There are things no one tells you about the grieving process. Sure, there are phases that anyone can search on the internet, but there were also things that blindsided me. I was never warned that there would be days I’d have to search every corner of my mind just to recall the sounds of their voices. Dad’s is still pretty fresh, but I have to dig deep to unearth my mom’s.
Anytime I think I might break, I find something to busy myself with. When I stay busy, it’s easy for me to shove all my emotions into a locked box I only open in the privacy of my shower, where the water can wash my tears down the drain.
“I don’t know exactly when my dad started drinking, but it must have gotten pretty bad,” I continue, ignoring his question. “My nana and pops helped out a lot, making sure we had meals and the bills were paid. In hindsight, I’m sure they saw his struggles and tried to shield me from them. I worked hard in school and got a scholarship to Alabama.”
“So how was college for you?” he asks, mercifully shifting the conversation to a lighter topic. “What were you like? Were you wild, partying and dating, or were you this almost serious Penny that I see now?”
This makes me chuckle. “Almost serious?"
He raises an eyebrow, challenging me.
“I had my fair share of fun. My friends and I would go listen to live music practically every night. We were all music majors. Mine was commercial music.”
“Is that what you wanted to major in? I changed my major, like, four or five times.”
Austin’s innocent question has my throat constricting and my chest heavy with a confession I’ve never told anyone, not even Josie.
I toy with an embroidered flower on my shirt, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to go to Belmont. It’s a small college in Tennessee. I dreamed of majoring in professional music. I always imagined myself on a stage, like the people who came through the studio.”
A beat of silence passes, my confession hanging in the air between us.
“Why didn’t you?” he asks. “Why’d you go to Bama if that wasn’t your dream?”
Suddenly, I feel very raw, and to my great horror, my nose starts to burn, a million tiny knives prickling at my eyes. Looking up at my ceiling, I try to will the tears back in. “My mom was a free spirit. I remember she’d always say, ‘Dream big, Penny girl!’ And that’s what I did. I dreamed as big as a child in a small town could dream. She and I would put on performances for my dad. She’d play the piano and I’d sing. But then she was gone and everything changed. I think somewhere deep down I knew that eventually I’d need to step in and help my dad. I’d been watching Dad at the soundboard for years. Plus, he was the biggest Alabama fan I’ve ever known. I wanted him to be proud of me. But sometimes I think my mom wouldn’t be.”
Austin squeezes my hand. “Nah, I’m sure they’d both be proud of you no matter what.”
He looks at me—I mean, really looks at me for one, two, three heartbeats. It’s as if he knows me as well as he knows the chords of a guitar. And in this moment I realize how desperately I truly want to be known.
“God,” I say, shattering the moment. I pull my hand back and look away. “I just trauma-dumped all over the place. It’s the wine, I swear it’s the wine. It makes me say things without sending them through my mind filter first. I’m sorry.”
When he clears his throat I look up. “Listen, I’ve been at this a while now—living in this fame machine. Nobody knows what’s real and what’s not; it's all fake. All of it.” Austin waves a hand. “Everyone acts like they’re your friend, but really nobody even knows each other. They just pretend they do.” He leans against the back of the swing, taking in a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say here is that you might call it trauma-dumping. I call it real. And real is exactly what I need in my life. If you want to tell me something real, I’m here for it.”
We sit blanketed in a heavy silence, his words hanging in the air with the chirp chirp of cricket song serenading us.
Finally, he breaks the silence, his teasing tone back. “And dating? Did you do much of that?”
I breathe out a chuckle. “You’re determined to poke at bruises tonight, aren’t you?” I sit, thinking over how to explain my dating life. “No, I honestly didn’t date much. My high school boyfriend also went to Alabama and we dated the entire time I was there.” I pause to correct myself. “Well, that’s not exactly true. I stayed to get my MBA. Eric didn’t want to stick around that long. We’d pretty much drifted apart by then anyway and things ended on good terms.”
“Six years is a long time,” he says simply.
“Yep.”
Eric and I outgrew each other slowly, like you outgrow your high school wardrobe. It fits for a while, but gradually, maybe the sleeves get too short or the waistband starts to pinch uncomfortably. And then one day you wake up and realize the shirt you once loved is no longer right for you. That’s how it was with us. We became strangers living under the same roof.
“So, I better get to bed. Big day tomorrow and all!” I infuse my voice with fake cheeriness that barely masks my swirl of emotions. I’ve turned into a big ol’ Debbie Downer tonight, and I know I’m not fooling him, but he plays along with my charade.
“Yep, big day. I think I’ll head up.” Austin stands to head to the apartment, but before he steps off the porch, I call out to him.
“Hey.”
He stops mid-step and turns. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
His head tilts. “For what?”
My shoulders lift in a shrug because I can’t quite put into words what I’m thanking him for. Tomorrow, I might regret all that I’ve told him, and maybe it's the wine making me this way, but all I know is there’s something about Austin that makes me feel different—like I’m braver when I’m around him. He’s said he’s here to find himself, but something tells me I just might find some of myself along the way as well.
“Just thanks.”
A smile spreads across his lips. “You’re welcome.”
With that, he turns toward the apartment, and I head inside. After getting ready for bed, I grab my phone to text Josie.
You up?
Josie
oooh, kinky! Is that the kind of friends we are now?
This makes me laugh out loud. I can always count on her for a good laugh.
I think I'm screwed.
Josie
Oh, you definitely are. It’s only a matter of time before you’re screwed in a good way. He looks at you like you’re his favorite ice cream that he wants to gobble up. Looks like you’re into him too.
It's a bad idea.
He’s leaving. He’s not staying here.
Josie
I didn’t say marry him. See what happens. For all you know, he might be a terrible kisser or smell bad.
Oh god no. He smells so good.
Josie
Ok, girl.
I dunno. I have to guard my heart. When he leaves, I’m not sure my heart can handle another loss.
Aw, hun. I get it. I'll lay off the teasing. I didn’t even think about all that.
Losing both my grandparents and my dad within a short window of time took its toll on me, and despite all my efforts to appear to be fine, Josie knows better. Nobody wants to become an orphan, no matter how old they are. We’ve never really talked about it, but she’s almost always able to see right past the facade I project to the world, to my real self.
Josie
Actually, I have one more thing to say, then I’ll drop it. You’re something special. I know he sees it. He’d be blind not to.
Now, get some sleep. You’re about to help make the best album he’s ever made and he doesn’t have a clue what he’s in for. You need to rest up for that. Love you, Penny girl.
love you too, Jo Jo.
I slide my phone under my pillow, turning her words over in my mind. Austin definitely doesn’t know what he’s in for, and the thought makes me smile.
My book is on my nightstand, and I open it to my current chapter, but the lingering effects of the wine pull me under and I drift off to sleep.