Out of the Blue

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

“You’ve changed outfits three times now,” Gram said as Nora walked into the living room, wearing a pair of linen trousers and a flowy tank top. “I liked the sundress.”

“I worried it might be too coffee-dateish.”

“Isn’t that where you’re going—a coffee date?”

“A working meeting,” she clarified. “The sundress wasn’t professional enough. I’m trying to look Saturday-casual while also maintaining an air of professionalism. It’s harder than it seems.”

Gram laughed. “Do you think Ivy’s father is putting as much effort into his outfit?”

“He’s got it easier; he’s not the school counselor. And his star power gives him unwritten permission to do whatever he wants.” Nora put Ivy’s paperwork into a folder and slid it into her bag.

“You’re overthinking it. It’s just coffee. No one will be weighing in on your choice of attire.”

“Hopefully not. What if someone takes a picture of us?”

“It’s Nashville, not LA.”

Nora laughed. “How do you know the difference in Nashville versus LA when it comes to the rich and famous?”

“I see the country stars getting coffee all the time around here, and no one bats an eye.”

Nora slipped her bag onto her shoulder and slid on her flats. “Well, Ivy told me herself that people bother Blaze. He’s a very popular producer.”

“Or maybe onlookers will simply think you’re catching up with a friend for coffee. Your hair looks nice, by the way.”

Nora ran her fingers through her curled locks self-consciously. “Thank you.”

“Just be yourself, and you’ll be fine.”

That comment didn’t really help things.

“Love you,” Nora said to her grandmother.

Gram blew her a kiss, and Nora was out the door.

The entire drive, Nora tried to recount specific instances of success with the items on Ivy’s checklist. Nora had committed each one to memory and by the time she’d pulled up at the coffee shop, she was ready to explain them to Blaze.

His black Maserati was already parked right out front, and she willed her heart to quit thumping. There was no need to be nervous. This was just a parent meeting—whether he was drop-dead gorgeous or not. Nora grabbed her bag of files, and went inside.

When she entered, Blaze waved and stood up from a nearby table for two. He had on an unfussy pair of jeans and a casual short-sleeved button down. It fit him loosely, as if he were headed to the beach after their meeting. An expensive-looking pair of sunglasses sat on the table next to his phone.

Nora meandered through the growing line and went over to greet him.

“Pick your poison, my treat.” He waved a hand at the chalkboard menu.

“Oh, I’m happy to get my own, thank you,” Nora offered, keeping it all business.

But Blaze was already shaking his head. “Nope. I insist. You’re meeting me outside of your regular hours, and it’s the very least I can do.”

“All right.”

He gestured for her to go first and led them toward the line that had grown with the addition of a group of girls and was now snaking through the tables. She squeezed past a small space and sucked in a tiny breath as Blaze’s hand lightly grazed the small of her back to guide her through. Her heartbeat resumed its drumming once more.

“I hope I didn’t interfere too much with your weekend plans,” he said.

She faced him in the small space. “No, I was only hanging out with my grandmother, and she’s in an organizational phase at the moment, so she’s been cleaning out closets.” Nora gave him a pretend-horror grimace.

Blaze laughed, and her stomach did a flip as his gray eyes sparkled.

“She’s welcome to come my way when she’s done. My housekeeper, Lucia, draws the line at closets.”

Nora smiled, trying not to be smitten by the fact that he had a live-in housekeeper out back of a mansion yet might have messy closets. “I’ll bet your closets are perfect.”

“With my recent travel schedule, definitely not. I lump my dirty clothes from one suitcase on the floor and pack the next one. I’m looking forward to being home for a while but not necessarily doing laundry,” he said.

The line moved a few people, and they shuffled forward.

“Do you have any summer trips planned, or will you be home all summer?” Nora asked.

“Probably staying home. Ivy tells me you’ve got a trip coming up. You’re going to the beach?”

“Yes,” she replied. Blaze Ryman knows my summer plans? “My grandmother wants to go, so we’re spending two weeks along the Gulf Coast. I’ve never been to the beach.”

His head tilted, and he looked at her as if she were some rare bird. “You’ve never been?”

She shook her head, and tried to laugh lightly, but it stuck in her throat. Was she boring? All the insecurities born from her relationship with Carson reared up and snared.

Just then, the line moved, and the barista was waiting for Nora’s order. She chose a house-made honey and lavender latte, and Blaze put in his order for a double shot espresso with a splash of milk. When he spoke, the barista’s shifty eyes and nervous smile gave away the fact that she recognized him. The girl kept looking over at Nora as if trying to place her.

Don’t worry. I’m nobody special .

When they got their coffees and settled back at the table, Blaze put down his porcelain cup and saucer and folded his hands. Sitting across from him, she couldn’t deny how attractive he was. A few people had also noticed and were stealing glances at them. Nora pulled out her file and opened the notes app on her phone, focusing on Ivy.

“Let’s jump right in. Here’s what I’ve been doing with Ivy in our after-school sessions.”

She went through the checklist, trying not to focus on the little lines that formed between Blaze’s eyebrows or how adorable he was as he intently listened to her as if she were some important wealth of knowledge. Given what she’d seen of his inattention to Ivy, she didn’t trust his sincerity. He might be able to swoon those up-and-coming stars with that charming act, but Nora was a tougher nut to crack.

“This is all really helpful.” He picked up his small mug and took a sip. “I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants. I know she’s grieving, and I’ve been out of state so much.”

“Connection is key. She needs to feel the support of those around her. I’m not sure she does right now.”

“I text her all the time, and I’ve tried to connect on video call every night before she goes to bed. I’ve even cut some of my trips into two, coming home for a day just to spend a little time with her.”

“She needs to know that she comes first,” Nora said bluntly.

Blaze took in a slow breath, his gaze dropping to the table. “I know it isn’t perfect,” he said, looking back up at her, “but it’s the best I can do right now.”

“Given your success at work, I’ll bet you can surprise yourself if you put that attention entirely on Ivy.”

He shook his head, his stress clear in the downturn of his features. “I… haven’t been great at relationships. I can do the superficial work relationships, but when it comes to anything more…” His brows pulled together. “It’s a puzzle to me.”

Nora was treading outside of her job description once more. The whole meeting had her uneasy. This family needed a therapist, not a coffee date with the school counselor. “Relationships are about small steps,” she offered.

“She isn’t receptive,” Blaze said. “I’m putting in effort to get as much time with her as I can, but when I come home she barely speaks to me. I’m actively trying to give her more, although I’m not sure my presence will be helpful if she doesn’t want to see or talk to me. That’s why I wanted to meet with you. I was hoping for some suggestions.”

“I think just showing her you care and continuing to show up is the best you can do right now.” Nora took a drink of her sweet latte. “I’m happily surprised that you want to be an active part in her life.”

He flinched with her use of “surprise,” but maintained a neutral expression. “I always have.”

Nora set down her cup, confused. “Ivy said she didn’t think you tried to see her in the past. She said her mother didn’t want you to be involved.”

“The second half of that is true. Candace didn’t want me to be involved.”

Nora nodded, taking another drink of her coffee and offering a listening ear. It wasn’t her place to get involved in their family drama, but she did feel he should know what Ivy thought.

“When Ivy’s mom and I first divorced, I wanted to see Ivy regularly, allowing for my work commitments, but Ivy’s mom found ways to plan things that interfered with my scheduled time.”

“Why?”

“When Candace and I met, we were really young and both dirt poor. All we had was each other. We worked our fingers to the bone, until things took off for me. For a while we thought we’d made it, but as my work picked up I spent less and less time with her and Ivy.”

He ran his finger around the handle of his mug and lifted it to his lips. Then he set it back down, pensive. “I became the provider. I was good at it, suddenly, but the job required an incredible time investment. In Candace’s mind, I was choosing work over her. But I didn’t mean to. She was angry about the long hours I put in. Ivy was a baby, and Candace was exhausted at the end of every day, managing everything.” His eyes filled with guilt.

“She got the groceries, did laundry, cooked, cleaned, sent off the bills, and took Ivy to all her infant doctor appointments. I didn’t know how to balance my insane work schedule with the demands of my growing family. All I knew was that if I kept going, Candace and Ivy wouldn’t have to go to bed hungry anymore. I could provide them with lavish things. But over the next few years, Candace became angry. My career was a source of tension. With my rise in status, I was pulled in every direction. When I got home at night, dog-tired, we argued, and she told me any chance she got what a terrible husband and father I was.”

He bowed his head, his back rising with a long breath before he looked up again. “She wasn’t wrong. But I didn’t know how to fix what I’d broken. I had to work so hard to provide for us financially; how could I continue at that pace and give my family what they needed emotionally as well? By the time she wanted to leave, she told me I wouldn’t ever be able to make them happy, and I believed her.”

The buzz of the coffee shop faded away with the revelation of the broken man in front of Nora. The very picture of stardom, the man from social media, a farce.

“When we split up, the tabloids out in LA called her trash, and said she was out to get my millions, which she bitterly resented, so she took Ivy to Alabama and wouldn’t let me give them anything. I threatened to take her to court. She begged me not to put her and Ivy through that. After they left, I wondered if Ivy would be better off without me.”

While Ivy had painted her mother as a loving mom, Nora could see that Candace might not have been entirely fair to her ex-husband.

“I think you should sit Ivy down and let her hear your side,” she suggested.

“She loves her mom. I don’t want to put Candace in a bad light.”

“Fair enough, but there are two sides to every story. Acknowledge what Ivy’s mother felt and then give her your point of view. Let Ivy decide how to feel.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. She’s had a long time to hear her mother’s side of things. Ivy turns away anything to do with wealth—and I get that, given how she was raised. But I have been putting away money for her every month for her entire life, and I’m saving it in an account that she can access when she’s eighteen.”

“You should tell her that too. Maybe if she doesn’t want the money, you can let her decide what she wants to do with it. She and I talked a bit about the mission work, and I think she might be on board with it. At least some of that money could be a nice investment in something she can be proud of. Offering her the decision would also give her a little control.”

“That’s a great idea.”

Just then, a man with a scruffy gray beard and bootcut jeans over his Luccheses came over and clapped Blaze on the back, interrupting them. “Good to see ya, Blaze.”

“Oh, hey, Buddy,” Blaze returned, that self-confidence surfacing once more.

“Any new talent on the horizon?” The man eyed Nora and then landed back on Blaze.

“Always.” Blaze gave him a good-natured grin.

The man’s attention moved back to Nora. “You courting one right now?”

“Not unless she wants me to.” Blaze consulted Nora. “You don’t sing, do you?”

“Um, no. Definitely not.” Nora hid behind her coffee mug.

Blaze laughed, sending a flutter through her chest. “This is Buddy Gibbons. He’s the owner of one of the record labels.”

“One of the record labels?” Buddy scoffed playfully.

Blaze grinned. “He owns Big Sky Entertainment. They signed four of the most recent top-ten artists in country music.”

“And three of those four worked with your coffee date, here,” Buddy added.

Nora smiled, but she wanted to crawl under the table for two reasons: she was actually carrying on a conversation with a famous producer as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and Buddy had called their meeting a “date.” While he probably didn’t mean a thing by the term, it struck that nerve.

“Well, I’ll let y’all get back to it,” Buddy said. “Good to see ya.”

“Sorry about that,” Blaze said once Buddy had moved out of earshot. “We managed to get through quite a while before we were interrupted.”

“Ivy tells me that happens when you go out.” She sipped her latte.

“Yeah. Out here, it’s mostly locals who actually know me, but in downtown Nashville I’ll get a lot of people trying to give me demos and network.”

“That must be hard to deal with.”

“It can be, but being interrupted comes with the job. And it also has its perks.”

She smiled from behind her coffee. “What are the perks of the job?”

“It pays rather well,” he said. “I know money isn’t everything—believe me, I didn’t grow up with any—but it can help get things done, like sending Ivy on whatever missions she wants to do. I just want to help her figure out who she is and what she wants.”

He took a drink of his espresso. “So you lost your parents at twenty, you said?”

“Yeah. To a car accident. They were coming home from a wedding in a driving rainstorm. My dad lost control of the car, and they went off a steep embankment.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” But then he backtracked. “That was a typical response—I’m sure you get it every time you tell someone.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, really, which is what makes a response so difficult. How did you manage?”

Nora set down her cup. “I was in college, so keeping up with my academics while I worked through the loss was the hardest part for me. I understand what Ivy’s going through because of that. She’s getting good grades again, which is wonderful, but I worry she’s having to push aside her grief to do it. Eventually, it will come back to bite her when she isn’t expecting it to—in the form of anxiety, depression, panic attacks, you name it.”

“So how did you process your feelings? You don’t seem affected—are you?”

“I had the support of my grandparents. They were a guiding force for me, stepping in when I wasn’t able to manage and filling in the gaps that my parents left. They had a role a lot like yours. The difference was, I ran to them with open arms. We have to get Ivy to trust you and to turn to you in times of emotional need. Hopefully, the counselor you found will help her learn how to process her feelings.”

“How do I get her to trust me?”

“Tell her your story about her mother. Ask her opinion on the matter, give her open-ended questions and listen to her answers. You’re great at listening—I can tell just by the way you listen to me when I talk.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a pretty good listener too.”

“Thank you.” She fiddled with her cup. “I don’t want to betray Ivy’s trust, but I do know something she hasn’t told you that might be a good way to get her attention.”

He eyed her with interest. “What’s that?”

“She remembers when you used to play guitar for her before bed. She, too, plays guitar. For whatever reason, she’s holding on to that and won’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Probably a subconscious grab for control. She might be afraid to allow herself to be vulnerable by telling you something she likes about you—she’s got her guard up to protect herself from the grief and stress from the upheaval of her mom’s death. But you could organically play for her.” The picture of him by the pool swam into her mind, and she pushed it away to focus on him now. “When did you learn to play?”

“I was twelve.”

“Twelve?”

“I cut grass for extra money and saved up for an old guitar I’d found at the secondhand shop. I couldn’t even play yet, and my parents told me it was a waste of money, but something about that guitar called to me—I still couldn’t tell you what it was.”

“Once you bought it, how did you learn to play?”

“I felt my way around the strings. It was a little like learning a second language. I wanted to play melodies, and matching the chords to the notes took time, but eventually I remembered where they were and began to pull sounds together to replicate songs I’d heard.”

“How long was it before you could play a whole song?”

“A couple of months.”

“Wow.”

“It’s funny. I hated school—I was a terrible student—but I loved learning if it had anything to do with a guitar. I played it all day, every day.”

“I love that you found your passion. You’re lucky.”

“Lucky is right. I have no idea where I’d be if I hadn’t picked up that guitar.”

“How so?”

“I got pretty good, and began playing in the park after school. People around town began to take notice. My music teacher got wind of it and asked me to bring my guitar to his class during study hall. He taught me the correct finger placement for chords. So I got lucky having him too.”

“The right people always seem to come into our lives, don’t they?”

Interest sparkled on his face. “Indeed, they do.”

There was something in his gaze that made Nora want to get up and leave.

“So if you loved playing guitar,” she continued, avoiding whatever that look was, “and you were good at it, did you ever join a band or anything?”

He chuckled. “I did. In rural Alabama I didn’t have many options for bandmates. I got a few friends together, but we didn’t have a lot of talent between us, so I had to work really hard to select the right material that would showcase what talent we had and then arrange the songs for our demos to get the most out of them. I loved that part of the process. What I didn’t realize at the time, was that producing was my true talent.”

“How did you get to Nashville?”

“At eighteen, Candace and I packed up and moved to Nashville with nothing but a tent and one suitcase each. We camped in the woods on the edge of the city, lived on gas-station food, and we showered at our local gym until we got jobs. I worked at a discount store in town, and Candace got a job waitressing.”

Again, Nora considered how the man in the fur coat on social media was a far cry from the struggling teen he spoke of. Did people know what Blaze Ryman had to do to get to where he was now?

“That must have been hard,” she said.

“It was, but we were young and happy then,” he said. “That’s how I got the nickname Blaze—I blaze a trail wherever I go.” He smiled.

“What’s your real name?”

He produced a crooked grin that almost took her breath away. “Timothy.”

She laughed.

“What?” he asked, humor glittering in his eyes.

“Weirdly, you look more like a Blaze than a Timothy.” She took another sip of her coffee, all her attention on this interesting man in front of her.

“Good thing the name stuck then.”

“How in the world did you get into Nashville’s music producing business? I’d think that would be incredibly hard to do.”

“While I worked at my day job I arranged songs and consulted small bands that were trying to break into the music scene. We were all broke, so they couldn’t pay much, and I had no experience, so I couldn’t charge a lot either. But I loved what I was doing. Sometimes, if I thought a band had incredible talent, we split the cost of the studio and called it even so I could have credit for production. As bands began to get deals, people started to take notice of my work, and my schedule filled up, until I was barely sleeping trying to get it all done. I upped my prices and quit the day job.”

“That’s an incredible story. I assume it all went up from there?”

“Well, by nineteen I was able to afford an apartment, and we stopped living in our tent. Candace and I got married in a little chapel off Broadway. We thought we’d really made it. But as my popularity grew, I was working around the clock—weekends, late nights… I threw everything I had into this career. And then Candace told me she was pregnant. In the later months of her pregnancy, she struggled with long shifts on her feet, and I had to work even longer hours. But those longer hours produced incredible opportunities for me, and I eventually began making enough money for her to quit waitressing.”

“That’s incredible.”

His light expression fell. “Not entirely. Candace had an instance where she went into what she thought was pre-term labor, and she couldn’t get a hold of me. She had to drive herself to the hospital.”

“Oh, no.”

“I was in the studio and not near a phone. I still remember the agony of knowing I’d let her down in the worst way. The song I’d produced that night hit the Billboard top ten, but I couldn’t enjoy a single minute of it, knowing what the success had cost me.” He leaned back in his chair casually and propped his arm up on the back of it.

“Things didn’t get any better after Ivy was born. I was building a client list and if big names came my way I had to find time to work with them no matter what because I needed to have their talent on my roster. Now, people depended on me.”

“And that eventually led to your split with Candace?”

“We managed for about four years after Ivy was born, and then she snapped. She told me it wasn’t the life she’d wanted at all, and if she had to go back to living in a tent, she’d choose that version of me. I wanted time to be with her and Ivy, and I begged for her patience, but she said I’d never slow down. By the time she left, I was convinced they were better off without me.”

Nora took in the vulnerability on his face as the two fell into a quiet lull.

He looked uncertain for a moment. “I’m sorry I unloaded all that on you. Maybe I shouldn’t have… I’m not a great parent. I guess I just wanted you to hear why.”

“None of us are perfect,” she said.

Her comment didn’t seem to ease his mind, and he looked at his watch. “I know I’ve taken way more of your time than I should have on a Saturday, talking about myself when you’re here to help with Ivy.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I asked you the questions.”

“Maybe we can grab another coffee at the end of the school year, and you can get me up to speed on Ivy before her counselor starts. And then I can give you a chance to talk.”

“Oh, there’s not much to tell on my end, but I’d be happy to chat about Ivy.”

“Everyone has a story.” He tipped up his mug and drank the last of his espresso. Then he gathered their cups and took them over to the dish return.

Nora stood up when he returned. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Of course. Any time. You’ve got my direct number in case you need to get a hold of me for Ivy.”

As they made their way to the door, the public around them came back into Nora’s focus. She could see people were discreetly eyeing them when they left.

“One more question,” she said, looking up at him through the blinding sunlight. “Is Ryman your real last name?”

His eyes glittered with interest as he peered down at her. “Yeah.”

“Do people ever think you’re related to the namesake of the Ryman Auditorium?”

“I have had a few people ask.”

She nodded.

“I’ll check in soon. About Ivy,” he said, before slipping on his designer sunglasses and heading to his car.

She waved as he got in.

Nora headed home with mixed feelings. On one hand, she felt confident that Blaze and Ivy would be fine because the girl had a loving father who was willing to try. But she dared not spend another coffee date with him. She was way more interested in him than she should be.

* * *

After a full afternoon of organizing the house to appease Gram, they’d watched a movie together, but Nora hadn’t really seen any of it. Her mind had wandered back to her coffee date with Blaze. Nora had only brushed over the meeting with Gram, not wanting to tell everything for fear that might make her face things about herself she didn’t really want to face. But now her issues were swirling around in her head instead.

All the talk about Ivy’s loss had Nora thinking about her parents. After Gramps died four years ago, she didn’t have anyone left in her family but Gram, and the thought of what she would do when her grandmother passed on almost paralyzed her with fear. She scolded herself for even thinking about Gram going anywhere, but one day losing her grandmother would be a reality. Was this apartment and this job what Nora was meant to do?

And what would she tell Blaze about herself if they met again? Her life wasn’t nearly as exciting as his. Was that her own doing? Maybe she should take some risks in life the way Blaze had. For goodness’ sake, he’d lived in a tent. And while his personal life hadn’t panned out quite the way it probably could have, look at what that risk had gotten him in terms of a career. But Nora couldn’t come up with any risks she wanted to take. Her destiny wasn’t as clear for her as it had been for Blaze. Why was that? Was she just cruising along without a real purpose or mission? Or had she found it, and her life just wasn’t as noteworthy as his?

Gram was asleep in the chair, her closed book in her lap. Nora rubbed her tired eyes. She quietly got up from the sofa, and roused Gram. Then she washed her face, and climbed into bed. Her mind still full of questions, she lay there, unable to sleep. After a few more minutes she reached for her phone on the nightstand and scrolled to Blaze’s social media. She clicked his stories to see what he’d posted today. But there was nothing new. Just the same photos of him and the music industry up-and-comers.

He didn’t seem to have time for a personal life, but he had made time for coffee. His choice of location was an unusual way to meet regarding a student, but she had to believe that his motive was entirely Ivy. While Nora found him wildly interesting and handsome, she definitely wasn’t Blaze Ryman’s type. She didn’t actually know his type, but given the flashy people he hung out with, she’d bet a million dollars she wasn’t it.

Why, then, had he wanted to hear her story? What did her past have to do with working with Ivy? Certainly, he’d only been trying to be polite. And that was exactly the way she wanted it. The very last thing she needed was to muddle up a perfectly fine position at the school by mixing business with pleasure.

Not any closer to sleep, she fell into the internet, eventually looking up Ryman Auditorium to learn more about the last name Blaze shared with one of Nashville’s most famous venues. According to the internet, the auditorium’s namesake, Thomas G. Ryman, wasn’t a musician at all. He was a sea captain. He invested all his money into his dream of constructing a church that later became the Ryman Auditorium. Blaze, too, had navigated choppy seas, and he’d put all his money and time into his dream. Was Nora the captain of her life? What seas was she navigating? Or was she just coasting along?

Every time she tried to clear her mind to sleep, thoughts of her life floated back in. Was her subconscious trying to tell her something? Was there more to her life than what she’d been living?