Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Darcy was meeting with Juliet Jacobs. Face-to-face. In person.
She was doing so in order for them to make peace.
So that they could collaborate on a song for Shelby-freaking-Linwood.
Sometimes, when she was able to zoom out and look at her life now compared to where she’d been only a year ago, it was nearly impossible to fathom. Like some sort of wild dream, something absolutely surreal.
Before this year, she’d been to Nashville a handful of times, but she’d definitely never been to the neighborhood she was currently strolling down the sidewalk in. She’d never had a reason to wander around Green Hills before.
She was pretty sure that she wouldn’t have even been allowed into C?te it wasn’t like she wanted to live there forever, either.
But buying a house – a house on a fully functional farm at that!
– was such a commitment. A giant commitment, right there in Pineford.
One that Darcy… wasn’t a part of. “We have the album coming out soon, and then the tour. I only mean, we have so much coming up.”
How could Blythe possibly be able to focus on something like buying a farm? Darcy felt like she was wholly consumed by this new life they were trying to navigate, and Blythe was buying a farm?! It couldn’t compute. She knew her sister didn’t fixate the way she did, but still.
She tapped her fingers against her thigh with a twitchy sort of energy, bursting to get out.
“And now that our album is recorded, I’m going to use that time to get everything settled here. The Keller’s wanted a fast closing; you remember, their daughter – she moved to Miami? – she just had her baby ten weeks early, and they’re itching to move.”
Darcy vaguely remembered Mr. Keller saying something about his daughter’s move last year when he was at the bar. But she clearly hadn’t internalized it the way Blythe had.
“Closing is in only three weeks! Inspections are happening in a few days. Mark my words, before Christmas – no, before Thanksgiving – this is going to be our dream house.”
Darcy wasn’t really sure if Blythe was referring to the two of them as “our” or her and Colton, but she supposed it didn’t matter. Even if she couldn’t quite sort out her feelings regarding how big and permanent this felt, Blythe seemed ecstatic. Which was the important thing, she reminded herself.
“That’s great, Blythe. Seriously,” sincerity etched into her voice, because she really did mean it. She wanted everything for her sister. It was a huge part of what drove her forward, what motivated her. “I was just surprised. But consider your words, uh, marked.”
Her sister paused, her voice getting quieter, as she said, “You know, the farmhouse has plenty of space, Darce. I’m not – I mean… I’m leaving the apartment, but there’s space for you here, too.”
The understanding in Blythe’s tone did work through her, soothing – at least a little bit – over how unexpectedly frazzled this had made her feel. Blythe wasn’t leaving her. Darcy and the apartment were not one and the same. She silently echoed that to herself.
“I mean. I guess we can see,” she haltingly offered, uncertainty creeping through her.
She didn’t know how to feel about living in the apartment without Blythe – without her and Colton, frankly – but there was a kneejerk feeling inside of her that the farmhouse wasn’t for her, either.
Shaking her head, she did her very best to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn as it crept up on her mid-conversation. Didn’t work.
“Are you still not sleeping?” Blythe demanded, switching gears immediately from excitement about the house to stern and focused on Darcy.
She didn’t know which she preferred.
“Ah, yeah, not really,” she confirmed, reluctantly, carding a hand through her hair as she jogged across the street, the same side the bistro was on.
“Maybe Emerson’s right, maybe you should go to the doctor,” Blythe suggested.
Darcy shook her head, despite Blythe obviously not being able to see her. “There’s nothing physically wrong with me. And you and Emerson should stop talking about me,” she tacked on, feeling a little defensive.
When, exactly, were Blythe and Emerson getting together to discuss her, anyway?
Besides, what could a doctor do other than prescribe some sort of sleep medication? Granted, at this point, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea…
“I mean, what else could you possibly be obsessing over? The album is done. It’s in production now.”
She reached up, pressing her fingers against her eyes, as if she could rub away the exhaustion.
Technically, Blythe wasn’t totally correct. Technically, tweaks could still be made.
Which was why, technically, Darcy had been in the studio last night until four in the morning. If she wasn’t obsessing in the studio at night, she was reading and trying to distract herself from thinking about being at the studio. But it was becoming very obsessive either way.
Blythe was a very decent singer, she was an incredible performer, and she had confidence in spades. For Blythe, once the album was recorded, it was done. She didn’t want or feel the need to go back over it.
Emerson was more similar to Darcy in that she also stressed about the music and wanted to go over it in detail multiple times even after the “final” product was complete. But they were now also past the stage that Emerson had any critiques, either.
As far as Emerson and Blythe were concerned, their first official album with Copper Canyon was done, and now they were just waiting for its release in January. Nothing else to do.
But there was something they could do. Darcy was in constant communication with her producers on the album, to the point where she was sure she was driving them crazy. But even then, she couldn’t seem to make herself stop.
Even though they’d been meticulously recorded on equipment they couldn’t have even dreamed of when they’d self-produced Bowling Alley Ballads, even though they’d had some of the best producers and engineers working on it, Darcy couldn’t stop.
Listening to every lyric, rolling it around in her mind. Listening to the rhythm, the melody, the pitch of every single song, obsessing over if there were any missteps.
She couldn’t hear them at this point; she thought they sounded great.
Maybe the best they’d ever sounded.
But would it be enough?
Even when she dragged herself out of the studio and back to her hotel room, she often laid awake.
Thinking. Trying to predict the future. Even when she picked out the most boring novels she could find, they didn’t make her fall asleep.
Instead, she’d recently read the history of the post office.
Bone dry. She hadn’t fallen asleep, though.
Blythe made a hmm sound she always did right before – “You know what I’m thinking?”
“I can hazard a guess,” she muttered, dryly.
Because Blythe always took that tone when she was about to very strongly suggest Darcy do something to find a romantic partner.
Her real answer, currently, was that she’d fucking love to have someone to have sex with right now. She’d found – somewhat miraculously – that was one of the only things that shut her mind off from the dogged obsessiveness with which she’d focused on music.
And she’d only discovered that at Jake’s when she’d been working the closing shift at the bar four years ago, the first time a woman had hit on her.
Or maybe it hadn’t been the first time a woman hit on her; Darcy wasn’t really sure when she looked back in retrospect.