Chapter Twelve
Jack
T he screen door slaps shut behind Jinnie, and I watch through the window as she marches down the driveway, her ponytail swinging with each quick step.
Aggie chuckles beside me. “Well, that was abrupt.”
I turn back to the kitchen, rubbing the back of my neck. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Not unless ‘thank you’ is offensive these days.” Aggie picks up her glass. “Jinnie’s always been...spirited.”
I glance out the window again, but she’s already disappeared into the trees. There’s something about her—the way her nose scrunched when she smiled, the quick wit hiding behind those sharp, pretty eyes.
“So, she’s your niece?”
Aggie’s lips twitch like she knows exactly what I’m doing. “Mm-hmm. My sister’s daughter. Lives in that tiny house on their property.” She pulls out her phone. “You should see her work. The girl’s got talent.”
She scrolls through a feed full of artfully arranged pastries—croissants gleaming with glaze, cupcakes piled high with buttercream swirls, cookies decorated with intricate designs. Every photo is styled perfectly, the lighting just right.
“That’s all her?” I take the phone, zooming in on a chocolate cake that looks too pretty to eat.
“Yep. Does all the baking and the social media.” Aggie beams with pride. “Tripled their business in a year.”
I remember the bakery that first night. It had been everything to me. It was exactly what I needed at a dark point in my life. The girl behind the counter with flour on her cheek had taken pity on me. “She sold me day-old muffins when I was broke,” I say. “I was trying to figure out how I was going to make five dollars stretch. I think it was one of my humblest moments. I’ve never been that close to being destitute in my life. And to top it all off, she was the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen there to witness my humility.”
Aggie smiles and shakes her head. “She is a beautiful young lady. And that sounds like her. She has a soft spot for strays.”
“I guess the two of you have that in common.”
She laughs softly. “Never be ashamed for falling on hard times. We’ve all been there. I’m glad it was my Jinnie who was there for you.”
“Me too,” I say.
I hand back the phone, but my mind stays on Jinnie. The way she’d looked at me when she recognized me—surprise flickering into something else. Not quite annoyance. Not quite interest. Something in between. She almost looked like she was afraid of me. Not afraid like she thought I was going to physically beat on her. But like she thought I was going to snatch her heart and make a break for the border.
“You were really lucky,” Aggie says as she refills my iced tea. “What were you going to do if you hadn’t found me? If you’d just been sleeping in those woods and I’d never walked by?”
I shake my head, watching the condensation form on my glass. “I don’t even want to think about it. I would’ve figured something out, I guess. But meeting you—” I look up at her. “It changed everything.”
“The universe has a way of putting people where they need to be,” she says with a small smile.
“I just can’t believe how fortunate I am. First Jinnie with those rolls, then you finding me in the woods. It’s like...I was meant to end up here.”
Aggie nods knowingly. “This town takes care of its own. And its visitors. We might be small, but folks look out for each other here.”
“I’ve noticed that. Everyone at the bar is so friendly. Even the ones who look like they could snap me in half.”
She laughs. “Oh, you mean Earl? Don’t let the tattoos fool you. He cried at his daughter’s dance recital last month. Couldn’t stop talking about it for days.”
I smile at that, trying to imagine the burly man with the handlebar mustache dabbing at his eyes. “It’s different from where I grew up. Everyone knew everyone there too, but it was...I don’t know. Less welcoming somehow.”
“Well, you’re welcome here as long as you want to stay.” Aggie starts unpacking more of the vegetables from Jinnie’s box. “These are beautiful. Katherine—that’s my sister, Jinnie’s mom—has always had the greenest thumb in the county.”
“They grow all this themselves?”
“Oh yes. They’ve got quite the setup. Five acres of gardens, an orchard, even a small greenhouse.” She holds up a perfectly formed tomato. “They’re practically self-sufficient. Grow their own food, make their own soap, candles, you name it.”
“Wow.” I’m genuinely impressed. “That’s incredible.”
“They’re good people. Quiet, keep to themselves mostly. They sell at the farmer’s market and do some trading with neighbors, but otherwise, they’re pretty content with their little slice of paradise.”
“And Jinnie helps with all that?”
Aggie gives me a knowing look. “Interested in my niece, are you?”
I feel heat creep up my neck. “Just making conversation.”
“Mm-hmm.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Jinnie helps when she can, but she’s got her hands full with the bakery. She’s always been a bit different from her parents—more social, always wanting to be where the action is. That’s why the bakery suits her so well.”
I nod, trying not to seem too eager for information. “She seems...nice.”
Aggie laughs. “You can drop the act, Jack. I see the way your eyes light up when you talk about her. Jinnie’s a special girl. Always has been. But she’s been through her share of heartache. She’s careful with who she lets in these days.”
I shift uncomfortably, feeling like I’ve been caught red-handed. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” Aggie interrupts with a warm smile. “Just tread lightly, that’s all I’m saying. She’s got a good heart, but it’s been bruised a few times. I’m not so old I don’t recognize young people flirting.”
“I get it,” I say quickly.
Aggie starts washing the vegetables in the sink, humming softly as she works. “You know, you two might actually be good for each other. She could use someone who understands what it’s like to chase a dream.”
I freeze, my stomach doing a weird flip at the idea. “I don’t think I’m the one to set an example. I certainly haven’t figured out how to chase any dreams.”
“Have you put together a setlist?” she asks.
I grin. “I never thought I would ever need a setlist. I was just winging it last week.”
I pull out my notebook that I left sitting on the counter and flip through the pages. “I’ve got a few originals I’ve been working on. Some covers too—stuff folks might recognize. I’m still figuring out what works best for the crowd.”
Aggie nods, her hands still busy with the vegetables. “That’s smart. Keep it varied, keep them interested. And don’t be afraid to try something new. Folks here are open-minded. They really like that song about your mom.”
“It’s not really about my mom. I mean, I guess a couple of lines are about her.”
“I bet you’ve got some songs about your mom in that notebook.”
“I do.”
“But you’re not ready to put those out to the public.”
I slowly shake my head. “No, ma’am. Not yet.”
She nods. “It makes you feel vulnerable.”
“They are songs that are just for me and her.”
“I understand. You keep those for you. What else do you have in that notebook?”
“I’ve been working on a song about here. The land.”
She smiles. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I’m thinking maybe I’ll start with something upbeat, get them warmed up, then hit them with one of the slower ones later in the set.”
“Good plan.” Aggie sets a freshly washed zucchini on the counter. “You’ve got a knack for this, Jack. Not just the music—the way you read people. It’s a gift.”
“Thanks, Aggie. That means a lot.”
She smiles softly, wiping her hands on a towel. “Just remember, it’s not just about the music. It’s about the connection you make with the audience. That’s what keeps them coming back. You have a knack for making everyone in that bar feel like you’re singing directly to them.”
I do like that. It’s about making people feel something. The afternoon slips away as Aggie and I talk more about music, life, and everything in between. By the time I head back to my campsite, my notebook is filled with fresh ideas and my mind buzzes with possibilities.
I go into my tent and get dressed in my usual jeans. I hung up my two button-ups from one of the tent poles. But tonight, I’m feeling a bit more casual. I hope my mom won’t think I’m not trying. But it’s a bar. And I feel like the people are okay with me wearing a T-shirt.
I’ve got an hour or so before I need to be at the bar. I grab my guitar and sit on the log that I think of as my couch. The trees my living room and the creek my sound system. I know this is temporary, but I love it here.
I start strumming, letting my fingers do the talking and thinking. The tune takes shape easily, light and playful at first, then dipping into something deeper. The lyrics follow—something about sugar and sharp tongues and unexpected kindness.
I play it through twice before I realize what I’ve done.
This is about her .
Heat creeps up my neck. I set the guitar down like it’s burned me.
That’s not what I meant to do.
I scrub a hand over my face. Stupid. I don’t even know her. One awkward conversation and a few Instagram posts don’t mean anything.
No way am I playing that tonight.
Instead, I run through my usual set—the songs I’ve practiced, the ones I know work. The ones that don’t make me feel like some lovesick teenager.
By the time I get to The Hollow Log, the place is already buzzing. The usual crowd is there. A group of locals are laughing at the bar, and a few unfamiliar faces are scattered around. Aggie gives me a nod from behind the counter.
I take my spot on the platform, adjusting the mic stand and tuning my guitar one last time. The chatter dies down as folks turn their attention to me. I take a deep breath, strumming the opening chords of an upbeat cover to kick things off.
The crowd warms up quickly, clapping along and singing when they know the words. I can feel the energy in the room shifting, pulling me in, and for a moment, all my doubts fade away. This—this is where I’m supposed to be.
People are singing along to one of my songs. I never thought anyone besides me would ever sing them. This is wild. I’m feeding off their energy. I feel like I’m soaring through the clouds. This is an out-of-body experience that I never want to end.