Chapter Eighteen
Jack
T he saw bites into the plywood, sending a spray of sawdust across my boots. I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm and step back to survey our work. I feel like my escape from the dairy farm has landed me in day laborer hell. I’ve never built so much shit. If the music thing falls through, I know I can walk onto any construction site and get a job. Aggie seems determined to have me rebuild the whole damn town.
“Level?” I ask, nodding to the makeshift stage.
Derek, the bartender with arms like tree trunks, squints at the little bubble in the level. “Close enough for rock and roll.”
Aggie claps her hands from where she’s been supervising from a barstool. “Looks professional!”
Professional might be pushing it. The stage is basically just a plywood platform, but it’s sturdy, and—most importantly—it gives me some breathing room from the crowds that have been getting a little too close during sets.
I can actually walk around a bit on the thing instead of keeping my ass on the stool.
I step up onto the new stage, my boots thudding against the plywood. It’s solid—no creaks, no give. I bounce a little, testing it. Yeah, this’ll work. I glance over at Derek, who’s watching like he’s expecting me to fall through. Thankfully, it’s only about two feet off the floor. If I fall through or fall off, I’m not going to die.
“Not bad,” I say, grinning.
“Not bad?” he scoffs. “Kid, this is craftsmanship.”
I laugh and take a few steps forward, imagining the weight of my guitar in my hands, the crowd out there in the dark, watching. The stage feels...bigger than it is. Like it’s a gateway to something I can’t quite see yet. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline of building it with my own two hands, but I feel a weird kind of pride swelling in my chest.
I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in. Aggie’s already got lights rigged up—strings of bulbs crisscrossing above the stage. Just Christmas lights—nothing too fancy. It’s still daylight now, but I can picture it at night: the bar packed, the hum of conversation dying down as I step up here, the first chord ringing out. The lights are just enough to highlight me without cooking me.
“Think you can handle all this space?” Aggie teases from her perch at the bar.
I shoot her a look. “Oh, I think I can manage.”
She laughs and takes a sip of her iced tea. “Good. Because tonight’s crowd is gonna be big.”
“Bigger than last night?”
“Bigger than last night,” Aggie confirms with a grin. “Word’s getting around, kid. People are driving in from towns over an hour away. You’re becoming a thing. Mr. Walsh, who owns the hotel in town, told me for the first time in two years he doesn’t have vacancies for the weekend. They’re coming to see you. And my bar.”
I let that sink in as I step down from the stage, brushing sawdust off my jeans. “A thing, huh? That’s...wild.”
“Wild and well-deserved,” she says. “You’ve got talent, Jack. Real talent. And people are starting to notice. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t let it go to your head because I’ll warn you now, I have no problem humbling you.”
I laugh. “Got it.”
A case of nerves develops low in my belly. This is what I wanted, right? To be noticed, to have people care about my music. But it’s happening so fast, and part of me isn’t sure I’m ready for it.
Derek claps me on the shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Don’t overthink it, kid. Just get up there and play. The rest will take care of itself.”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “You’re right.”
“Break a leg tonight, rockstar,” he says. “I’m expecting big tips at the bar. My wife has her eye on a pair of new shoes. If the tips work out tonight, she’s going to get them and I’m going to get some.”
I crack a grin. “I’ll do my best. Whatever I can to help a guy out.”
I leave the bar to go home and get ready. I got a couple new shirts, nothing fancy, but a little more rockstar. I choose the short-sleeve button-up. It’s a step above the tee but not full-on country.
I need a haircut, but Aggie tells me it’s part of my look. If I was home, my dad would be on my ass to cut it. I kind of like the idea of letting it grow out. A new look for a new me.
I get to the bar at dusk. Aggie has asked me to park in the grocery store parking lot across the street to leave room for her customers. I’m a little nervous when I see the parking lot is already full. My stomach does a weird flip.
I push the buzzer for the back door. Aggie answers it looking a little flustered but she’s wearing a big smile. “You ready?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re going to do great. We’ve got a full house. People are asking about you. I had to burst more than a few ladies’ bubbles. They were thinking they were going to get their hands on you. When I told you them you were still a baby, they were disappointed.”
I flash her a grin. “But I’m a legal baby.”
She cackles and shakes her head. “Behave yourself, young man. I’ve made my special potion to keep your voice good. I have a feeling it’s going to get a workout tonight.”
I take the offering, one eye involuntarily squeezing closed. “Little heavy on the lemon.”
“You’ll be fine. Got your set list planned out?”
“Yep.”
“Are we leaning into the rock or the ballads?”
“I’m going to let the audience guide me.”
She nods. “Spoken like a professional. Just remember what I told you.”
I nod. “If things get rowdy, I get my butt off stage and out of the way.”
“Exactly. The cops know you’re here playing, but if something happens, I can’t have an underage kid getting beat up.”
“Understood. I appreciate you taking a chance. I know I’m not supposed to be in here.”
She waves a hand. “It’s fine. Now, drink your tea. Get yourself together. By the way, I like this look you’ve got going.”
“Thanks. I’ll be out in a few.”
She walks back out front. I sip the tea and go over the set list in my head. I’m ready. I can do this. I grab the bottle of water and casually walk through the crowd to the new stage. The lights are on overhead. Aggie bought a microphone and two new speakers. I am still getting used to that. I was used to singing without all the bells and whistles.
The moment I step onto the new stage, a cheer goes up. I jump right into the first song. It’s a rowdy one and it gets the crowd fired up. I can’t see the back wall. The door is open, the breeze making its way to me in my little corner.
I slide right into the next song, slowing things down a little. Both seem to be a hit with the crowd. As I’m belting out the words I wrote a couple of years ago, I see a familiar face. At first, I think my head is messing with me. There’s no way Jinnie would be in the bar.
But then our eyes meet, and she smiles. There’s no sign of the awkwardness from the other night.
Something tight in my chest loosens. I see her move to the corner, standing out of the way and away from the alcohol. Her eyes stay on me.
After finishing the second song and working up a sweat. I grin at Jinnie and shake things up and go right into the song she helped me fine-tune last week. I see her face light up. She recognizes it almost immediately.
A few of the regulars who have heard it immediately shout at the ceiling, raising their hands and bouncing to the music. The bar doesn’t have a dance floor, but if it did, it would be packed. I give it my all. The song builds, the crowd clapping along, some of them singing the chorus, even though they’ve only heard it once before. I glance over at Jinnie. She’s grinning, her hands in the air as she moves to the music. It feels like it’s just the two of us for a moment, even with the bar packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
When I hit the last chord, the place erupts. Cheers, whistles, and applause fill the room. I can’t help but laugh. This is what I’ve been chasing—this feeling of connection, of being seen and heard. And somehow, having Jinnie here makes it even sweeter.
I take a step back from the mic, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. My heart’s pounding, but not just from the music. Jinnie’s watching me with this look on her face— Pride? She’s impressed? I can’t quite read it, but it makes my stomach flip.
Aggie catches my eye from behind the bar and gives me a thumbs-up. I nod, taking a swig of water before stepping back up to the mic.
“All right,” I say, my voice a little rough from belting out the last song. “Y’all ready to keep this party going?”
The cheers are deafening.
I take a breath. “This one’s new. Little slower. I’m still ironing out the kinks, but you guys let me know if it’s a winner.”
I sit down on the stool. This is the song I didn’t think I’d ever put out. But she’s in here and I want her to hear it first. Well, her and about a hundred other people.
The opening chords of her song spill out—the one I’ve been tinkering with since that first night by the fire. I don’t say it’s about her, but the lyrics don’t hide much.
A collective sigh rises from the women near the stage. One girl actually clutches her friend’s arm. I barely notice the women all trying to make eye contact with me. I’m focused on her .
Jinnie’s cheeks are a pretty pink, but she doesn’t look away. When the song finishes, there’s a pause. Silence. I’m thinking it was not a hit.
And then the crowd starts clapping and cheering.
The rest of the set flies by in a blur of chords and cheers. When I finish, the applause is loud enough to rattle the bottles behind the bar.
Aggie hands me a water as I step down. “Told you that stage was a good idea.”
I gulp half the bottle in one go. “Crowd was wild tonight.”
“Wild for you ,” she corrects, nodding toward the tip jar overflowing with bills.
Jinnie appears at my elbow, her fingers brushing my arm. “You were amazing.”
Up close, she smells like vanilla and something citrusy. My throat is a little scratchy, but being around her makes my mouth dry. “You liked the new one?”
“I did. I was hoping I could get a ride home if you don’t mind?”
That’s a surprise. Here, I’m thinking I blew my shot with her. “Absolutely.” I look at Aggie, who’s grinning big. “I need to stay and help clean up.”
“No, you don’t,” Aggie says and shoos me away. “I’ve got a full staff tonight. They can earn their money. You two get out of here before someone busts me for having a couple of teenagers in here.”
As we drive, Jinnie rolls down her window, letting the night air rush in as we head back to the property.
“You’re really good,” she says suddenly.
I glance over. “Yeah?”
“Not just technically.” She tucks a windblown curl behind her ear. “You’re more present. Like you’re not just playing at people anymore.”
The observation catches me off guard. Because she’s right—somewhere between the farm and this moment, the music stopped being something I was using to prove a point and started being something I loved.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say, turning onto her road. “About recording some of these songs. Maybe putting together an EP.”
Jinnie sits up straighter. “That’s a great idea.”
“Yeah?”
“Jack, people love you. Did you see those girls swooning over your ballad?” She mimics clutching her chest, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically.
I snort. “They were just being nice.”
“Please. I know genuine reactions.” She turns in her seat to face me. “You could really do this. Like, really do it.”
Hearing her say it, with that conviction in her voice, makes it feel possible in a way it hasn’t before.
The truck rolls to a stop outside her tiny house.
I kill the engine. “Thanks. For believing in it. In me.”
Jinnie smiles, but there’s something wistful in it. “Someone should.”
Before I can ask what she means, she leans across the console and kisses me. It’s softer than last time, sweeter, her fingers light against my jaw.
When she pulls back, she’s smiling. “Goodnight, Jack.”
Not come inside . Not stay .
But also not running away.
Progress.
“Night, Jinnie.”
I wait until she’s safely inside before backing out. I get to my tent and I’m exhausted but the adrenaline is still pumping. With Jinnie cheering me on from the front row, I think I might just be able to go all the way.