Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
When Brinton woke up, Jamie was gone, which made her feel way too sad for ten in the morning.
Her headache had faded, and though she was groggy from the medication, she jumped out of bed.
She brushed her teeth and dabbed on concealer, blush, and lip gloss, then changed into a familiar slinky, black midi dress from her closet that Shay had somehow snuck into her suitcase.
Shay had graciously removed the tags and tucked a note neatly into the halter neckline that read: Warning: May Cause Immediate Erection. Proceed Like the Bad Bitch You Are.
Brinton read it a few times and laughed.
Shay was the most overbearing, obnoxious, lovable, and perfect little sister.
After stepping into her cowboy boots and fastening her gold hoops, Brinton spritzed on another few pumps of vanilla perfume, including between her thighs, and bolted down the stairs.
To her disappointment, Jamie wasn’t there. But there was a bouquet of pert, violet irises in a tall glass vase. Beside it, a still-hot French press pot of coffee and a white box tied with butcher string. She plucked a note from inside the bouquet and read it aloud:
Bee,
These flowers, the jewels of my town, are said to represent faith, hope, and wisdom. I feel every ounce of each when I look at you. Enjoy some blueberry coffee cake—Liza made it special for you. I’ll be back to pick you up at four. Hope you’re ready for an adventure.
Yours,
J
Brinton’s knees buckled, hard enough that she braced her hands against the kitchen.
Three months ago, she was a viral leper.
Now, she was living in this storybook little town and receiving romantic gestures from the actual prince of a country music empire.
This wasn’t her life. This was the making of a ‘90s rom-com.
And why not? Last night was perfect. He was everything she ever wanted but didn’t believe she deserved. While it was easier to live in perpetual fear, she wanted to believe that she deserved happiness, that she deserved him.
By a quarter to four, Brinton had packed and re-packed her suitcase, cleaned her room, eaten the entire coffee cake, and finished Legendborn, which she added to her approved reading list for the book club for the kids in her neighborhood.
She pulled out her phone and FaceTimed Shay, who answered immediately.
“Does this call mean what I think it means?” Shay asked from their mom’s cream sectional couch. Her eyes stretched in anticipation.
“It means I’m going on a date…with Jamie. I’m telling you this because I’m freaked the fuck out, and I need a pep talk.”
“What are you wearing?”
Brinton rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a creep—”
Shay took a long sip from a white coffee mug with Will Honk for Pussy in bold red text, complete with a cartoon cat driving a fire-engine red Corvette. “Seriously, show me.”
When Brinton panned the phone down the length of her body, Shay gasped. “Baby, I don’t think you’ll have to do or say anything to that man. Let that dress be your guide. You look fucking hot.”
“Don’t wait up,” Brinton chirped through an appropriately pleased grin.
“Of course I’m waiting up. And if I don’t hear from you by tomorrow—”
“Then I’m calling the police,” Athena interjected, popping into the frame behind Shay’s head. She wore a white crop top and leggings that made the lines of her obliques pop. “I’m sure he’s nice, but I don’t know this man from Adam. He could drag you into a backwoods swamp.”
“Mom,” Brinton and Shay screeched in unison.
“I’m cutting you off from Dateline,” Shay added, shaking her head.
The doorbell rang.
“Crap—it’s him. I gotta go.”
“Brinton Maxwell Shaw, if you hang up right now, I’m disowning you,” Athena pleaded. “I want to meet him. Only for a minute.”
“Ugh—fine. But be nice. And don’t ask any weird sex questions, got it?”
“Deal,” Athena conceded, satisfied.
Brinton opened the door. While Jamie generally wore the same combination of jeans and T-shirt when she saw him, nobody—dead or alive—deserved to look that good. She wanted to peel off that white shirt, gold chain, and tight, light-wash jeans with her teeth.
Maybe in a few minutes.
“Wow, you look…” he said, eyes taking in every inch of her. Then, he picked up on her contorted expression, raising a brow.
“I’m sorry, this is weird, but my mom wanted to say hi,” she breathed. “So, Jamie, this is my mom, Athena.”
Brinton flipped the phone around and leaned in closer to him on the porch.
“Oh, my…handsome. I-I mean, hello,” Athena said, giggling.
Brinton couldn’t help but snort. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only person he had that effect on.
Jamie’s cheeks turned a stunning rose shade, a rare but welcome sight. “Thank you, Miss Athena. I’m honored to meet you, finally.”
Shay angled her head into frame. “I’m sorry, my older sister is so rude. I’m Shay, by the way. I’m a big fan of your ass—”
“Shay,” Brinton hissed.
“Damn, Brinny. I was gonna say his aspirational music. You know, about love and stuff. Jamie, good luck getting this one to relax.”
Jamie offered one of those megawatt grins that made Brinton’s thighs crumple like a Capri-Sun.
“I’ve heard so much about you both. I hope we’ll see each other in the flesh sometime soon. And, I promise, Miss Athena, I’ll take good care of your daughter. Get her back home to you in one piece.”
“I hope you two have fun. And, listen, if you have any single friends in their fifties—”
“Okay, Mom, see you later,” Brinton blurted out before tapping the red button. “Bye, Shay.”
Jamie didn’t stop laughing for a good five minutes. “I like your family,” he said.
“Good. I’ll loan them to you sometime.” She tried to swallow her smile, but it was impossible when his was blinding.
He stepped closer, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her into him. He smelled as good as he always did. She let herself melt into the hard planes of his chest.
Tipping his head to her ear, Jamie whispered, “You look incredible in that dress. I don’t know how I’m gonna concentrate.”
“I was afraid it was…too much.”
“Bee, I couldn’t ever get enough,” he said, kissing her softly on the cheek.
She thought about what might happen in the rom-com of her fantasies and skipped straight to the good part.
She caught his lips, keeping his same gentle pressure, teasing his mouth open with her tongue.
Jamie cradled the back of her head, pulling her closer with one hand so he could explore her deeper, his silken tongue flooding her with effervescent want.
With his free hand, he caressed her bare back.
She questioned how quickly she could get out of this dress.
After a few blissful minutes, he broke their kiss.
“I’m definitely not complaining,” he said, breathing heavily, his cheeks stained a distinct shade of take-me-now. “But we should get going. Lots on the agenda.” He gently sucked on her bottom lip, drawing out the tiniest whimper. He groaned in return.
“Can I get a hint?” she asked, equally breathless.
“Yeah. Hope you like cold beer.”
Not long later, Jamie led Brinton into the Mockingbird Cafe, Iris’s locals-beloved, drop-in-when-you-fancy listening room.
He was ecstatic to show her where many country hopefuls played to their first crowds, including his father, and years later, himself.
This was home. Jamie wanted Brinton to experience, in one place, all the reasons why he loved country music.
The venue was small and held only a few hundred people, with tables scattered around the modest stage and a battered, wood-topped bar along the back wall.
The floors were always a little sticky, the amplifiers a little too loud.
The smell of crispy fried chicken mingled with sweet-smokey whiskey.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was as real as it got.
A bouncer with a jet-black mullet and a septum piercing enthusiastically patted Jamie on the shoulder with a hand as big as Brinton’s head, then led them to a small, roped-off table near the stage. The place was completely empty.
Brinton’s eyes cut around the room. “Am I about to get pranked or something, because I feel like there should be more people here?”
Jamie nodded and grinned. “Yeah, typically it’s standing-room only, no matter what time or day. I wanted us to have a little privacy, so I called in a favor.”
Brinton’s eyes narrowed knowingly. “Sammi?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “She’s gonna make me wash her truck in a leopard thong, but you are beyond worth the pruney cheeks.” Jamie then pulled out a stool for her as “Tennessee Whiskey” blanketed the cozy room.
“I recognize this song from your playlist,” Brinton said, leaning close to him. “Chris Stapleton is amazing. I think I’m slowly becoming a country convert.”
He squeezed her bare knee, a coy grin on his face. “That’s my girl.”
A waitress with pink cat-eye frames brought over two bottles of beer. Jamie thanked her and waved to a man with thick blond corkscrews behind the bar.
“So, what’s it like being so famous that people send you free drinks?”
“Hmm, exhausting,” he said lightly. “But it’d be a crime to waste good whiskey and beer.”
They clinked their bottles.
“Congress is working on a bill as we speak.” She laughed, rolling her eyes.
He kissed her neck, lingering enough to breathe in her scent. She smelled as good as a first kiss or making love in the stillness of midnight. Sweet and addictive.
“I think you’re gonna love this next singer, Kadidja Wilde,” he said.
“I recently discovered her music, so she’s not on your playlist yet, but she’s my new favorite.
Her voice is so raw and powerful. And her storytelling…
She’s not afraid to call out how supremely fucked up and ugly the world can be. Still, she makes it feel like poetry.”
Brinton tipped her head on his shoulder as he massaged her hand in between his.
“I love how passionately you talk about music. Like it’s part of you on a vital, cellular level.”
Jamie nuzzled her temple, desperate to get closer. “I think you bring it out of me.”
She turned to face him, eyes ripe with sincerity. “I think you bring something out of me too.” As they gazed at each other, lost in the headiness of the moment, it felt like theirs alone. She pulled his face to hers, kissing him like it was.
The house music died down, and Kadidja took the stage. Her natural curls were styled into a fierce crown. She wore a fringed, light pink leather jacket, matching dress shirt, and black slacks. Adjusting her acoustic guitar, she motored into a bluegrass-tinged opening chord.
Brinton’s eyes widened as she took in the song, a scorching manifesto about breaking free from the confines of oppression in an anti-Black world.
She squeezed Jamie’s bicep. He kissed her cheek.
Watching Brinton experience his lifeblood—the bright lights, stripped-down emotion, and excitement of discovering a new artist—was as satisfying as playing his favorite six-string.
In between songs, she nudged his shoulder. “I almost feel bad for giving you a hard time about country music when we met.”
“Almost?”
“All right, I feel bad! I’m eating my words. There’s more to it than whiskey and pickup trucks. A lot more. Thank you.”
He rubbed her back, his heart full. “Don’t thank me yet. Our night’s only beginning.”