Chapter Sixteen #2
“For professional reasons, of course,” he said, tugging on the brim of his camo trucker hat.
I stepped to the side, motioning him in. “Professional reasons,” I repeated as he walked past, the familiar rich leathery but woodsy musk rushing past me. I inhaled quickly, not wanting to miss it.
“What the hell? It’s just as cold in here as it is outside.”
“Yeah, I lost electricity a bit ago and I quickly found out that my electrical fireplace is completely worthless in a time of need.”
“Those things are shit. The only fireplaces that should be allowed in a house are real, wood-burning ones,” he stated.
“You sound like my dad,” I said.
“Your dad must be a smart man.”
I smiled, a sense of sadness invading my already unstable emotions. “He is,” I said. “Actually, he and my mom were supposed to be here with me for Christmas, but their flight got cancelled.”
“I know,” he said, his normal confident tone replaced with a softer, more somber one. “That’s why I came over here. Well, that, and I really do have something professional I wanted to ask you.”
I wandered over to the kitchen island where he’d posted up on one of my barstools.
“What? How did you know?” I asked, scouring my brain for any possible way he would’ve known before finally landing on the answer.
“George,” we both said simultaneously.
“I just happened to be with him when your parents called to say they couldn’t make it because of the weather.
They asked if he’d come check on you,” he said, taking his hat off and combing his fingers through his hair.
“So, I told him I had some things I needed to chat with you about regarding the article and that I’d go instead. ”
“Oh,” I managed to force out. Was whatever he had to talk to me about really that important, or was there a chance he wanted to be the one to check on me? “Thankfully, I’m thirty years old and have spent a Christmas alone…” I paused.
The realization hit me like freight train.
Actually, I hadn’t spent a single Christmas alone. I’d grown up celebrating with my parents, and then as I got older, it was always Zane and me, occasionally with my parents too, but never by myself. This was the first Christmas I’d ever been by myself.
The heat rushed to my cheeks.
“You okay?” he asked, his eyebrows scrunching together.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m good. I’m going to go put on some warmer clothes, and then we can chat about whatever it is that you’re so desperate to tell me.”
He nodded his head, and I escaped to my bedroom, throwing on some sweatpants and an old worn-out Tennessee Vols sweatshirt.
“All right,” I said, moseying back into the living room and plopping down on the couch. “What is so important that you had to drive through a snowstorm to talk to me about?” I patted the spot next to me. “Have a seat in my office.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
His casual but Southern style wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he made it look like it was.
“Well, you see, I met this woman, and she said something to me that I haven’t been able to get off my mind. So, like most artists, I took to my words and decided to write a song about it, and despite being my own toughest critic, I think it’s damn good.”
I was registering his words in a delayed manner, and by the time he finished what he was saying, it took another few seconds before I finally processed what he’d said.
Doing my best to play it cool, I responded, “She sounds like a keeper.”
“Ha. That’s what worries me.” He rubbed his hand up and down his thigh, his eyes looking anywhere but at me. “The song’s called ‘Choices.’”
Slowly, he moved his attention to me, looking up from underneath his hat, his anxious lips hungry for my reaction.
Was this man nervous? In the time that I’d spent with Stetson, never had I seen him like this. Like he was looking for validation.
My validation.
“‘Choices,’” I repeated. I couldn’t help but let the softest smile curl onto my face. “Do I get to hear this song of yours?”
“Yes, but it’s not completely finished. That’s why I’m here. I wanted your opinion on a couple of things.”
“I’m honored,” I said, shifting my legs into a crisscross applesauce position. “Stetson Walker wants my opinion?”
Stetson Walker was in my living room, asking me to help him finish a song he wrote because he was inspired by something I said. Saying that out loud was wild, but it didn’t feel wild—not even a little bit. It just felt like two friends working on a project together.
“I think he wants whatever you’ll give him.” He flashed that country wide smile in my direction but didn’t give me a chance to respond. “I wasn’t sure if you would let me in. Let me go grab my guitar out of the truck, and I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” I said, my body still reeling from his previous comment.
What was his end game? Why was he putting forth so much effort? Was it simply because he wanted to sleep with me? Was I appealing because he’d never had to work this hard to get someone into his bed? Or was there a sliver of a chance that it was something else? Something more?
I couldn’t let my brain go down that path. Not right now. I didn’t even know if I was ready for the answer, regardless of what it was.
I grabbed my phone from the coffee table, seeing multiple texts from Maggie.
Maggie:
Yeah. Do you not?
Maggie:
Also. By some miracle, my parents love Booker and my sister hasn’t said a single negative comment all day.
Maggie:
Hello? Are you alive? Did your phone die? Do I need to come save you?
Shit.
I scrambled my fingers across the keyboard.
Me:
Shit. Sorry. I didn’t have my phone. No, I don’t have electricity, but I’m fine. Actually, Stetson stopped by and asked me to help him with his new song. So… I’ll keep you posted on that front. And amazing! So glad everything is going good with Booker and your fam! I love you. Stay safe and warm!
I heard the door opening and immediately put my phone down. I knew dropping a bomb like that on Maggie wasn’t very nice, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed someone to know the situation I’d currently found myself in.
“Holy shit. It’s cold out there.”
“Wish I could say it was warmer in here, but unfortunately, it’s not.” I laughed.
Stetson turned the corner with his guitar case in hand, as if I needed any more reason to find myself practically salivating over the man.
“I know what could make it warmer…” He winked, sending my insides into a tizzy.
“I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?”
He chuckled, nodding his head in agreement before taking a seat next to me.
“All right, here’s the deal.” His demeanor had shifted, his shoulders tensing as he pulled the guitar to his chest and his foot tapping in a constant up and down motion.
I was starting to think that maybe this man wasn’t as cocky and confident as he tried to come off, because the more time I spent around him, the more I was able to pick up on little things that suggested otherwise.
The slight change in his voice, the tug on his hat, the nervous comb through his hair.