I grind the heel of my work boot into the gravel at the back of the crowd, fists clenched over the top of a discarded silver blockade used to keep the Barn Bonanza audience in some sort of order. My eyes are trained on the stage, a makeshift wooden construction standing in front of the large barn, situated at the rear of the colonial hotel. I scan the building briefly, awash with memories from when I was still a teenager, just before I went away for our tour.
It’s the building where Kitty had her prom two years ago, an event that she basically carved out solo with her bare hands. Out of a sibling loyalty that her brother doesn’t share, Kitty had hired our band to be the performers of the night, letting us take the stage for the first time in a venue that wasn’t a bar or a warehouse or somewhere covered in ten years’ worth of grime.
It was cool and I loved every second, but my favourite part of being there took place after we dismounted the stage.
Over the years Kitty had been begrudgingly tolerant of me whilst I became best friends with her brother but more than anything I was still a nuisance. When we were at high school together I couldn’t spot her in the corridor without trying to get her to engage with me, to humour me, to let me spend ten freaking seconds with her. I tried to join her fifty-thousand committees and I made sure as hell that I was in her eye-line, taking part in every sport that was available on our campus.
But it was once I’d graduated and Kitty was at her farewell-to-high-school dig that she finally spared me a minute. She finally let me talk to her, to take away a few bricks from that wall she’d built up, to show her that I’m more than just her brother’s best friend.
Luckily for me, it turned out that maybe she wasn’t so impassive about me after all.
We kissed. A lot. And it was enough for me to know that she was exactly what I wanted.
So why the hell would I give that up now?
When the current act finishes the host announces from the side the name of the next performer.
I take in a deep inhale when I hear Kitty’s name.
I wasn’t sure if she’d even be competing today so showing up was kind of a gamble, but deep in my gut I trusted that she would accept what I’d given to her and do this for herself.
I received multiple texts along the lines of “Is this your guitar?!” with Kitty stressing about how I could let her use it when the band would be out of town by the time of her competition.
And the band is. I just didn’t go with them.
I shake away the past few days and re-focus on what’s happening on the stage.
Like two-way traffic the most recent performer heads back behind the barn and then, walking towards the audience, Kitty suddenly appears.
I shove my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, soaking her in like syrup on a waffle. She’s wearing a little floral dress that’s puffed up like a dandelion cloud, chiffony pink and dotted with flowers. She’s going for the farmer’s daughter look, the pure home-grown American Dream, and I’m hooked. There’s a brown cowboy hat atop her head, her usual cowgirl boots slipped over her feet, and then, best of all, a shiny black guitar slung over her shoulder.
The guitar that I gave to her.
My body swells with pride.
She takes her place behind the microphone, plugs in the guitar, and then starts twiddling with the stand, attempting to wind it down to Kitty-height. It takes a good ten seconds for it to reach her tiny level. Then she lets out a little cough and does a quick “one, two, one, two”.
She flicks up the brim of her hat and reveals her sparkling eyes, glittering wildly in the early evening glow.
Then she strums out the first chord, a warm sharp twang, and parts her lips to begin her song.
My heart swells in my chest when I register what she’s singing and I bite hard against my lip-ring to try and keep my emotions in check. She’s singing Make Your Own Kind Of Music by The Mamas and The Papas, and it’s so fitting that my body almost can’t take it.
This freaking girl.
As I watch her I realise that she’s got a small daisy shaped plaster on the tip of her cheek, something that I hadn’t noticed when her hat was tipped low. It’s inconspicuous enough to look like one of those cutesy kids tattoos that chicks sometimes dot themselves with in the summer, but I know that she’s using it to cover up the graze on her cheek.
A waft of red mist sheathes my mind for a moment.
The only thing stopping me from pulling up to Chase’s apartment and knocking him into next Sunday is the fact that, one, Kitty told me not to, and, two, she really liked that cookie that he made, so I don’t want to deep-fry her favourite baker in case she gets a craving again.
I pull myself from the fog. I have something much better to focus on right now.
I stare at her, captivated, until the very last note, goose-bumps prickling my arms and my chest rising and falling fast, in awe of the talent that the whole audience has just laid witness to. The crowd erupts into claps and cheers, not aware that behind her beautiful performance there were a million obstacles and moments of doubt that very nearly almost prevented this from happening.
The second that she dismounts the stage and starts walking away from the panel I immediately kick myself into sixth gear, heading straight for her.
She moves with delicate steps, like a weight has lifted from her body after taking the leap, after giving herself this opportunity, and she hides herself away from the rest of the competitors, ducking inside of the barn instead of behind it. I keep my tread light because I don’t want to shock her and I watch for a moment as she kicks gently at a stray piece of hay. Presumably this barn is now solely used for events because it smells pine-fresh and there are fairy lights strung around the beams.
She’s got her back to me but I can tell that she’s looking down at her guitar, fingers gliding tentatively over the polished surface.
I lean a shoulder against the doorframe, crossing my ankles as I tap a knuckle against the wood.
She spins around, eyes wide, a kaleidoscope of emotions flashing across her face.
“Hey princess,” I say, my mouth lifting at the corners. “You sounded beautiful out there.”
Her eyebrows lift higher, irises all shimmery.
“You’re supposed to be on tour,” she breathes out, scanning me up and down like she can’t believe that I’m really here.
I decided not to let her know what was going to go down when she was texting me, because there was no way in hell that I was going to let her try and talk me out of it.
“The band left this morning,” I say. “I sent a replacement.”
“A replacement?” she asks and her brow twitches in confusion. It’s gratifying as hell that she can’t remember which person could possibly take my old spot in the band.
It looks like Tyler came in useful after all.
“Yeah,” I say, pushing my body off the wall and taking a step forward. Just a small step, because I’m not sure if she’s still miffed at me about ripping the band-aid with Kaleb. “And I got in touch with Jace, an old boss of mine, so that I could secure a job back in town.”
I swallow, really nervous now, because I have no idea if she actually still wants me.
“I’m staying in Phoenix Falls,” I say, “so that we can pick up where we left off. Maybe we can start spending some more time together – if you’d like to, I mean. For as long or as little as you’d like. I’m not saying that you have to spend your whole life with me–”
She closes the space between us, the guitar nudging against my abdomen.
The twinkly smile on her face makes my chest heave and swell.
“Madden,” she whispers, stretching up onto her tip-toes. “I would spend all of my nine lives with you.”
My heart explodes, and I grab her face and kiss her.
She gasps into my mouth as I hold us firmly together, sliding my tongue gently against hers as she strokes at my neck, one-handed.
I pull away and she laughs as her cowboy hat is damn near falling off her head. I set it down with her guitar on the large wooden worktop, and she places my old pick on the top of the pile like a cherry on a cake.
I bring her into my arms again and move her over to the tabletop, letting her clamber onto it as I stand between her thighs.
“Nice location too,” I say, grinning kind of cocky because this barn at this hotel is where I kissed her for the first time.
She runs her fingers up my forearms, looking sweetly into my eyes.
“Back where it all began,” she smiles, crossing her calves behind my back.
I shake my head, smiling back at her. “Baby,” I say. “I was in love with you way before your prom night.”
She gasps at my admission. I nip it in the bud with another kiss.
When the kiss grows deeper I pull away breathing hard, aware that we can’t take this any further before the competition is actually over.
She senses my hesitance and raises an eyebrow, whispering, “You don’t want to, ya know… in the barn?”
Be a gentleman. Be. A. Gentleman.
When I don’t respond she gives me a naughty look. “I would’ve thought that you’d feel right at home.”
Oof. Don’t hold back, baby.
I swallow hard, thinking back to my little incident in her parent’s barn.
“When this is all over,” I say thickly. “Once your name is called out, I promise I’ll take you somewhere so we can… ya know.”
Yeah, I don’t doubt that she’s gonna win. And even if she didn’t, I know that those scouts are gonna be on her more desperately than vultures on a steak.
She smiles up at me, that naughty glint still in her eyes, but she nods and acquiesces.
I kiss her again and envelop her in my arms.
She fits me better than my guitar ever did.
