Page 33 of A Country Kind Of Love

“I haven’t played this song onthe guitar.”

She looks at Cleo for reassurance, her palms are sweaty. The strings of the guitar feel slippery underher fingers.

“Here goes nothing,” she whispers.

Peyton recalls the song that changed her perspective. It was a song that brought about acceptance after a rough couple of months. The guy behind the bar glances her way; she feels self-conscious, so she closes her eyes briefly. The blend of the guitar and her voice echo through the room; in her head it sounds delicate. She runs through the first verse again now that her voice has settled. The bridge allows her to drop to her lower range; it’s wobbly but in key. The chorus kicks in, and she switches from her stomach to her throat as the melody takes her on a rollercoaster ride.

“Strangers. That’s whatwe are now.

There’s no room to fall, no line to cross.

There’s two hearts left in the open, without a way to forget, or a way to rewind time.”

The attachment to this song feels distant now, not like the songs about her mom. Those would always provoke unparalleled emotion. The songs about Chloe feel like someone else’s.

“We are strangers. And that’s fine. Because you’ll never be mine.”

She imagines a studio version to havemoreoomph.

The immediate silence makesher uneasy.

“So...” Peyton says readily. “It wasn’t great, was it?”

Cleo says nothing. She neatly places the guitar at her side and adjusts her stool so her body angles even more towards Peyton. She removes the guitar pick from her lips and toys with it betweenher fingers.

The suspense.

“You’re incredible,” Cleo says.

Peyton buries her face in her hands.

“You’re really great, Peyton.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you thought about singing somewhere like this regularly? I can talk to Gabby and see if she can get you on the next night,” Cleo says enthusiastically.

“I don’t think so,” Peyton says through gritted teeth.

Cleo pulls at the leg of Peyton’s chair to bring her closer. Cleo’s stare is intense; it holds her attention. How does she do that? The way they lock eyes isn’t just a staple of romantic cinema; it’s real. Peyton can feel the space around her fade.

“Why not?” Cleo asks.

“It’s not what I came here for. I write songs; I don’tsing them.”

“Because of your mom?”

Peyton nods. “Mostly.” It’s all of the reason, but she doesn’t want todwell on it.

“Wouldn’t your mom want to see you living your dream?” Cleo says it nonchalantly as though Peyton has never hadthe thought.

“It washerdream, and in turn she made itourdream.” Peyton pulls her hand away. “I was never meant to be doing this on my own.” She stands and heads towards the door.

“Peyton, wait.” She can hear Cleo’s footsteps pound on the floor as she barges through the door and out into the parking lotbehind her.

“She was my mom, Cleo.” The tears will come if she doesn’t leave. They’ve been building like a silent tornado in the distance, waiting to crumble her defences ever since she arrived in Nashville.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just... you’re amazing. I don’t want you to downplay your potential because of something that was out of your control.”