Page 94 of A Country Kind Of Love

“Hey,” Cleo replies.

Cleo follows her gaze down to her sweatshirt. Now that Peyton is closer it looks familiar.

“Isthat...”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot I had it in the back of my car. It was raining, and my T-shirt was see-through. I figured the manager wouldn’t mind; he’s a bit of a sexist pig, but I don’t get paid enough to turn this show into a wet T-shirt contest. It was the only option unless I wanted to perform in my bra, and again, I didn’t feel like it was that sort of establishment,” Cleo jokes. Her lip twitches.

The sweater is a vintage dual loopback material; Peyton knows this because it’s rare to find them in stores these days, and she researched the type of material and ordered several different styles including the grey Colorado one Cleo is currently wearing.

“You wear it well,” Peytonsays slowly.

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll keep it then.” Cleo smiles, but it fades immediately. “Why are you here?”

She could lie and tell her she and Jesse frequent The Stage. It would be less terrifying than telling her the truth.

“Jesse told me youhad a gig.”

“Oh, Jesse’s here?” She uses her height to scan the crowd over Peyton’s head. “Where is he?”

“Cleo...” Peyton says softly. Her eyes are unwavering; she wants Cleo to know she’s sorry. She wants Cleo to feel what she has felt ever since that day at the studio. “Why did you come to the Bluebird tonight?” Peyton asks her.

“Is that what you came hereto ask me?”

Peyton shrugs.

“I went to help out a friend,”Cleo admits.

“Oh.” The comment stings. “So, Jesseforced you?”

“No.” Cleo rubs at her forehead. This isn’t going well. Peyton doesn’t do well under pressure. She feels like all eyes are on them, like the whole bar is waiting for some sapphic chaos to unfold.

“I came because Jesse asked me to, but...” Cleo plunges her hands intoher pockets.

“But what?” Peyton pleads.

The next band takes the stage, and the room explodes with noise. Everyone’s go to hand gesture is the sign of the horns, quite the contrast to Cleo’s set, but probably a more common theme at The Stage.

“Shall we get out of here?” Cleo asks.

“Sure.”

?

The John Seigenthaler Pedestrian Bridge is one of the longest pedestrian bridges in the world. Peyton knows from her hours of research. At night it has some of the best views of the Cumberland River and the Nashville skyline or so Peyton’s been told. She’s seen the high res photos but is yet to experience itfor herself.

The walk from the bar to the bridge is only five minutes. The air is cold enough that her nipples are about to slice through her dress. She wraps her arms across her chest before they end up on show for everyone to see. Cleo catches up with a zip-hoodie in hand.

“Here, you’llwant this.”

She takes a moment to catchher breath.

“Do you have a thrift shop in your trunk?” Peyton jests. The hoodie smells like Cleo; there’s a citrusy perfume she drenches herself in that makes Peyton weak at the knees.

“Yes, I regularly steal sweatshirts from girls and keep them in there for occasions such as this one.” Cleo holds out her hand to take Peyton’s bag whilst she slips intothe jacket.

“Thank you.”

They walk for a while in silence. Despite the time there are still crowds of tourists desperately trying to take the perfect selfie. Is Peyton a tourist? Sometimes it feels that way. She’s been in Nashville for five months. She’s learnt enough about the place to get by. It’s not like she needs to learn another language and assimilate into the culture. If you’re a big enough country fan you can fit in just fine.