Page 36 of Playing With My Heart Strings

dusty

Dust

I have to rush to my date with Aspen after my run-in with Baylor at the production studio.

I just happened to be coming directly from filming some interviews when I caught a glimpse of her walking toward the confessional room.

Getting to spend that time with her, even if it was in a supply closet, was well worth the time crunch.

“Where the hell have you been?” Brett snaps when I finally show up. He sniffs the air. “Also, you smell like…dust. What have you been doing?”

Oops. That desk did look like it hadn’t been used in ages. Better to smell like dust than sex, though, right?

I ignore Brett’s question. “None of your business, Ben, but I…” Think of something, Dusty.

“…I got hit by a biker on the way here. Knocked me right into the dirt.” It’s not believable at all, especially considering my clothes are anything but dirty, but it stops him from asking any more questions.

I like my other producer, Alex, better. Half of the time, he’s not even around, so I’m able to do whatever I want.

He monitors me in the evenings, and I’m stuck with Brett during the day.

He throws his hands up in surrender as he walks toward the car. “Sure, okay. Come on, let’s get going.”

We’re meeting Aspen by the Cumberland River, because today’s date is a kayak tour. When we get there, I change into swim trunks. By the time I’m done, Aspen is already dressed in a bikini—a tiny one. I’d be lying if I said she didn’t look good, but my mind keeps flashing to Baylor.

We’ve shown each other all of ourselves physically, but I intend to show her all of myself emotionally, too. I want to know her on a deeper level. And I think music has a way of doing that. Performing is a gateway to the soul.

“We’ll get started over here,” a producer instructs, and the daydream of Baylor disappears. He walks us over to some kayaks and a pile of life jackets.

I shrug mine on, zipping it up and snapping the buckles. Aspen can’t quite get hers on, so I help her, but I’m careful not to touch her for longer than necessary.

“Everything okay?” she asks, her voice low, hardly a whisper.

“Mhm, yeah. Everything’s fine. You ready?” I gesture to the kayaks.

She nods, but the suspicion on her face lingers even as we push our kayaks off the shore and step in.

Similarly to my date with Baylor, the camera crew set us up with GoPros so they wouldn’t have to come out on the water. Our tour guide paddles a little bit ahead of us, so it still feels like an intimate setting.

Being out on the water is peaceful, the opposite of the woman in the kayak next to me. Aspen knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to go out and get it, I know that for sure.

Our tour guide drones on about the landmarks next to us, but we’ve both lived here for years, so although we do our best to listen and stay engaged, we also engage in our own conversation.

“Do you like Nashville?” I ask as I paddle along slowly.

“I love it here. I couldn’t see myself being anywhere else,” she replies.

“You mentioned on our last date that you’ve been trying to get signed by a record label, and it just got me thinking a lot. I can’t see why a label wouldn’t want someone like you. You’ve got an incredible, powerful voice.”

She lets out a breath. “I mean, yeah, I’ve submitted demos without luck. But I was really close to getting signed onto a label a couple years ago.”

“Really? What happened?” I’m intrigued.

“I was on this TV show.” She huffs out a small laugh. “It wasn’t too different from Heart Strings , actually, but it was purely a singing competition. I ended up making it to the final three, and even though I got an offer from a label afterward, I was dropped. I still don’t know why.”

“That’s…” I start.

“Crazy, right? It was put on by SSP, too. I don’t think anyone remembers me, though.

I looked quite different back then, and even though I was a finalist, they probably deal with so many people it’s impossible to memorize all the names.

I remember some people who worked with the company, however…

” she trails off, like she’s deep in thought.

The guide turns over his shoulder. “We’re going to pull off here, you two! We’ve got a nice little lunch set up so be ready!”

Aspen doesn’t finish her sentence, but what she said sticks in my mind. I didn’t realize she had already been on one of these shows before. One would think it’d give her an advantage, but maybe it’s the opposite.

We paddle toward the shore, leaving our kayaks on the grass before heading over to the “lunch” that the producers set up for us. There’s a blanket laid out on the grass with a picnic basket, very reminiscent of my date in Centennial Park with Valerie.

I shuck off my life jacket and sit cross-legged on the blanket.

Aspen follows suit, but she’s much less clothed than I am, so I do the gentlemanly thing and take off my shirt, handing it to her so she can cover up.

It’s not even because I want to prevent myself from looking at her, either.

I’m attracted to her, of course, but not in the way I am to Baylor.

“Thank you.” She pulls the shirt over her head. It’s a bit large, coming halfway down her thighs.

“So, before we got cut off by the tour guide, you were talking about the show you were on? You were saying how you remembered some people that worked for the company.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple producers exchange wary looks.

One of them starts talking furiously into their radio, although I can’t hear what they’re saying.

My intention was only to talk more about what Aspen told me earlier, so I can learn more about her career trajectory, but in a turn of events, she… shuts down.

Her body shakes as her eyes water and a tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m sorry, I just…it’s hard to talk about. I don’t really want to talk about it. That was my chance, you know? And I don’t know what I’ll do if this…if this doesn’t work out.”

“Aspen.”

She wipes away her tears, even as more seem to pour out. “God, I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not. Listen, I know this is hard. But you have talent. If this doesn’t work out, I know there will be something else out there that will.”

“Thank you, Dusty.” She flashes her eyes up at me, tears still gathering at the brims, and for a moment, I almost feel sorry for her. But then I remember who she is and that if she really wants to break into the music industry, she’ll do whatever it takes to get there.

We open the picnic basket and dig into the lunch the producers provided, making small conversation about our favorite places in Nashville and other random topics that come up.

Once we finish our date, Aspen’s taken back to the hotel, but a producer pulls me aside.

“What did you and Aspen talk about while you were on the water?” There’s a bit of bite to her question.

“Um, we talked about living in Nashville…” I begin listing off the conversations we had, but the producer cuts me off.

“No. About the TV show.”

My eyes narrow. “She just mentioned that she was on a TV show a few years ago. A singing competition that Sparks Studio Productions put on.”

“Did she mention anyone’s name?”

“No? She just said that she remembered some people who worked for the production company, but didn’t think that anyone would remember her because of how many shows y’all work on.”

She ticks her jaw, her nostrils flaring, but then she lets out a harsh breath and claps me on the shoulder. “Thank you, Dusty.”

“Did she do something wrong?” I ask as she starts to walk away.

Looking over her shoulder, she mutters, “Not yet.”