By the time we’re approaching the Nashville city limits, a Zen-like calm has come over me.
“I’m hungry,” I say over Zach’s shoulder. “Are you?”
“Yeah. But there’s somewhere we need to go first.”
My stomach grumbles. “We just drove eight hours with two stops. What could possibly be more important than food right now?”
We stop at a red light, and he turns to me.
“Food for the soul. Your soul.”
I fumble for words, and before I can respond, the light turns green.
I feel the hunger in my gut but wonder what Zach could mean.
At least he’s off to a good start in Nashville when it comes to being Mr. Enigmatic.
A few minutes later, we pull up in front of Bob’s Guitar Outlet—one of the biggest guitar stores in the city.
I take off my helmet and shake my hair out. My eyes are as wide as a kid’s in a candy store.
“They’re open till eight. So we’ve got a half hour to get your new guitar, Vanderbilt. You game?”
As we head inside, a wave of lightheadedness nearly knocks me over as I look at all the guitars. It’s overwhelming.
Grabbing my hip, Zach hooks a hand around my waist. “Consider me your guitar genie,” he quips.
I blink a few times. “You’re serious?”
He nods.
“Why are you doing this for me?” I ask.
“Because you’re fucking amazing, and you need a new guitar. And because it makes me happy to see your eyes light up like they are right now.”
Gripping his neck, I give him a lingering kiss on the lips and skip—literally skip—over to the acoustic guitar room.
My heart races as I look around, almost dizzy from all the options.
My eyes lock on a blue acoustic guitar high on the ceiling. A store employee sees me staring at it and gets it down for me.
It’s perfectly in tune, and I play the first melody that comes to mind—the same one that’s been playing in my head since yesterday, the one that goes along with the lyrics I wrote after meeting Zach. I sing them ever so softly, almost a singing whisper.
“Holy shit.” I hear Zach’s voice behind me and jerk my head around. “What song is that?”
I shrug. “Just something I wrote.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“Really? Maybe it’s the guitar.”
“I think it’s you.”
“Excuse me, sir,” I say, tipping my forehead toward the store employee. “How much is this? It has no label.”
He walks over and takes a look.
“Sixty-five,” he says.
My jaw drops. “Sixty-five dollars?! That’s so cheap!”
He chuckles a little. “No. Sixty-five-hundred dollars. Six-thousand five-hundred.”
“Oh, shoot. Never mind, then,” I say, handing him back the guitar.
Before I can hand it back, Zach steps in front of me and takes it.
“She’s kidding. We’ll take it.”
My eyes bulge. “But—”
“Ring it up,” he says, handing the employee a card.
My chest hitches as he walks away with the guitar and card. I rock back and forth.
“I can find a cheaper guitar.”
“I have a lot of money saved up. You’d be surprised. I’m not a musician, but I’m a chef. And like a chef, a musician is only as good as her tools.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll play your fucking heart out every time you touch that thing.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now let’s get some food, because although my soul feels satiated, I’m about to die of hunger.”
We head into downtown Nashville to a place a few blocks off the main strip. After we park the bike, I bring the guitar with me and we head inside.
“This is where my friend works now,” Zach says, nodding at the sign that says Baby Got BBQ.
“Where do you know him from?” I ask as we wait in line at the host stand.
“He was my first cellmate,” Zach says, a little stoically.
A voice calls out. “Holy shit! Zach to the Max!”
I squint. “Zach to the Max?”
He shrugs. “Nickname.”
A man wearing a blue suit coat, jeans, and boots damn near bowls Zach over with a hug. He’s handsome, young, and blue-eyed, and he almost looks like a more boyish, leaner version of Zach, with softer features.
“Holy shit, man!” he says. “When you said you were coming today, I didn’t think you were serious. And who is this?”
“This is Harmony,” Zach says with a slow grin.
“Harmony, my name is Andrew. What an honor to meet you,” he says. “This is a great man. Saved my life. Twice.” He pats Zach on the back.
My stomach churns as I look at Zach again with wide eyes.
Who is this Andrew guy?
And, is he serious? Zach really saved his life? There’s no sarcasm in his voice.
Shaking Andrew’s hand again, Zach pats him on the back. “Get back to work, you slacker. We’ll grab some food, and you can join us when your shift ends.”
Andrew walks away, and my hand flies to Zach’s back pocket as the host leads us to our table in the back.
I tilt my head, looking at Zach and then back at Andrew.
Butterflies fill me up. I wish I could have recorded what he said to tell my stepmom, since she apparently thinks Zach is this cold-blooded attacker, and here he is apparently saving lives. “Zach saved you? How?”
Before Andrew can answer, the server interrupts us, sporting a broad grin. “Hi there. Welcome to Baby Got BBQ. Are y’all hungry?”
“Hell yeah, we are,” Zach says as we order what seems like the entire menu.
After an hour or so later of conversation in which Zach and I debate the importance of the color of a guitar, Andrew sits down next to Zach in our booth, and I realize Zach never answered my question.
“So,” Andrew says, “you and Harmony need a place to stay. Mi casa es tu casa.”
“Not necessary,” Zach says. “We’ll find a spot somewhere in the city for a few nights.”
“The hell you will. I’ve been Airbnb-ing my guest room. I’ll put that on hold while you’re here. Not a discussion.”
“Andrew, that’s not n—”
“We’d love to stay with you,” I interrupt, flashing a smile.
We share an awkward pause, and Andrew glances at both of us, swallowing hard and obvious.
“Thanks, man,” Zach adds.
We’re about ready to leave when I glance at a booth across from us. I almost drop my water in my lap when I see who it is.
The face looks my way, and I dive into my seat.
“Hey,” Zach says, standing up to see me lying on the booth seat.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s my ex,” I swallow, a pit forming in my stomach. “He’s here.”
Andrew glances across the room.
“Your ex is Roddy Stillmaker, the famous singer?”
“Can we get the server over here? I’d like a drink,” I mutter.
Zach looks over at Roddy. Then he turns back to me, steely-eyed.