“Do you listen to country music?” Luna glances at me as we walk down a street in the heart of Nashville, side by side but not hand in hand.
Maybe I could convince her it’s best for our ruse if we’re touching at all times. If only she didn’t have a perfectly honed bullshit detector.
“Sometimes. If the mood strikes me.” My favorite genre changes practically moment to moment. “Safe to say I like all genres, but judge things song by song.”
Luna lets out a gusty sigh like my answer was not at all what she wanted to hear.
“You sound like a music nerd.”
“Is that a thing?”
“Of course. You can be a nerd about anything. My roommate in college was a mushroom nerd. She would pull over on the side of the road if she saw a decaying log she thought looked promising.”
“Ooh, I have a fun mushroom mind teaser.”
Her brows scrunch. “What does that mean?”
“Get this.” I shift, walking backward, able to watch Luna’s face as I talk. “People eat dead mushrooms, and mushrooms eat dead people.” I mime a bomb going off near my temples. “Just blew your mind, right?”
“Oh, no.” Luna’s eyes are wide as she shakes her head. “You’re a dorky dad too. And you don’t even have kids.”
“Never too early to start with dad jokes.” I settle back into her pace beside her. “Do you want me to keep the dorkiness on the DL or something?” The idea has me shoving my hands in my pockets so she doesn’t see the anxious way I crack my knuckles. The pops still sound through the material, just muffled.
Working as a salesperson, I know how to adjust the way I portray myself to make the people around me comfortable. I can play the blandly normal non-dork with a little code-switching, but I’d hoped Luna wouldn’t mind. Shutting down key parts of a personality isn’t the best way to build a relationship.
“Dork it up. Whatever. It’s the music nerd I’m worried about.” Luna stops then, grabbing my forearm. “Have you heard of Violet Bluefield?”
“Oh, yeah! Her voice is gorgeous. And the way she plays the banjo could make the snobbiest classical fan fall in love with the instrument.”
Luna squeezes her eyes shut as if in pain. I shut up.
When she blinks them open again, I’m distracted by how warm the dark brown of her irises are. I want to sink into my wife’s gaze. My body leans toward her until I have the presence of mind to stop myself. Luckily, there’s a decent distance I would have to cross to get to her.
“Violet Bluefield is my client.”
I work to remember what we were just talking about. Then the facts all resurface.
“Really? That’s dope! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I married a woman rubbing shoulders with A-listers. You need me to be your arm candy on the red carpet? I’m happy to hold your purse. But only if it matches my tie. We’ll need to color coordinate.”
Luna glares, but her lips curl in a reluctant smile.
Success.
“You’re ridiculous. And no, I don’t walk red carpets.” The amusement in her expression fades away, and I get a grip on my natural tendency to joke when I sense she has something important to tell me.
“I’ve worked hard to develop good relationships with my clients. In my business, it’s all about reputation. Most of the people who hire me learn about my services through word of mouth. If I get a bad mark against my name, I’m done.”
Making sure she knows I’m serious, I keep my voice steady, focus on her. “I’d never want to mess your work up, Luna.”
She stares deeper into my eyes. “I get that. But this is more than just not insulting people.” Luna steps closer, lowering her voice. “One common reason these women hire me is because they’ve had a bad interaction with a fan. They’re in the public eye, and people stop respecting boundaries. They have to fight for personal space. I can’t bring someone around them who threatens that. Do you understand?”
After traveling with my mom, I probably have a better idea than most.
“Of course. I swear I will be respectful to anyone you introduce me to, famous or not.” I raise my palm as if swearing in court. “And I will take special consideration with your clients. I promise.”
An air of tension eases from Luna’s whole being, and that’s when I realize she’s held tight to a bundle of stress since we left her house.
“Good.” She releases her grip on my arm and keeps walking. “And I’m not saying you have to pretend like you don’t know who Violet is or that you can’t compliment her music. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t treat her like she was a pretty toy to be touched.”
“Don’t worry.” My hands find a home deep in my pockets. “I will keep my hands to myself.”
Besides, Violet Bluefield isn’t the woman I want to caress.
We walk another ten minutes before reaching the shop, but the day is cool, and strolling quietly at Luna’s side is peaceful. My mind relaxes into the moment, not bothering with anxious thoughts or worries. I finally understand the appeal of meditation.
A collection of Gibsons sits in the window of C & M Guitars. If my guess is right, there’s one from each decade, spanning back to the 1960s. Alejandro, the bass player in my mother’s band and the man who taught me everything I know about guitars, would love this place. Hell, I bet he’s been here before.
Luna steps inside, and when I follow, I lose myself in the sights. The space is all kinds of warm wood. The floor we stand on and the instruments set out for customers to browse through. Without considering my bank account, I start making a mental list of all the pieces I’d love to take home with me.
I’m no expert musician, but I can appreciate a beautiful piece when I see one.
With impressive effort, I stifle my curious fingers, following Luna, who heads toward the back counter. Three people stand together, two of them conversing over a banjo while the third person, a tall, broad-shouldered man with hard eyes that seem to see everything, tracks my partner and I as we move closer.
“Violet. Hi!” Luna calls out when we’re still ten feet away.
The woman gives a little start, but then she turns to us with a sheepish grin.
“Hey ya, Luna. Guess I need to practice my observation skills. Didn’t even realize y’all were in the building.”
“It takes practice.” My wife’s voice has a soothing note I heard her use at the animal shelter when praising a nervous dog. “Remember to listen for more than just voices. And practice counting people in the room regularly.”
Violet nods, and I watch her gaze bounce around to the other customers, marking the number of people present.
That’s when I fully recognize her. I’d been wondering if Luna maybe saw someone else she knew and we were talking to them while waiting for the country music star. But I realize I know this woman’s face from billboards and album covers and awards shows.
The recognition took me a minute because of her hair.
Violet Bluefield has curly, moss-green hair that shines bright under stadium lights and gives her an otherworldly appearance.
The woman in front of me has straight, ordinary brown locks flowing out from underneath a baseball hat. I wonder which one is the wig. Luckily, I have enough sense not to embarrass Luna by asking the question aloud.
“Eight people in the shop, including us five. I’ll keep practicing,” Violet says. Then her attention lights on me. “Now you I don’t know.”
Luna sets a hand on my bicep, a claiming gesture. “Charlie, this is Violet Bluefield. Vi, this is Charlie. My… husband.”
At Violet’s brows raise, it’s clear I’m not the only one who heard that hesitation before the title.
The corner of Luna’s mouth ticks up. “We just got married. Last week. Still getting used to calling him that.”
The country star gasps, then opens her arms wide. “That’s amazing! Can I hug you? You can say no. Manuel says no ninety-nine percent of the time.”
Luna steps forward into Violet’s arms and lets the singer hug the breath out of her. When they separate, the woman’s green eyes alight on me.
“Same offer, Charlie. Hug. Yes or no?” She’s got her arms open again, and never one to turn down physical affection, I accept.
“Good to meet you,” I say as she wraps a firm set of arms around my ribs. I gently return the embrace, fully aware of the burning attention on me. But when I step back and glance over at Luna, she seems mildly happy. That’s when I realize the heat comes from the man who clocked the both of us the second we entered the store.
This guy doesn’t need any advice from Luna. He’s gotten his training elsewhere.
“I can’t believe you snuck yourself a husband without me knowing. And no wedding invite! You’re lucky I don’t hold petty grudges.” Violet’s eyes bounce between the two of us.
“Courthouse wedding,” Luna explains.
“Hmm. Fine. But I’m gonna get you a huge obnoxious present. Fair warning.” The musician turns to her companions, giving the staring man a knock on the arm with her knuckles as if he’s a wooden door. “This is Manuel, my new bodyguard. He’s got a stick way up his ass, but I love that about him. Plus, he hates country music. Aren’t we a pair?” She grins up at her security. “Will you give my friends a big ol’ howdy?” When Violet talks to Manuel, her accent magically grows thicker.
The man gives us both a curt nod. No hug from him.
Luna nods back, appearing satisfied with the stony man. I’m tempted to grin wide and hold my hand out for a fist bump. But that might cause the guy to short circuit. So I just nod too.
And wonder about the one percent of times he’s accepted a hug from Violet.
The singer turns to the final member of our group, who’s stayed on the periphery until now, her attention on an instrument laid out on the counter. “And this goddess of guitars and other stringed instruments is Cassandra, owner of the shop and repair extraordinaire. I’m not lying, am I?”
Cassandra glances up, removing a set of glasses before acknowledging Violet.
“I can re-fret it. But with these classics, I charge more. And they take longer.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’m not touring until the summer. But I'd love to take my Daddy’s banjo with me. Never had her on the road before.”
The shop owner nods. “I’ll finish long before that. Let me get my work form, we’ll talk the repair details and have you sign off, then you’ll be good.”
Violet turns big eyes to Luna. “Do you mind waiting a bit? This is why I had you meet me here. Wasn’t sure how long this would take.”
Luna shrugs. Her neutral stance about spending more time in the shop reveals my wife doesn’t fully appreciate the treasure trove of music we’re standing in.
Leaning down, I place my hand on her back and my lips closer to her ear. “You mind if I browse around?” I ask.
Luna blinks in surprise. “You want to buy something?”
I shrug. “More like window shop. Spent a lot of time with my Mom’s band.”
Confusion twists her brows before they shoot up her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot.” She mimes banging her forehead against my chest. “You didn’t need my talk about how to act, did you?”
Her embarrassment makes Luna irresistibly cute, and I give into the urge to press a kiss against her forehead.
“A reminder never hurts.” I step back. “Now I saw a 1961 Jazzmaster I’d give both my kidneys for. You can find me jamming over there.” I gesture toward the front of the shop.
Already I can feel the strings under my fingers. The relief and joy of playing something beautiful. Hopefully, that’ll take some of the edge off the fact that I can’t strum pleasurable noises out of Luna like I’ve been longing to since we first met.