The next morning, Avery found herself in a waiting room holding a wiggly three-year-old. The motion did nothing to soothe her already churning stomach. Celeste hadn’t been happy to run a few ‘best of’ interviews from the previous year, but as Avery never asked for time off, she reluctantly agreed.
And it wasn’t all bad. Being here meant getting Momma’s medical information right away, and that meant she could put together a plan for her care immediately.
She’d streamed the show this morning before leaving for the clinic. Celeste and Ajay had run her interview with Carrie Harris. It was a good choice. Hopefully, the stations syndicating the show wouldn’t be too disappointed. The thought of losing even one of the hard-won syndicators made the butterflies in her stomach erupt into an entire zoo.
She lifted Wyatt from her lap with shaking hands and settled him in the chair next to her. She handed him his tablet and he immediately stilled, his eyes glued to the bright colors and dancing lights.
She checked the time on her phone. Two and a half hours down on the show, one and a half to go. She shouldn’t worry. She shouldn’t tune in. Ajay knew how to handle ‘best of’ shows. But she couldn’t resist.
She laughed out loud. Open the dictionary to ‘micromanager’ and you’d likely find her picture. She might not be able to change it, but at least she knew it was an issue. And she could laugh about it.
She checked on Wyatt and handed him a dish of Goldfish crackers. He dipped his fingers into the bowl without taking his eyes off the screen. Maybe he had gotten something from her—that level of focus was very familiar.
She pulled her AirPods from her bag and called up the station website, clicking on the ‘Listen Now’ button. Commercial. She’d suggested a playlist (unnecessary) and a second interview. Her highest rated shows were as familiar as her own name.
The commercial faded, and the show’s musical intro played. As soon as she heard her voice come through her earphones, she’d turn it off.
She sat ramrod straight when it wasn’t her voice that came through the speakers. What the hell?
“What the hell,” Wyatt mimicked. Oh my god, had she said that out loud?
“Wyatt, honey, look at Tía. Those are not nice words. Do not say them again.”
The toddler looked at her and shrugged and said, “Hell.”
She rubbed her forehead and tried another tactic while trying to listen to Matt. “What are you watching, honey?”
“Fucking Super Monsters.”
Okay, he’d not learned that word from her. She should admonish him, but she had more pressing issues than her foulmouthed nephew.
She swiped over to her text app and typed Why is Matt talking????? to Ajay as she heard Matt announce he would interview songwriting royalty Grace O’Connor in the next hour.
A text popped up. He pitched the O’Connor interview idea to Celeste, and she ran with it. Don’t freak out. He’s doing a great job.
A great job taking my job? she texted back before she could stop herself. She did the deep breathing exercises designed to keep her anxiety at bay. Her heart rate seemed steady, but her stomach churned.
He’s not taking your job, love. In fact, if he sucked up to you any further, sugar would drip from the microphone.
Matt was praising her? Again. What. The. Hell.
Ajay texted again. Relax. And listen. You’ve no worries.
“Potty,” Wyatt demanded, pulling on her sleeve.
That’s one word for it.
Wyatt pulled on the hem of her shirt. “Potty now, Tía!”
She didn’t know a lot about toddlers, but she knew enough to know you didn’t mess with bathroom requests. She lowered the volume of her headphones and shuffled Wyatt off to the restroom.
She opened the door to the stall as Matt introduced Grace O’Connor. Wyatt immediately flushed the toilet, drowning out Matt’s introduction. A flushing toilet felt like an apt metaphor for her career right about now. Why had she let Jess talk her into this?
Wyatt reached for the silver lever again, but Avery caught his chubby hand in hers. “Wyatt, honey, we don’t flush the toilet until after we go potty.”
“Why?” He looked up at her while pulling down his shorts.
Because I’m no fun. “Because wasting water is for chumps.”
He giggled and lifted his arms in the universal symbol for ‘up.’
She settled Wyatt on the toilet as Matt said, “I met Grace O’Connor when she and Storyhill’s bass, Andrew Hayes, wrote our latest album.”
The interview continued smooth as silk. Something bubbled in her stomach. Disappointment? No. She wanted her show to succeed—at all costs. But a tiny part of her wished it wouldn’t be so easy for him.
She had to work so hard. Things just came to him.
Before she could work up a full belly of resentment, she heard her name echo through her headphones. Grace had asked Matt about her.
“Yep, I’ve known Avery since we were sixteen. We went to the same high school and attended OU at the same time. Though we fell out of touch after college.”
Fell out of touch. He was being kind. There was not a hint of anger or resentment in his voice. Both things she deserved.
“Is that how you ended up with this gig?”
Grace was also a skilled interviewer. She couldn’t help feeling unneeded.
“Flush now, Tía?”
Avery snorted. Yes. Flush now. Flush it all.
Except she really wanted to hear how Matt answered Grace’s question. “You go wash your hands. Use the stepstool. And I’ll flush.”
She missed the first few words. “. . . we’d fallen out of touch. It was happenstance. But I must admit it’s been amazing to drop back into her life and witness all she’s accomplished. Did you know that only about thirty percent of solo radio hosts are women?”
“Making her story even more impressive,” Grace said.
“Right?” Matt said. “She’s just over thirty—whoops, maybe shouldn’t have announced that,” he said, laughing. “And she has a nationally syndicated show and three Marconi Awards.”
“When you knew her at sixteen, did you see all this happening for her?”
When did this interview digress from Grace O’Connor Grammy award-winning songwriter to the history of Avery Lind? She grabbed Wyatt’s hand, leading him out of the bathroom and willing Ajay to redirect the interview.
“I did.”
He did?
“She was always the most driven and composed person I’d ever met. I think the two of you would hit it off. You have a lot of similar traits.”
“Well, maybe we’ll get to meet sometime soon,” Grace said.
“Maybe,” Matt echoed. “I’m getting the wrap-up sign from Ajay. Thanks for joining us today, Grace. Avery will be back on Monday. This is Matt Taylor signing off, leaving you with a few of Avery’s favorite songs from the past few years.”
He knew her favorite songs? Oh. Right. The music list she’d provided.
“Mi hija?”
Avery jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. She glanced to her left. Wyatt had clambered back into the waiting room chair and had rebooted his cartoons.
She pulled the AirPods from her ears. “Momma, they were supposed to come and get me when you were finished.” She pursed her lips and shot a look at the nurse standing behind the desk.
Isabel chuckled. “No need for that look, Amy-Lynn. I didn’t need to be sedated after all.”
“No?” Great. She took off work and let Matt Taylor take over for nothing. She shook her head. No, not nothing. It was important to be here for Momma.
“Nope.” Her mother smiled. “The doctor held off on that test because she believes the disease is currently in remission.”
Avery wrapped her arms around her mother. All thoughts of Matt and the show fading into the background. “That’s great news, Momma! See? Taking it easy has its rewards. I hope she told you not to push it just because things haven’t gotten worse.”
Isabel smirked. “She did.”
Avery’s eyes narrowed. “And will you listen? You’re not going back to your workaholic ways, right?”
Isabel laughed. “That’s quite the question coming from you.”
Avery joined in her mother’s laughter. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Her mother nodded, her smile drooping. “I wish I could have passed on something else. You work too much, Amy-Lynn.”
Avery’s eyes widened. “I love my job, Momma.”
After a few moments of silence, her mother added, “I just hope you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
I’m doing it for you, and Jess, and Wyatt. “I am Momma.”
Her mother eyed her, doubt written all over her face. “If you say so, mi hija.”
Ignoring her mother’s intimations, Avery leaned down to Wyatt. “How about some ice cream to celebrate Abuela’s good news?”
Wyatt jumped up and yelled, “Chocolate!”
Isabel laughed, taking her grandson’s hand in hers. “You don’t want to get back to the station?”
“I’ll get there, but this is more important.”
Isabel slid another look at her daughter. “Okay,” she said, suspicion lacing her voice. “Did you listen to the show?”
Avery’s fingers curled into a fist. “Yes.”
“And the ‘best of’ format worked?”
“Well, they deviated from the plan a little. They ran a previous interview first and then they let Matt do the last hour.”
Isabel stopped and looked at her daughter, eyes wide. She was clearly waiting for Avery’s freak out.
She shrugged. “He interviewed a songwriter—the one getting married to one of his bandmates. She’s a big get. And one I’m not sure I could have secured.”
“And?”
“And he did a good job.” She rolled her eyes. “Great, actually. Doesn’t look like I’m getting rid of him anytime soon.”
“Do you want to?”
Yes. No. Maybe. She wanted her show back. But having Matt around felt . . . what? Good? No, that wasn’t quite it. Comforting, maybe? Like slipping into a well-worn sweater. If that sweater looked like Thor and lit up her girl parts like a Christmas tree lighting in a Hallmark movie. One flick of a switch and, whoosh, she was ablaze.
Avery drew in a deep, bracing breath, scrubbing the thought from her mind. “Doesn’t matter. Not my choice,” she said, trying to end her mother’s line of questioning.
Isabel stopped at Avery’s car, her fingers curling around the passenger side door handle. “Are you going to tell him?”
Avery lifted Wyatt into his car seat. She didn’t need to ask her mother for clarification. She knew exactly what her mother was asking.
She should tell him. But he was leaving in three weeks. And it was ancient history. Probably better not to dredge it up.
“Wyatt wants chocolate ice cream. What flavor would you like, Momma?”
Isabel looked at her over the top of her glasses. “Amy-Lynn.”
Avery punched the ignition button. “I know, Momma. But that’s not something you drop on someone after not seeing them for almost a decade.”
Isabel shrugged. “You might feel better.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I feel great.”
Isabel sighed and shook her head, but finally let the subject drop. “You should at least reach out and thank him for doing the show today. Thank him for me. These things are so much easier knowing one of my girls is waiting for me.”
“I can do that.”
Avery stared at her phone. She’d gotten Matt’s number in case of emergency—a show-related emergency. She needed to say thank you, but the petulant child inside her kept saying things like, “You need to say thank you for him going against your wishes?”
“Shut up,” she said to no one. She wanted to be better than all that, and normally she was. But this was Matt Taylor. And ‘complicated’ didn’t begin to describe her feelings toward the man.
“Get over yourself.” Had she always talked to herself this much?
Her finger hovered over the call button, but she chickened out at the last minute and hit the message button.
I caught your interview with Grace this morning. Nice job.
Send.
“C’mon Avery,” she chided herself.
She punched the screen, popping the cursor into the text message box. Can I take you out for a drink to say thank you?
She hit send before she could chicken out again.
She waited for the telltale three dots, but her screen remained quiet.
Matt stared at the screen. The compliment came first, and if that wasn’t shocking enough, she’d followed it up with an invitation to meet for drinks. He lifted his finger to type a response. And then pulled it back. How was it that the thought of meeting with her away from the station was the best and worst thing he could imagine?
Meeting at a bar felt like a date.
Should he suggest a coffee shop instead?
Or claim he was busy tonight?
Or maybe pull his head out of his ass and stop over-analyzing the situation?
He stared at the blinking blue cursor, unsure of his next move.
“Mattie,” Blake called from the stage. “You planning on joining us? Clock’s ticking.”
Matt looked up at his bandmates, waiting for him to block the last number of their upcoming tour. “Yeah. Just need a minute.” He turned his attention back to his phone. “Man up,” he muttered under his breath.
Sure, he typed. Tonight? He hit Send, wondering if his response was too presumptuous.
The dots jumped immediately.
Yes, tonight. How about happy hour? 4pm at Dahlia Lounge? They’ve got good drinks and excellent apps. Or somewhere else? Whatever you’d like.
Matt chuckled. She was text babbling. At least he wasn’t the only one nervous about meeting.
Dahlia’s is fine. See you there.
She sent him back the thumbs-up emoji. The Dahlia Lounge was a small bar. He’d been there many times. Had she? It suddenly seemed odd that they’d never run into each other before now. Nashville was a town of nearly 700,000 people, but it still had a lot of small-town elements to it. Especially for people in the industry. Maybe she truly did work all the time?
“Matt,” Andrew said. “Sometime today would be great.”
“Coming,” he said, depositing his phone in his back pocket and taking the stage stairs two at a time.
An hour later, with blocking complete, the guys suggested grabbing a beer. He declined.
“You have a better offer?” Blake asked.
His stomach executed a perfect somersault. Was it a better offer? Or was curiosity getting the better of him? He fisted his hand in his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, yeah, I guess I do.”
Blake waggled his eyebrows. “A hot date? And does she have a friend?”
Matt rolled his eyes. “No. And I don’t know.”
“A better offer that’s not a hot date?” Nick asked. “That seems like an oxymoron to me. Hey, Andrew and Joe, Mattie says he’s got another commitment tonight that’s better than sharing a beer with us, but it’s not a hot date. Sound weird to you?”
Great, now everyone was waiting for him to explain something he himself didn’t understand.
“A commitment on a Friday night that’s not a date? You’re right, Nick, sounds fishy,” Joe said with a smile.
These guys were clearly enjoying Matt’s obvious discomfort. But if the situation were reversed, he’d likely be doing the same thing.
“Fine,” Matt said. “I’m meeting Avery.”
“Oo-ooh,” they chorused.
“Seriously. What is this? Feels like middle school all over again.”
“They’re just jealous,” Andrew said, as if he hadn’t just been in the center of all the ribbing.
“I’m not jealous,” Joe said. “I’m headed home to the prettiest woman in Nashville.”
“Fine, it’s just them then,” Andrew said, pointing at Nick and Blake.
“I’m not jealous,” Blake said, his chin tipping up.
“So, you have a hot date tonight?” Matt said, unable to stop himself.
“No,” Blake grumbled.
“Nick?” Matt asked, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.
Nick raised a single bushy eyebrow. “Avery’s finally warming up to you, then?” the baritone asked, completely sidestepping Matt’s question.
That’s a good question. Was she? “Maybe. Not sure. She texted that the interview with Grace was good, but I can’t help wondering if she wants to get to together to yell at me for not letting the station just run ‘best of’ stuff.”
“Uncharted territory,” Blake said with a grin.
“Sorry?” Matt said.
“Not knowing where you stand with a woman,” Blake said, his smile growing. “Can I come along to watch?”
Matt blew out a breath. “You need to get a life.”
Blake laughed. “Where are you meeting her, Mattie? We could get a beer there, right, guys?”
They all nodded, the bastards. “You know that dive bar on Elm Street?”
Blake’s eyes widened. “I do.”
“That’s not it,” Matt called as he bounded down the stairs.