Page 15 of Just Business

“There’s this old story from back in the sixties that people like to tell. Mick Jagger loved coming here to record because people left him alone. He could go shopping without anyone batting an eye, except for one old woman who told him to cut his hair.” I shake my head, grinning. “All that to say, your location is safe here. I promise.”

“Imagine being the old lady who later finds out she told Mick Jagger to cut his hair.” Austin chuckles, low and rumbly, and I can practically feel it beneath my skin.

As we exit the van, I glance over and notice his hat is low over his eyes despite my reassurances. He opens the door to the diner for me, his hand gently resting on the small of my back as he guides me inside. We’re immediately met with raucous hoots and hollers from Jackson. He and I grew up together, and I’m a regular here since I hardly ever cook.

When we were kids, he was short, pimple-faced, and on the pudgy side—which made him an easy target for bullies. I’d come out swinging for him every time. But joke’s on everyone because Jackson’s turned into a total hottie. It’s like he hit his growth spurt late. He shot up several inches after high school, shedding the baby fat in the process. He grew into himself, and now he has the guys lining up. But he’s so busy with the diner that he hardly has time to date.

“Penny girl!” Jackson calls out, heading our way to wrap me up into a tight hug, lifting me off the ground. He’s ridiculous, acting like it’s been months since we last saw each other, even though he saw me the other night. After a few seconds of me laughing and trying to wiggle free, he sets me down, and we both turn to Austin.

All the color drains from Jackson’s face, and I shoot him a look, silently willing him to get it together. Jackson jokes that when he settles down, his man will have the same wavy hair poking out from under Austin’s ball cap. The look I’m giving him is practically screaming at him to remain calm.

He blinks a few times, slack-jawed, until I quickly kick his shoe with mine, snapping him out of his stupor. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jackson—Penny girl’s brother from another mother,” he says, extending his hand. Austin returns the handshake, and if it weren’t for the health inspections his diner regularly undergoes, I’m pretty sure Jackson would never wash that hand again.

We make our way over to the counter and climb onto the stools. Austin studies the menu for a few seconds and we place our order.

“How are you liking Singing River so far?” I ask after our sodas arrive.

“Honestly? Not what I expected—in a good way.” He glances around at all the rainbow flags around us, and I know what he means. People tend to have a set of preconceived ideas about Alabama, but we’re full of surprises. For instance, I don’t know a single person married to their cousin, and we all wear shoes! But, to be fair, I do know a girl who once took her baby to a bar, so there’s that.

Jackson shows up shortly with our food, and he grabs a stool to sit with us while we eat. He and Austin do most of the talking while I quietly observe. Jackson asks question after question about celebrity life, and Austin answers them like he doesn’t mind the small talk.

“What’s the craziest thing a fan has thrown on the stage?” Jackson asks.

Austin stops to consider the question, then with an eye roll, he says, “Mostly bras and panties. Someone once threw a dime bag of weed onto the stage, but I have a feeling that was on accident. They were probably missing it later. Fans are crazy sometimes,” he adds. “It gets old fast.”

We talk for a while longer, and finally Jackson blurts out that he’s a huge fan. I knew he couldn’t hold it in for much longer. He unlocks his phone, opens Spotify, and starts playing Austin’s newest song. But Austin stops him, asking if he can hook his own phone up to the speaker instead.

He scrolls for a few seconds, then hits play. A raw recording, one that I’m pretty sure he did with his GarageBand app, streams through the speakers. It’s not one he played today, and honestly, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard from him before. It’s absolutely amazing.

Thisis what I get to work with for the next two weeks. A thrill of excitement rushes through me at the thought.

The three of us continue chatting, and before we know it, people begin to trickle in. A quick glance at my phone tells me close to two hours have passed. We decide it’s time to head out before the diner gets even more packed.

Jackson pulls me into another tight hug, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “If you don’t claim him, I will.”

My eyes practically roll into the back of my head at his nonsense. “There will be absolutely no claiming of anyone,” I whisper-hiss back, pressing a quick peck to his cheek. In my normal voice, I say, “Bye, hon! See you soon.”

Austin shakes his hand again, and we head toward the van to drive back to the studio.

“I’m—” I begin, right as he starts to speak.

We both laugh awkwardly, and he dips his head. “You go first.”

“I’m really excited about your album. I’ve got a great feeling about it.”

“Yeah?” His eyes cut in my direction. “I mean, I think they’re solid songs, but Doug at my label acts like they won’t sell. They’re always pushing country pop on me, saying that’s what’s popular now. That’s one of the reasons I’m recording these songs here and not with them.”

“They’re just trying to use you as their puppet. Surely you know that. Plus, maybe this will be the album that makes you a household name and lands you on the charts,” I tease.

Austin turns to me, his face splitting into a full, genuine smile, and he shocks the hell out of me with an actual laugh. The sound is rich like my nana’s chocolate pie, like something I might want to indulge in, but would regret later on. And if I thought all those half smiles and low chuckles were something, this full smile that lights up his whole face is devastating. I’m immediately doing all kinds of mental gymnastics thinking up ways to see it again.

“You know…this might be the album that does it.” He gives me a wink, and that's when I spot the dimple hidden beneath his facial hair. My heart picks up speed to a gallop and a spark twinges in my belly at the sight of it.

When we pull into my driveway, I glance over at my garage and back at him, blowing out a raspberry that causes my hair to fan up from my forehead. While weighing the pros and cons of my idea, I chew the skin on the edge of my ragged thumbnail.

“There’s a room over my garage that nobody’s using. I can’t in good conscience let you sleep in a van when I’ve got a perfectly good place you could stay. You’re welcome to it the whole time you’re here, and I swear it won’t be weird. People use it all the time.” My word vomit comes out all in one breath.

He arches one eyebrow, an incredulous expression crossing his face. “You couldn’t have led with that this morning when you realized I was sleeping in this thing?”

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