Page 66 of Playing With My Heart Strings

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 fromHeart 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 forher. 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.”

26

baylor

I Know Who You Are

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