cry from life in the music business. Touring, moving from city to city. Waking up in a new place every few days, sometimes without really knowing where you were. Long hours spent in the studio with the constant pressure to deliver.
I’d been here less than a week, and I could already feel myself acclimating. It helped that I wasn’t working. I checked in with Oliver again and let him know I was staying in the area to take care of some personal business. He said he was glad I was taking a break.
Gibson had an order to fill, so I’d spent the last couple of days happily relaxing at his house while he worked. As promised, he’d taken me to Moonshine for breakfast—twice—and their waffles were just as delicious as I remembered. In addition to eating too much, I’d watched a baking competition show—and subsequently ruined three batches of macarons thinking I could duplicate what I’d seen—practiced yoga in the field outside his house, and painted my nails to match my hair.
It was the most downtime I’d had in ages, and it was surprisingly nice. I didn’t usually slow down like this. I went from project to project. City to city. Always moving, never sitting still.
The sun was shining this afternoon, so I grabbed my handbag and went outside. Gibson had a single chair out on the back porch, facing a view of the woods beyond. I settled in, sitting sideways so I could drape my legs over one arm. The air was fresh and clean, a light breeze easing the heat of the late summer day. The sound of Gibson’s power tools carried from his workshop.
Gibson Bodine. He was such an enigma. Usually I was adept at getting to the heart of a person—at figuring out what made them tick. It was what made me good at my job. But Gibson was hard to crack. One thing I knew for sure. He was hiding a lot of pain behind that angry façade.
What happened to you, Gibson? Who hurt you so badly?
When I worked with a struggling artist or band, I liked to leave them with something that would keep them on the right track after I’d gone. I couldn’t be there forever to make sure they didn’t drift back into conflict or malaise or self-doubt.
Sometimes I taught them meditation techniques to stay calm. I’d done conflict resolution role-playing, left a box of notes with things to spark creativity, and helped brainstorm ideas for hobbies that would give them some downtime. No one would ever believe how many badass rock stars I’d taught to crochet.
I felt like Gibson needed something else in his life. Something to soften him up a little. Bring him some happiness. But what would make Gibson happy? He wasn’t exactly a people person, that was obvious. His work seemed to be fulfilling, and he had his music.
I thought back on Oliver’s offer, but it was impossible to imagine Gibson as a rock star. He had the talent for it, no question. And the looks. Fans would eat up Gibson Bodine with a spoon. Even his prickly personality wouldn’t be a problem, not from a popularity standpoint. His gruff demeanor combined with that husky voice of his—not to mention his rugged sex appeal—would be absolute catnip to millions. With the right backing, he’d be huge.
And he’d hate it.
Oliver would sign him in a heartbeat. And just to be sure I wasn’t making the wrong assumption, I’d ask Gibson about it again. But I was almost positive I knew the answer. He didn’t want that life.
Some people did. They wanted fame and fortune and the rush of playing for a packed house. Thousands of people screaming their name, singing along to their songs. They lived for it. And you could tell those people from the ones who didn’t. The ones who loved music, but didn’t want the trappings of a life in the spotlight.
Gibson was one of those. I was almost certain of it.
I wondered if he’d ever considered getting a pet. Maybe a dog. I could see him with a sweet dog at his side. A loyal companion, jumping in the passenger seat of his truck, tongue hanging out. Curling up at his feet at the end of a long day. And the thought of Gibson with a puppy was ovary-melting.
Maybe a dog would help. I’d have to see what he thought about the idea.
Although thinking about leaving him with something made me think about leaving. Which