The rich scent of fresh coffee beans brewing hit my nose, and a bell chimed as I stepped through the door to the corner coffee house. Dressed in my uniform, minus the matching green hat I hated, I headed for the counter where my coworker, Stacy, was filling a ceramic cup of coffee.
I had an hour until my shift started, so with my notebook stuffed under my arm, I took my place at the end of the short line. When it was my turn, she was already putting my usual order together.
"Mornin', Nix," she greeted with a twang almost as thick as the artist crooning a country love song through the shop's speakers. Stacy, or Stace as I called her, slid open the back of the display case full of baked goods, snagging a strawberry muffin.
"Slow morning?" I quickly scanned the shop, noting only a few customers spread out among the booths and tables.
She folded the muffin with a wrapper before stuffing it in a paper bag and wrinkled her freckled nose. "What else is new?"
"Solid point." My lips quirked in a grin that she matched.
Her red ponytail was threaded through the hole in the back of her green uniform cap. With a pep in her step, she twirled around, sending the curly strands swishing around her back, and headed to the espresso machine. As she filled my cup, she tilted her chin toward the small stage that took up the far corner of the room. "You playing tonight when you get off?"
I wished. Propping my elbows on the counter, I shook my head. "Nope. When I get out of here, I lucked out with an extra shift at the record store."
"Bummer." She returned with the steaming mug and set it on the counter.
I dug out the money to pay, counting change because my broke ass had to pay my third of rent the day before. Even with two roommates, both songwriters who'd moved to Nashville hoping for a big break like me, rent was barely manageable in the dense city full of struggling artists spanning multiple genres.
Nodding, I grabbed the bag and mug. "Paul has me slotted to play tomorrow night. I have to tweak a few lines in the song first anyway."
"Good luck," she said with a wave, a not so subtle demand to make room for a customer who'd just come in behind me.
Carrying my breakfast, I wove through the tables until I reached the one that sat in front of the stage. Even as the platform sat unused due to the early hour, I drew inspiration from the close proximity, picturing myself sitting behind the mic with my acoustic guitar hooked around my shoulder.
Oddly, that was the part I forced myself to get through. What I wanted—or rather dreamed of doing was writing those songs. Someone else could sing them. I'd never wanted the fame of becoming a vocalist. But after submitting song after song with only disappointment riding swiftly on their heels, rejection had led me to perform them myself. Anything to get my lyrics heard.
I dropped the paper bag on the table top and set the mug down before I sat. The wooden chair was uncomfortable, a fact I'd pointed out to Paul, my manager, a number of times.
Slipping the notebook from under my arm, I turned the pages full of half-written songs until I found my most recent work. I blew on the scalding hot coffee and shut out the mild noise coming from around me as I read through the lyrics in time with the melody playing in my head.
There were two lines I wasn’t satisfied with, so I snatched the pencil from behind my ear and drew a line through them.
The words flowed like a moving picture that played through my mind about losing the one you loved—which I had to admit gave me trouble, considering I'd never actually been in love. But I'd always been drawn to rock ballads, and this was the song I couldn't seem to let go, no matter how much I heard the phrase write what you know.
I sipped on my coffee before pulling the muffin from the bag, tearing off a piece and stuffing it in my mouth. Intensely focused on the song that was almost complete, I sighed when my phone rang in my pocket. I wiped the crumbs from my fingers not holding the pencil onto the napkin before fishing my phone from my pocket.
Mom flashed on the screen, odd because she rarely called