by Layne, Sandi
“Oh, you’re Mac Cunningham! You’re on bass, right?” She pointed to her t-shirt with her free hand.
Derek had to blink and keep his own reactions under control. Of course, he kept his awareness of her job in his mind, but he hadn’t been confronted with it in person. Not in public, rather than online.
Mac’s posture shifted a little as the teenager pulled a cell phone from a pocket to ask for a picture. “Sure, just a sec, okay?” Mac, her eyes smiling but not with as much warmth as she’d shown him not long before, asked, “Derek? Would you mind taking a picture of us?” A quick flash of color bloomed on her cheeks when she turned to the girl. “What’s your name, hon?”
“Abbi! Um, Abigail,” the girl corrected in a high voice, clearly flustered. She had curly blond hair and bright blue eyes, wore the band’s shirt with a pair of torn jeans—a lot like Rissa Walker’s, Derek thought—and tennis shoes. The girl met his eyes, hers alight with a sort of embarrassed hope. “It would be really nice, sir, if you would?”
“Sure.” He took the phone, clarified the photography procedure, aimed, and got about half a dozen. “I think that’ll do ya.”
“Thank you!” the girl said, her voice no longer sounding so strained. “Thank you, too, Ms. Cunningham!” She scampered away like a squirrel or raccoon, wanting to show off her prize.
Mac sighed as he put an arm around her shoulders. It wasn’t something he thought about until she stiffened a bit under him. Then she touched his hand lightly and relaxed. “Yes, thank you. We are going to be taking the lunch to go, you said, right?”
“You bet. As soon as we can.”
“Cool.”
Once they had their boxed lunch—the outward appearance was all very, well, coordinated, Derek guessed—they headed out to the car and then to the park. On the way, Derek wondered, “Does that happen often?”
“Fan-fies? Or maybe I could call them Self-fans?”
“What?”
“Selfies with fans.”
“Ah, yeah. Those. Why not just selfies with fans?”
She blushed and tugged on her braid. “I dunno. It does sound kind of stupid.”
He really didn’t want to give that impression. “No, just complicated. Anyway, do they happen often?”
“Not so much, really. Except at a gig. But then, lately, most of my life is with the band, you know? We’re getting ready for the CMA Fest and Val is working on an advanced tour schedule. The label is wanting us to record another single with a B-side, too, since vinyl’s making a comeback.” She sighed, but it sounded like a happy, contented sound. “So, I don’t get out much, otherwise, I guess.”
He parked the car and shifted in his seat after freeing himself from the seatbelt. She did the same, but the look in her hazel eyes was a bit wary, which gave him a pang in his chest; he never wanted to make her look like that at him. “Hey, it’s all good,” he assured her, reaching out to cover one of her hands with one of his. “It’s just different, you know, for me.”
Her smile was definitely low wattage. “What, you don’t date bassists very often?”
“You’re the very first!”
With a shared grin that seemed to lighten the mood again, Derek exited the car, got their lunch from the back seat, and then went to her side. She was already out the door, bouncing on her toes a little and it was only then that he noticed that her brown flats that coordinated with her purse. Does she shop the mannequin styles at Dillard’s? he wondered. She didn’t go to extremes at all, really, but looked like she had a professional put her clothes together for her. Did she? Maybe she did. It made him feel uneasy to think about that, but he didn’t feel as if he could address it. First date and all, right?
He endeavored to shake it off. “Table or on a blanket on the grass?” he asked.
“You have a blanket, too? My, aren’t you the boy scout,” she said in a sliding, teasing manner.
“Wasn’t going to sit on the grass in chinos, no. So, hey,” he decided, turning, the lunch in one hand, “if you’ll come here and get it from the trunk, we’ll bring it anyway. I really can’t vouch for the benches.”
Eventually, they got set up at a table, but they sat on the blanket on the bench, side by side.
“So tell me,” he began after they’d each claimed a sandwich plate—she chose the ham and
Swiss, leaving him with the club sandwich—“how did you decide to play the bass guitar?” He’d heard about how Lipstick Outlaws had formed, both from her and through articles online, but he hadn’t asked her why a violinist of her caliber was playing bass guitar instead of, say, fiddle. He’d been a bit afraid of offending her, but it was something he’d been very curious about for weeks.
After swallowing a bite of sandwich, Mac fluttered her fingers over her lips and Derek found himself a bit captivated by the gesture. Does she kiss on a first date? He shook his head and then met her curious look. “Sorry. What?”
“I hadn’t said anything,” she told him slowly, her lips now clearly struggling to hold in a smile. “Yet.”
“Ah.” He felt his skin heat under the mild spring sky and knew she could see it, because she actually touched him again, those same fingers that had just touched her mouth then touched his cheek and he held his breath. “Sorry. I’m a redhead.”
“I did notice, yeah. Redheads are my favorites, you know.”
“I didn’t know. That isn’t in any of your social media.” In an effort to make the blush go away, he asked, “Why redheads?”
“Would you believe the Weasleys, in Harry Potter? Bill was so hot,” she confessed with a grin. Then, biting her lip, she dropped her fingers from his skin and took a sip from her cup. “What is this?”
“The café’s special? I think it’s called Picnic Punch. I figured we’d go full-on picnic, if we were gonna do it.”
After a sip, she grinned. “Excellent choice. So, yeah, my roommate at Garrison Forest introduced me to Harry Potter and I fell a little for all the Weasley guys. Except Ron, oddly enough.”
“No love for Ron?”
“No offense to J.K. Rowling, but no. The twins, though? I like ‘em.”
Of course she did. He laughed, all the lingering sense of unease he’d felt since the photo-op moment melting away in her laugh and subsequent explanation of her appreciation of the bass guitar’s role in a band.
“So, it’s about the heart, you know? Motivation.”
“Oh, I get it,” he assured her, plucking a potato chip from the pile he’d poured on his paper plate. “I took up the harmonica, though, to make people smile, so I guess that’s where I tend to go on the entertainment front.”
“I have got to hear that.” She looked around him playfully. “Got it in your pocket or something?”
He dropped his chip. “Uh, no. I, uh, didn’t bring it. But, you know, I’ll try to remember next time, okay?”
“Excellent!”
“Miss Cunningham! Miss Cunningham!”
“Oh, no,” they both said on eerily similar groans as a young man with a camera on a strap over his shoulder came jogging up to them from the trees. “I’m so sorry,” they said again and that time, Derek could not help laughing at the way they were evidently so in sync at that particular moment.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel intimidated as Mira-Mira seemed to disappear when Mac the Bassist stood a bit protectively to one side of the table between him and the young reporter for a local paper. Words like date and appearance and even boyfriend hit Derek’s ears and he froze, hardly even hearing her answers to questions that he found rather intrusive, considering he’d just asked the woman on a date and had no idea that she’d be approached not once, but twice.
“Aw, come on, Michael,” she said to the journalist, her tone sweet and light as meringue. “No more questions, okay? We’re just trying to have some lunch away from everyone for a while.”
Derek gathered himself and stood behind Mac, putting a hand on her shoulder. Possessive? Reassuring? For her or for him? He honestl
y could not have said, but every muscle in his body insisted that he handle at least part of this on his feet. “Yeah, listen to her, okay? Everyone should get the chance to, well, just have lunch, right?” His own voice was the one he used when he spoke to people at The Place, those who needed to be calmed and made safe. Why that was his instinctive go-to voice in the current situation, he didn’t know, but he used it anyway.
“Blakemore, right? I’ve seen you. Did a piece on The Place last year.” The reporter smiled and produced a card from somewhere. “Michael Abbott. Email’s on the card. I’d like to do another piece on The Place this summer, too.”
“Right, sure,” Derek said, hoping the guy would just go away. Under his hand, Mac was on edge, her shoulder hard and feeling like it needed a massage—an image he did not need just then. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you! You, too, Ms. Cunningham!” With a grin that sparked like a triumphant torch, the twenty-something man with the standard jeans-and-t-shirt loped off, leaving Derek and Mac standing, staring after him.
“I really am sorry.” Mac’s voice was soft and a little sad. “I never figured this would be a thing. Taylor, sure. And Katie Lyn, sometimes, but me? Sorry. I hate that you’re stuck talking to reporters, too.”
He covered her other shoulder with his free hand and dropped his chin to the top of her head as he stood behind her. “I’m sorry our first date got invaded by other people.” He tried to smile, even if she couldn’t see him. It was . . . intimidating, really, dealing with the cameras and all that. “Do you think he knows Abbi from the restaurant?”
“That’d stink on ice.”
He did chuckle, then. “On ice? Really?”
“Oh, hush.”
He turned her around in his arms, uncomfortably aware that there might be eyes—or camera lenses—on them. “Wanna go? You mentioned tables at your place?”
Raising her eyes to his, she nodded. “Sure you want to have lunch with me, with all of this?”
“You bet.” He tugged on the thick braid of her hair before letting her go. “I’ll even spring for dinner.”
“Rehearsal tonight.”
He laughed and they both moved to clean up the pieces of their half-eaten lunch. “I’ve got a meeting with my dad. Business.”
“Call me?” She popped a chip into her mouth.
He did likewise, nodding, before adding, “Absolutely.”
INTERLUDE IV
Mac & Derek
Derek: Hey, you up?
Mac: Still playing with a song with the girls. D’you mind sporadic responses?
Derek: lol Not at all. Having fun?
Mac: Always! Might even get a little wild on the bass for one number. Shocked?
Derek: Nah. You would do a good job with that.
Mac: Thanks! How was your meeting with your dad?
Derek: Good. Some property thing he wants me to check out in Arizona. So, I’ll be heading out tomorrow.
Mac: We’ll be in town at the Wild Horse Saloon next week, if you’re back to come see.
Derek: Oh! Yeah, I should be. I saw that you’re on the schedule when I checked their website.
Mac: **eyebrow emoji** Oh yeah? Been checkin’ up on me?
Derek: It’s a hobby. My favorite hobby, actually. You do, after all, have an interesting schedule.
Mac: **yawns** I know. We’re done, now. Heading home.
Derek: Text me when you’re there
Mac: Why?
Derek: So I know you’re home safe.
Mac: lol Yes, Dad.
* * *
Derek & LeeAnn
LeeAnn: Derek! Sweetheart, did you see that bit in the paper? About you and that musician? There was a picture!
Derek: Yeah, Mom. I saw
LeeAnn: You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend! Why does your mother have to find this stuff out from other people? On a website, no less.
Derek: I don’t have a girlfriend! I was on a date. We haven’t gotten around to meeting families.
LeeAnn: Your dad says you know her family already.
Derek: Yes. College roommate’s family. She’s his little sister. But we’ve only been on one date, Mom. Give it a rest.
LeeAnn: Well, you know. I looked her up online. The band is doing pretty well. Can you get us a good spot at the CMA Fest this summer?
Derek: Mom!
* * *
Mac & Derek
Mac: How’s Arid-zona?
Derek: Arid. Hey, I won’t be able to catch you at the Wild Horse, sorry. Getting sent to Colorado again.
Mac: Well, shoot. Okay. Can’t just put on your sneakers and run back to Nashville from way out there.
Derek: . . . Sneakers?
Mac: Yeah. Tennies? Like, Nikes or Sketchers or Vans?
Derek: Oh! Tennis shoes! I don’t own any, to be honest.
Mac: That sound you heard was my Fender hitting the floor. Not the Ibanez—I’d never drop that, but the Fender? Yes. What? No sneakers?
Derek: Loafers, yes. I even break out the sandals when I go to a lake or something, but mostly just varying degrees of loafers.
Mac: Huh
Derek: You have varying degrees of boots, right?
Mac: You noticed! **grin**
Derek: I really did.
Mac: Do you have a favorite pair?
Derek: [pause] Let’s just say I’m relieved this is on text. Yes, yes I do. The black suede with the ties behind your knees. And your brothers would totally kick my butt right now if they could see me.
Mac: You have an eye for detail. Next time we play, I’ll wear ‘em for you.
[pause]
Mac: I’m really sorry about that Social News piece in the paper. Has there been any problem since it came out?
Derek: [typing dots] [no dots] [typing dots] Well. Nothing too bad?
Mac: I know we’re not really an item or anything. I didn’t mean to imply that.
Derek: No, you didn’t. They did, but you didn’t. It’s all right. Just some flak from some guys at the office. I told them that if they wanted an autograph, they should go to your shows.
Mac: Thank you. That had to be awkward.
Derek: Meh. It’s okay. Hey, I gotta turn in.
Derek: You, too.
5
“Huh.” Mac pursed her lips as she clicked her phone off before scooping up her Ibanez by the strap and fiddling with it in anticipation of resumption of rehearsal. They had a new number, courtesy of Taylor and Rissa, and it was one where she got to play a bit on her bass. She was nervous, really, which was perhaps unprofessional of her but there it was.
C.C. waved a drumstick to get her attention. “Hey. What is it? Your goldfish die or something?”
“What? No. Like I’d have a goldfish. Between me and Micah, they’d be doomed the moment we even considered getting an aquarium. No, it’s, um . . . Derek.”
C.C. nodded, a smile pushing at the corner of her mouth. “Well, it is your turn, you know. We all had to go through this.”
“This?”
“The whole Having a Relationship While in a Band thing.” C.C. did a rimshot on the cymbals of her drum kit. “Though, it has been a bit busy lately, so I guess it’s hard?”
Mac brushed the heavy strings under her fingers while she considered what to say. “I don’t even know if we’re having a relationship, Ceece. I mean, it’s not like I’ve done this since I got out of college, you know.”
The other woman looked surprised. “Really?” She pressed her lips together, clearly thinking. “Well, yeah. I guess not! So, what did he say?” she asked, gesturing toward Mac’s phone-occupied pocket.
Mac strummed an F7 chord. It was a chord that left her wanting more, which was how she felt as she contemplated the past couple weeks or so. “He said he wasn’t going to be able to come to our gig tomorrow night. I know he made it back to town already.”
C.C. nodded slowly. “You’ve asked him before, too, right?”
With a sigh, Mac said she had. “I’m thinking
that he’s not fond of the media. I mean, he’s good with people and he does fundraising and all that, but yeah.” She rubbed at her breastbone over the neck of her guitar. “Gotta say, I’m . . . what . . . disappointed?” She shrugged. “But I don’t blame him, really. My folks don’t want to be around me in public, either.”
C.C. snorted indelicately and Mac shot her a grin.
“I miss him, though.”
“I know.”
* * *
“You’re checking your phone again,” Rissa remarked as they were doing their last minutes before they went onstage at the Wild Horse Saloon. “Expecting a special call?” she teased.
“Yes,” Mac admitted. She pressed her lips together and stepped a bit closer to Rissa. “Is that weird? I mean, we’ve had all of one date, y’know?”
Rissa cocked her head, green eyes thoughtful. “Define weird. Waiting on a special call or thinking it’s special after only one date?”
“Yes?” Mac laughed a little helplessly at herself. “You and Jake knew each other before you got together, right?”
“Well, we met at a wedding reception, actually. Then he introduced me to his mom.”
“Val McCann!” the two women chorused simultaneously.
“With Derek,” Mac said, indicating her phone, “it’s like I’m the last one in my family to have met him, but he’s . . . he’s like my bass line, you know?”
Rissa blinked, but looked pleased. “Sounds like an endorsement to me, honey. Or an audition!”
Mac couldn’t help but blush. “Okay. Thanks.”
“So, ready to go?”
After tucking her phone back in her pocket, Mac nodded. “Yep. I thought maybe I’d take pics again, tonight.”
They were being featured that evening. They were the band of the night. Prime time and all that, and Mac was keeping all her performance-nerves under wraps. Her Derek-nerves? They were jittering all over her body under her skin. Which is stupid, she reminded herself, since he isn’t even here.
