by Ginny Baird
“I didn’t say star.”
She hadn’t said star. She’d said singer. He glanced away so she wouldn’t see that he was embarrassed about the faux pas. He felt really stupid. “Right, right.”
“I don’t really care for country music. You could be a star and I wouldn’t know it,” she said, sounding like she offered an apology.
Her admission embarrassed him even more, and he found he hadn’t a clue what to say to her. Maybe the sweater-bedecked chicken nestled beneath his arm paired with an ego smackdown had something to do with not being able to find the right words.
Or maybe it was the fact he’d not been able to find the words for the last few months.
And that was what worried him most.
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A Down Home Christmas is available now.
