cake was so delicious?” Cat asked.
“Oh, so you’ve been to Grammar’s Bakery already?” Maria liked that Cat wasn’t reed thin and afraid of carbs. Too many artists worried way too much about weight and gave the wrong message to adoring fans.
Cat paused while Courtney delivered the slaw and salad. “Anything else I can get you?”
“I think we’re good to go,” Maria answered, and Cat nodded.
“Um, well, actually Jeff Greenfield brought one over to me this morning freshly baked by his mother.”
“So you know Jeff?” Maria stabbed a cherry tomato and lightly dipped it into the ranch dressing.
“We met last night when I was attacked by my very own suitcase,” Cat said with a nod. “I remember him being the best man in Addison and Reid’s wedding, but I’d never been formally introduced.” She then took a bite of her hot slaw as if her statement about being attacked by her suitcase was perfectly normal. “Oh, bits of bacon makes everything better, doesn’t it?” She held up a forkful of hot slaw and smiled.
“Wait . . . Attacked by a suitcase? Okay, seriously, you’ve got to elaborate,” Maria probed.
“You promise not to laugh?”
“Of course.” Maria nodded her agreement, but then starting giggling uncontrollably while Cat weaved the crazy tale. “Oh my . . .” She sniffed and then dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “Do things like suitcase attacks happen to you often?”
“Pretty much. I have ADD and get easily distracted. For example, looking sideways and walking forward isn’t a good idea, but I can’t seem to help myself. I always have bruises in odd places.”
Maria pointed the fork tongs at Cat. “Ah, but being rescued by cutie pie Jeff might be worth a few bumps and bruises, right?”
“No!” Cat scoffed. “He’s one of those traditional country singers who look down their nose at my music. He couldn’t even name one of my songs.” She lifted one shoulder. “Not that I give a fig what Jeff Greenfield thinks,” Cat added, but judging by the sudden pink in Cat’s cheeks, Maria thought otherwise.
Maria reached over and patted Cat’s hand. “But the coffee cake was a nice gesture.”
Cat shrugged again. “I suppose.”
“And he is really cute.”
“If you like the Wrangler-jeans-and-cowboy-boots kind of thing. Or get sucked in by those dimples of his.” Cat gave a dismissive wave of her hand.
“And you don’t and won’t,” Maria said firmly.
“Not on your life,” Cat insisted, but then rolled her eyes. “Okay, I do and I have. Not that he will ever know it and let’s keep this our little secret.”
Maria laughed and made a show of locking her mouth and throwing away the key. “You’re going to be such fun to work with, Cat.”
“Ah . . . you say that now.”
Maria leaned back when Courtney brought theirstone soup. “You know, you’ve got some sass. I think you could pull off some kick-ass lyrics, kind of like Miranda Lambert or Kimberly Perry from the Band Perry.”
“You think so?”
Maria dipped her spoon into the steaming soup. “I do. But you’ve got this sense of humor that I think we can tap into as well.”
“I think most of the time my humor is accidental. I’m like, why are they laughing . . . ?”
“Oh, Cat.” Maria laughed. “Something tells me you’re much savvier than you’re admitting, but that’s part of your charm. Listen, stage presence is essential to the total package. Today you have to do more than simply stand behind your guitar and sing. Garth Brooks broke that country music mold years ago.”
“I understand what you’re getting at.” Cat nodded. “Taylor Swift has her wardrobe changes. Miranda Lambert has her attitude. Keith Urban has his intense emotion. Luke Bryan has his baseball cap and hip thrusts . . . but what would be my thing? Please don’t say twerking.”
Maria laughed. “No, definitely not twerking.”
Cat tilted her head to the side. “Do I have a
“Oh, so you’ve been to Grammar’s Bakery already?” Maria liked that Cat wasn’t reed thin and afraid of carbs. Too many artists worried way too much about weight and gave the wrong message to adoring fans.
Cat paused while Courtney delivered the slaw and salad. “Anything else I can get you?”
“I think we’re good to go,” Maria answered, and Cat nodded.
“Um, well, actually Jeff Greenfield brought one over to me this morning freshly baked by his mother.”
“So you know Jeff?” Maria stabbed a cherry tomato and lightly dipped it into the ranch dressing.
“We met last night when I was attacked by my very own suitcase,” Cat said with a nod. “I remember him being the best man in Addison and Reid’s wedding, but I’d never been formally introduced.” She then took a bite of her hot slaw as if her statement about being attacked by her suitcase was perfectly normal. “Oh, bits of bacon makes everything better, doesn’t it?” She held up a forkful of hot slaw and smiled.
“Wait . . . Attacked by a suitcase? Okay, seriously, you’ve got to elaborate,” Maria probed.
“You promise not to laugh?”
“Of course.” Maria nodded her agreement, but then starting giggling uncontrollably while Cat weaved the crazy tale. “Oh my . . .” She sniffed and then dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “Do things like suitcase attacks happen to you often?”
“Pretty much. I have ADD and get easily distracted. For example, looking sideways and walking forward isn’t a good idea, but I can’t seem to help myself. I always have bruises in odd places.”
Maria pointed the fork tongs at Cat. “Ah, but being rescued by cutie pie Jeff might be worth a few bumps and bruises, right?”
“No!” Cat scoffed. “He’s one of those traditional country singers who look down their nose at my music. He couldn’t even name one of my songs.” She lifted one shoulder. “Not that I give a fig what Jeff Greenfield thinks,” Cat added, but judging by the sudden pink in Cat’s cheeks, Maria thought otherwise.
Maria reached over and patted Cat’s hand. “But the coffee cake was a nice gesture.”
Cat shrugged again. “I suppose.”
“And he is really cute.”
“If you like the Wrangler-jeans-and-cowboy-boots kind of thing. Or get sucked in by those dimples of his.” Cat gave a dismissive wave of her hand.
“And you don’t and won’t,” Maria said firmly.
“Not on your life,” Cat insisted, but then rolled her eyes. “Okay, I do and I have. Not that he will ever know it and let’s keep this our little secret.”
Maria laughed and made a show of locking her mouth and throwing away the key. “You’re going to be such fun to work with, Cat.”
“Ah . . . you say that now.”
Maria leaned back when Courtney brought theirstone soup. “You know, you’ve got some sass. I think you could pull off some kick-ass lyrics, kind of like Miranda Lambert or Kimberly Perry from the Band Perry.”
“You think so?”
Maria dipped her spoon into the steaming soup. “I do. But you’ve got this sense of humor that I think we can tap into as well.”
“I think most of the time my humor is accidental. I’m like, why are they laughing . . . ?”
“Oh, Cat.” Maria laughed. “Something tells me you’re much savvier than you’re admitting, but that’s part of your charm. Listen, stage presence is essential to the total package. Today you have to do more than simply stand behind your guitar and sing. Garth Brooks broke that country music mold years ago.”
“I understand what you’re getting at.” Cat nodded. “Taylor Swift has her wardrobe changes. Miranda Lambert has her attitude. Keith Urban has his intense emotion. Luke Bryan has his baseball cap and hip thrusts . . . but what would be my thing? Please don’t say twerking.”
Maria laughed. “No, definitely not twerking.”
Cat tilted her head to the side. “Do I have a
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