Chapter 7: Kit

Kit Delaney arrived at four o'clock with a photographer, a videographer, and a woman holding her hairspray.

She was twenty-eight, blonde, and wore rhinestone boots that sparkled under the loading dock lights.

I had seen her on a billboard in Atlanta.

She was prettier in person, which I resented on principle.

Hank watched her walk in with the expression of a man who had been told a bomb was a gift.

"Nobody told me," he said to me, low. "I swear."

"Told you what?"

"That the label was throwing her a party in our building."

I was setting up the Nashville merch table when Kit came straight to me.

The camera swung with her.

"Hi!" she said. "Oh my gosh, you're Maggie. I've heard so much."

"Have you?"

"Jude told me everything." She laid a manicured hand on my arm.

"I just want you to know I'm thrilled for you both. These songs are such a special part of our story."

The camera light turned on.

My stomach turned over.

"Your story," I said.

"Jude and I wrote so many of them in his kitchen in Knoxville."

She put her other hand on her heart.

"Two years of memories."

She smiled at the lens.

"'Wrong Number' is basically our love letter."

The camera moved in on my face.

I looked at the lens.

I looked at Kit.

Behind her, a few people in the merch line had gone quiet.

"Which one?" I said.

"Which what?"

"Which song did you write in the kitchen?"