The Perfect Love Song by Patti Callahan Henry

Kara leaned closer to Charlotte and Jack to be heard. “Yeah, she practically accosted me the first time I was ever on the tour bus. She asked me how I knew Jack, and told me I had no right to be there.”

    Jack laughed. “I don’t think that’s exactly what she said.”
    “Well, whatever she did say, that’s what it sounded like.”
    Charlotte nodded at Jack and Kara, but bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to admit it, but she agreed with Isabelle. Jimmy hadn’t mentioned any of them. He hadn’t said whom the song was for or what the song was really about. She didn’t want to be the “sensitive one.” She didn’t want to pout or whine because her boyfriend was just on Country Music Television and didn’t say her name. But something deep inside her shifted, and she fought the rising tears.
    “He looked cute, didn’t he? Even in that silly cowboy hat, he looked adorable,” Charlotte said.
    “More than cute. Like a . . . star.” Kara leaned into Jack. “This is really great, Charlotte. Really, really great.”
    “Yes,” Charlotte said, wishing she meant it, wishing she really did think it was great.

    J immy left the studio and walked into the cold Nashville afternoon. The setting sun bit into his eyes, the wind speaking in words he didn’t understand as it whipped around the corners of the tall buildings. He was alone, and the victory
of that interview didn’t taste as sweet as it would if he had someone, just anyone, to share it with.
    And that is the thing about wonderfulness or awfulness or anything at all, really—what is it if you can’t share it?
    Jimmy dug into his pocket, pulled out his paycheck. He walked down South Broadway, passing boot stores, bars, and restaurants. New bands and sultry-eyed singers wearing cowboy hats stared at him from bar posters taped crookedly to front windows. He stopped and stared into the front door of Tootsie’s, where a band was setting up and a bouncer placed his stool at the front door, preparing for the evening.
    “Hey,” the bouncer said.
    Jimmy nodded at him. “Who’s singing tonight?”
    “I’m not sure,” he said, slipping his baseball cap on. “Want me to check?”
    “That’s okay. Just curious.”
    “They’re all the same to me,” the bouncer said. “Just another guy in another cowboy hat trying to get discovered. Singing songs about love and loss and broken trucks. The new ones all sing about being a country boy.”
    “Or about Christmas.” Jimmy smiled at the bouncer, making fun of himself.
    “Yeah, this time of year, that too. Christmas songs. Country Christmas songs about snow and being home
and . . . Like I said, it’s all the same to me. Just give me a decent guitarist, and I’m all good.”
    “I’m with you, man.” Jimmy began to walk away and then turned back. “Hey, where’s the closest jewelry store?”
    “Two doors down on the right.”
    “Thanks,” Jimmy said, knowing now exactly what to do. The bouncer was right—it was all the same. What made this fame any different? What made him different? What made the song different? Charlotte.
    It was time to tell her the reason—the only reason he was now a different man.
    The bell clanged as he pushed the heavy door to enter the store. A woman in all black with more jewelry than one person should wear together came to the glass counter. Jimmy glanced around the store at the gold necklaces and huge carved belt buckles, at the dangling earrings and gaudy rings made of gold and colored stones bigger than a golf ball.
    The woman approached Jimmy. “May I help you?”
    “Yes, I’m looking for an engagement ring.”
    She placed her hand over her heart. “Oh, this is my favorite. Finding engagement rings during the holiday season. You proposing on Christmas?” she asked.
    Jimmy laughed. “Until about four seconds ago, I didn’t even know I was proposing, so I haven’t decided that part yet.”

    “Wow.” She pointed to a case at the far side of the store.