Vance swirled his pen between his fingers as he contemplated the direction of his newest song. It had been a long time since he’d written lyrics, but it was a little bit like getting back on a bicycle — exhilarating for the first five minutes until exhaustion kicked in, and you realized that your body wasn’t as young as it used to be. He was convinced that stringing together words had been easier when he was just a kid. Everything had seemed to click into place. Now he was struggling to string two lines together.

He was seated at the counter of the diner in town, a basket of largely forgotten fries sitting in front of him. He was of the opinion that the noise and the distraction did him good — sitting at home in his apartment trapped him in his head, and he obsessed too much over the small details to get any work done. Even two months into living there, the place didn’t feel much like home. No matter how he rearranged furniture or hung decorations, nothing seemed to click. Town felt different, too, and it wasn’t just because the businesses had changed. He’d grown up and seen the world, and now the place he used to call home was flavored by his experiences. He’d either learn to adjust, or he’d have to leave. His lease was up after a year. Maybe then, if he had his life back together, he could head back to Los Angeles and start all over again.

Vance barely noticed the individual sit down at a stool a little further down the diner, but he did notice when they heaved a sigh and collapsed onto their folded arms. Vance turned his head to look and spotted Aaron crumpled at the counter. He’d buried his face, so Vance couldn’t see his expression, but he got the impression that there was something wrong.

Vance, for the most part, had been staying out of Aaron’s life. He wanted to make things better, but he also knew to respect Aaron’s wishes. There was a lot of hurt between them, and he didn’t expect that to get better overnight. Aaron needed time to come around, and if Vance was being honest, he needed some time to figure out how best to prove himself. He was going to put on the show — it benefited them both, after all — but there had to be something else he was missing. Aaron was a serious, quiet, talented, hardworking guy. Vance figured the easiest way to forgiveness was to find some way to help him with his business. As far as Vance could tell, Aaron didn’t have much of a life outside his job. He couldn’t blame him. He’d lived the opposite way for so many years that he admired Aaron’s dedication.

Vance tucked his notebook under his arm, picked up his basket of fries, and went to sit next to Aaron. Aaron didn’t lift his head when he sat.

“You look bummed. Want some fries?” Vance asked. He leaned on one elbow, turned so that he could look at Aaron.

Aaron lifted his head, his expression tired. “Of course you’re here.”

“I’ll go if you want me to, but I saw you wilt, and I figured you could use a pick-me-up. I’ll even get you a milkshake if you want to live dangerously.”

“I’m good. Thanks.” Aaron looked suspiciously at the basket of fries. “What’s the catch with those?”

“I ordered a sandwich and ate it. I’m not too much of a fry guy, but sometimes I’ll indulge if I’m feeling like something salty. I wasn’t feeling it today.”

Aaron continued to look suspiciously at the fries. “You didn’t tamper with them?”

“No.”

“You didn’t touch them?”

Vance snorted. “My fingers might have brushed one accidentally. If you’re concerned, don’t eat the fries on the outside of the empty space in the basket. That’s where the sandwich was.”

Aaron actually laughed. It wasn’t particularly loud or joyful, but it was better the scowls and silence he’d been treating Vance to since Vance had walked back into his life. Vance took it as a small victory and let his shoulders loosen. Maybe it wouldn’t be that long before Aaron came around.

“As much as I don’t like you, I’m not too worried about your finger germs.” Aaron paused. “Although I guess I should be. Those hands have probably been in all kinds of places I’d rather not know about.”

“I won’t tell you about any of them.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

Vance watched, pleased, as he selected a fry from the basket and chewed on it thoughtfully. As he ate, Vance turned the conversation back around in the way he’d wished it had originally gone. “You look bummed. What’s going on?”

“Work stuff.”

“Is something wrong with the venue? Or any of the rentals?” Vance kept an eye on Aaron, feeling a little more pleased than he should have that Aaron was eating his fries. It was a small thing, but it made him feel like the olive branch he’d extended had been accepted.

“No. All of that’s fine so far, apart from the hiccups I knew to anticipate.” Aaron paused and set down the fry he’d been about to eat. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with the local bands my cousin, Teddy, tracked down for me to see if they’d perform, and so far the response has been… lackluster.”

“How many have given you a yes?”

“None.”

“How many have you gone to see?”

“Twelve.”

“Are you paying them?” Vance asked, aghast. “Something has to be seriously wrong if you haven’t had a single yes yet. I understand that some people get booked months in advance, but if these are small-time local bands, and if they’re being offered money… something is going on. What’s your sales pitch like?”

Aaron toyed with the rim of the basket. He didn’t look at Vance. “I meet up with them, tell them that I’m organizing a big summer event for Prescott, and that I’d be happy to pay them for their time to perform. I present them the budget—”

“How much?” Vance asked.

Aaron frowned. “It’s not a lot.”

“How much?”

“A few thousand dollars.”

“Wait.” Vance shook his head. “That isn’t right. You’re offering each band a few thousand dollars, or you have a few thousand dollars to split between all the bands you bring on stage?”

“A few thousand per band. I know that it’s important to pay musicians for their time, so—”

“So there’s no way you should have had that many people turn you down. That’s not the kind of money you earn easily when you’re small-time. How long are you asking them to perform?”

“Half an hour to forty-five minutes each.”

Vance shook his head slowly in disbelief. “That’s… what are you leading with?”

“What do you mean, ‘what am I leading with?’ I’m leading with the question.”

“There we go.” Vance grinned and cracked his knuckles. “We found your problem. You’re not leading right.”

Aaron scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“In this business, you’ve got to be able to talk people up. You have to twist what you say to make it sound like it’s a good deal for them.”

“I am?”

“No, you’re not. Well, maybe you are, but not in a way that’s going to convince a musician that it’s worth his time. A few thousand dollars is great, but when you factor in gas, and transport, and the fact that there might be four or five people in each band, it might not add up to too much. You’ve got to sweeten the deal… and frankly, saying that they’ll be performing for Prescott isn’t the kind of thing a band wants to hear. You’ve got to reframe your approach.”

“I have no idea how to do that.”

“It doesn’t matter. I do.” Vance grinned. He leaned against his elbow, resting his cheek in his palm as he looked at Aaron. “Take me with you to your next meet-up.”

“Are you insane?”

“No. I swear, even if you just bring me to one, you can see how I talk to the guys, and then you can use my technique to talk to whoever else you’d like, solo. I’m not asking to be a permanent part of your team, but I do want to offer my advice… and it’s something you have to see to learn. I can’t teach you about it sitting here. Not easily. I’m not a great teacher. But if you can learn through observation? We’re set.”

Aaron looked at him distrustfully. Vance was starting to get used to it. “What do you want out of this? I’m not—”

“I know you’re not,” Vance said. He knew what Aaron meant — he didn’t want to go home with Vance, and that was fine. At this point, Vance wanted them to be on friendly terms more than he wanted to take Aaron to bed. There was a voice inside of him telling him that he needed to make things right, or neither of them could be happy… and he wanted to see Aaron happy more than he thought he did.

“So, what is it?”

“I want to do it because I want to prove to you that I’ve changed my ways. That’s all.” Vance shrugged. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how much he had changed, but he knew for certain that he had remorse over what he’d done, and that felt like enough. “I want this to be a success for you. I don’t want you to take a chance on me only for it to fail because the rest of the details weren’t right. If you’re okay with letting your cousin help you, then let me help, too. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Aaron let go of a slow breath. He looked at Vance. “You’re not going to embarrass me?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

Vance laughed. “Yeah, and you were never involved in the music industry… so let me do what I do best, please? I know what it’s like to be small-time, and I know what it’s like to hit it big. I can talk their language. Will you let me give it a shot?”

Aaron paused. He looked to the side, then flicked his gaze back to Vance. “One time, just to see how you do. If it goes well, then maybe I’ll ask you to do it again.”

Vance grinned. He’d take every small victory he could get. “You won’t regret it.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

He would be. Vance would prove it. He was done playing games. It was time to let Aaron see what he could do.