Last night things had seemed hopeless. We were stuck here without money or friends and had just spent what we had on clothes and sleeping bags, plus a little bit of food. But Danny had texted and told me he’d deposited some money in my bank account, which meant we could have breakfast in a real restaurant, and as long as we were doing that...

  I had some plans I wanted to discuss with Olivia.

  “Are you up?” I whispered over my shoulder.

  “Are you kidding? I barely slept. We definitely need to add air mattress to our list of wishes,” she whispered back.

  I turned over, grinning. “We’ll get one before we leave. Danny put some money in my account. Then let’s get breakfast. I have a plan.”

  “We need to get back to Great Falls within a month, and from what I can tell it’s only around 400 for the route we’re using for the tour. That’s doable. We hit our stops along the way, no problem, and in the meantime we do some sight seeing.”

  She cocked her head in doubt. “And what’re we going to do for money? Do you have any?”

  “Not really. Most of my deposit went to my dad’s medical bills.”

  “And Danny’s not exactly going to be keen to keep depositing in your account.”

  “You’re probably right. But that’s the next part of my plan. We’ll need extra money, but we’re our own traveling show. We have guitars and the tiny amp. We just make extra appearances on the side. Play for change. Play in small venues when they’re available. We’ll get enough money for gas and food, I’m sure of it. And in the meantime we’ll be building a fan base.”

  Her mouth quirked. “A fan base of people who saw us play on street corners? That doesn’t exactly seem like people who’ll care.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s intimate. It’s personal. They’ll definitely remember us when we come back through here. I bet people’ll eat it up.”

  Now her face turned thoughtful. “And we’ll be making money for things like hotel rooms?”

  I pointed a finger at her and gave her finger guns. “Exactly. Hotel rooms. Swanky restaurants. Diamond necklaces. We’ll have it all. Hell, we even have press following us already.”

  And that part was no lie. The blogger we met yesterday—God, was it only yesterday?—had shown up again this morning, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and like he definitely hadn’t spent the night in a van that smelled like cherry soda. He’d wanted to interview Olivia and had sullenly agreed to include me in the interview, saying that he was going to put it up on his blog right away. He’d also said he was going to follow us on the road—which I was sure had more to do with Olivia than with me—and document our travels.

  Our own personal blogger. What more could we want?

  “Except,” Olivia said quickly, “that we’ll have to get other people to agree to let us perform. Is that allowed? Are we allowed to do non-label appearances while we’re on the road under their umbrella?”

  I leaned forward and took her hand. “Olivia, they’re not even paying for anything. Sure, we’re here as representatives of the label, but they aren’t paying for our gas or hotel or food. So I don’t think they can really say anything about anything.”

  I wasn’t sure that was the truth. They were the label and of course they could say anything about anything.

  But they’d have to actually call us to do that. And the minute they were on the phone, I was going to give them a piece of my mind for having left us out here in the middle of nowhere without any support.

  Personally, I didn’t think they’d risk it.

  CHAPTER 15

  Olivia

  The first show in Cascade was amazing. We came screeching into town two hours before curtain, thanks to an extra-long breakfast date that included not only an interview with Colin Cravers but also a planning session where we laid out what towns we’d stop in on the way to our next actual tour dates. I’d been present for the planning session but hadn’t jumped right into it the way Connor had. Something had seemed wrong to me. Like we were breaking a rule we didn’t realize we were breaking or something. I’d wished time and again for a copy of our agreement with Atomic—or a better memory, because I knew I’d read the thing but couldn’t remember more than scattered pieces. I wanted to know whether we were allowed to do what we were about to do.

  Or if that was one more thing that might cost us the contracts we were working so hard for.

  On one hand, Connor was right. Atomic had left us out here on our own and it was pretty freaking hard to care what they thought about how we might make money while we were here. On the other hand, we were out here literally singing for our supper because we wanted the contracts Atomic was offering. We’d be idiots to put those in jeopardy just for some extra shows.

  I’d called both Parker and Taylor, trying to get copies of the thing, but the coverage out here was terrible and the best I’d been able to do was hustle into the coffee shop before we left Great Falls, use their WiFi, and send emergency messages to both of them.

  Then we were on the road, hauling butt for Cascade and our next tiny appearance.

  At least this one had been organized by the record label. If independent appearances were vorboden, I was hoping we’d find out before we made any of them.

  I looked around the tiny theater now, my fingers holding the microphone stand in front of me, and clicked my tongue. The mic picked it up perfectly, the sound echoing through the small space, and I felt a thrill run through me. I didn’t know what this theater had been before, in this tiny town that made Arberry seem cosmopolitan, but the acoustics in here were phenomenal. I’d been in sound booths that didn’t have this nice a sound, and I couldn’t wait to play in here.

  It was going to be even better than expected, too, because the place didn’t have any sound equipment other than the microphones we had in front of us. No amps or speakers. So we’d be playing only with the tiny amp we were traveling with.

  Acoustic show, indeed.

  When Connor walked through the front door—late, as usual—I laughed.

  Because he was once again carrying a white lily.

  “Are you late because you went all over town searching for that?” I asked sharply. “Because some of us have been in here getting everything set up and our set list figured out.”

  “No,” he said, reaching me. “I’m late because I wanted to get something to drink before the show started. Finding this was a mistake. It was growing right outside.” He reached up and tucked it behind my ear, sending shivers racing across my skin and right into my belly.

  I swallowed, trying to still my racing heart, and put a hand up to the lily. “What’s with you and lilies, anyhow?”

  He shrugged. “I like them. And they look nice in your hair. Besides, at this point I figure they’re like a good luck charm or something.”

  I snorted at that. “Because you gave them to me once?”

  “And we had a good show afterward,” he said pointedly. “The best show.”

  Normally I would have agreed with him about that. I was a believer in good luck charms, and I was a believer in good shows. But I was also unsettled by how close he was standing to me and how his touch had set butterflies fluttering in my belly. And being unsettled made me cranky.

  So I chose to keep arguing.

  “That’s one example. Not exactly long-term proof.”

  But Connor, who refused to take anything seriously, just chuckled. “Well I guess it’s still good luck in its testing phase, then. When this show goes well, we’ll talk again.”

  He turned without waiting for an answer, picked up his guitar, and strummed a chord. “Wow, this place has amazing acoustics.”

  “I’d already come to that conclusion while you were gone,” I snapped. “Are you ready to warm up or what?”

  He gave me a sarcastic, narrow-eyed look, and then started playing the first song. I jumped in right after him, feeling sour and shaken and not at all ready for a show. This was so unlike me. I was always beyond excited when I was about to start performing, and I almost never snapped at my friends.

  Particularly when those friends were my only companions on the worst tour of all time.

  But I’d spent all last night staring at the roof of our borrowed van, forcing myself not to think about how close Connor was laying to me and how he sounded when he was sleeping. I’d spent far too much energy not remembering the last time we’d slept in the same space. And now here I was jumping out of my skin because he’d tucked another flower behind my ear.

  Come to think of it, no wonder I was jumpy. I was feeling things for him I had no right to feel. Thinking things I knew I shouldn’t be thinking.

  And I needed to stop it right now, before I ruined everything.

  “Don’t know what you see in me!” I sang, pitching my voice to harmonize with Connor’s. I stood back and grinned out at the audience, who had picked up the chorus and were singing at the tops of their lungs with Connor. We didn’t have much power behind our sound—just that one tiny speaker—but you’d never know it by the way the audience was reacting. Half of them had come for the show’s start and the other half had wandered in when we were already singing—probably because there wasn’t much else to do here—and now we had a packed house.

  And there was a ton of noise.

  People were cheering and shouting out requests, dancing and singing along with us. And though none of the requests were for our songs—how could they be when people didn’t even know our sings?—we’d played them the best we could, faking it when we didn’t actually know the chords, and this had become more of a party than a show. Beer was flowing—someone had brought a keg—and someone else was barbecuing in the back of the building, and the whole thing was...

  Chaos.

  It was chaos, and I loved it.

  Connor turned to me, still singing and smiling so hard I wondered how he was managing to form words at all, and I jumped back in and started singing with him, moving to stand back to back with him as we sang. This had somehow become our signature move, and though I thought it must look ridiculous with him being so much taller, it felt... right.

  It felt fun and spontaneous, and the crowd seemed to love it.

  We finished the song and took our bows, then listened as the crowd shouted out more requests. The guy at the back of the room, though—the manager, I thought—was pointing to his watch and mouthing something that was probably ‘Your time is up,’ and Connor and I looked at each other.

  “Think we have time for one more?” he asked, pitching his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear it.

  “One more. Let’s make it a slow one, though,” I said, playing along. “Something to wind down.”

  The audience booed at that, but Connor seemed to agree with me, and nodded. “I think I’ve got just the thing.”

  And to my surprise, he started playing the song I’d only heard once before—and that he didn’t know I’d heard at all. The song I knew he’d written for and about me. It was a solo piece and we’d never worked on it together, so I took a step back and watched the audience as they listened to him. It was a slow, weeping sort of song, all about loneliness and heartbreak, and I saw their faces change as they realized it. The lyrics told them about a girl he’d loved and lost, and then loved and lost again, and as it went on, they started swaying. One person put up their phone, the face lit, and then another, while the couple next to them started dancing, their arms around each other.

  No one tried to sing with him. No one pretended they knew the words.

  And when he finished, letting the last note echo through the gorgeous room, the audience was completely silent.

  Then they went crazy. And I mean screaming and shouting like nothing I’d ever heard before. They screamed for more, they wanted an encore, they weren’t finished yet. There were only twenty-five people or so, and they were making enough noise to account for hundreds. Or at least that was how it felt.

  My heart swelled and I felt tears on my cheeks. This right here. This was what performing was all about. This was why I’d come on the road in the first place.

  Even if it wasn’t the tour of my dreams.

  Even if it was with Connor freaking Wheating.

  I turned to him to see tears on his cheeks as well, and when he rounded on me and took me in his arms, hugging me like he was trying to squeeze me to death, I laughed and hugged him back, not caring who saw it.

  I didn’t know where this tour was going to go, but right now, standing up here and listening to twenty-five people who would definitely remember us when we came back, all I could think was that the Mystery Tour was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to me.

  CHAPTER 16

  Colin

  Fam, it’s your favorite country-singer-turned-blogger here, and newly minted stalker, if I do say so myself. Coming to you with some Very Big News.

  As many of you know, I’ve gone on the road to cover a new tour in town that happens to include one of my favorite musicians of all time. That’s right, Olivia Johns is in town, and I’m stalking her. Don’t worry, she knows about it already. Wait, does it even count as stalking if the person you’re following knows you, and knows that you’re following them?

  What if I’m doing it in the name of reporting?

  TBD on that question. Maybe I’m not a stalker, but just a reporter.

  That’s Mr. Reporter to you.

  Not that it would matter anyhow, because she’s not here by herself. She’s appearing on this tour with Connor Wheating, a relative newbie on the country scene, and I’m telling you, he’s acting as her personal security guard. I’ve been with them since they arrived in Great Falls at the start of the week and I’ve yet to see Olivia without Connor by her side. Which means, I guess, that even if she had a stalker, he’d protect her.

  I’m just as tall as him. But he’s got more muscles.

  And boy, does he have a better voice. Because let me tell you, readers, I’ve been to four of their shows so far and I’ve been blown away every single time. They’re newly matched up when it comes to music, but they sing like they’ve been singing together for years. Their voices blend. Their guitars work together. They have their harmony down pat.

  And the audiences love them. I’ve seen audiences go crazy for this duo, and it’s not a big surprise. The music might be better than anything I’ve ever heard.

  The details, you ask? They’re with Atomic Records and here only for a month. They’re working on negotiating a deal with Atomic, and though Olivia’s had a record deal before, this is Connor’s first time.

  I know, the jokes practically write themselves.

  But here’s the thing. Atomic sent them out here on their own. No managers, no agents. No band. No roadies. They don’t even have a tour bus.

  I mean they have a van. But it’s nothing to write home about.

  They don’t have any backing from their label, which means they don’t have any money. And that’s the best part.

  They’re doing shows on the side to pay for their food and board. They’re literally singing on corners with their guitar cases open. They’re the working men (and women) of the country world, singing for their supper while on tour for their record label, because the suits don’t want to have to lay any other money out.

  People, I ask you. Is this fair? To put artists out there without any backup and make them fend for themselves on the streets?

  I think not.

  But you’d never guess it to look at Olivia and Connor. They’re putting their hearts into every show, whether that show is in a bar, theater, or on the sidewalk. They’re playing in parking lots and at fairs, and if you ask them whether they’re bitter or upset, they’ll tell you they’re not. They’re counting on coming back here next year, and they want everyone to remember them.

  Now, the good news is that this means they’re playing in towns that would never get Atomic’s attention in a million years. They’re kissing babies and sampling barbecue, and every time I see them, they’re picking flowers. Is it the most sophisticated tour ever?

  No.

  Is it the most down-home, friendly, intimate set of events I’ve seen?

  Absolutely.

  Folks, if you’re in the area, you have to see them. We’re just outside of Cascade right now, and Olivia tells me we’re going to take the 15 as far as Helena, then take the 12 to Townsend. From there, we’re heading for the 89 and then the 90. We’re going to head for Billings and hit every small town and popcorn stand between here and there. Olivia and Connor will be singing their hearts out at every truck stop and theater, and I’m guessing they’ll put on a better show than you’ve ever seen.

  As for me? I’ll be in the back, writing as fast as I can and trying to figure out how to one-up Connor when it comes to giving Olivia flowers.

  Get your butts to a show and let me know what you think! I’ll see you on the road!

  -C

  CHAPTER 17

  Olivia

  Connor finished reading and looked up at me over the picnic table. “Liv, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I think this guy might have a thing for you.”

  He said it with a straight face, looking entirely serious, and I reached out and poked him.

  “I’ve heard.”

  This wasn’t, after all, the first time he'd said this. It wasn’t the first time we'd taken a break to read about our own exploits via Colin’s blog, and it wasn’t the first time Connor had gone right to the fact that Colin talked about me more than he talked about Connor.

  It was bad enough having a blogger write about me like I belonged to him. Having Connor read it just made it even worse. At least Colin was honest about how he felt. And he always laughed about it. He’d write a blog, then sit down with me for a drink or at lunch and joke about how his fans were taking votes on whether we were going to get married or not.