“I’m glad to hear you got there okay. Have a good time, and call me when you get settled.”

“I will. When are you heading out?”

“Maybe Wednesday. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. Talk to you soon. Love you.”

“You too, sweetie.”

Kate closed her cell phone and turned back to Ashton. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” He took the Green Hills exit. “I’ll show you where the apartment is.”

“Oh, cool.”

They drove through a beautiful area peppered with stately old homes, bars, restaurants, and shops.

“There’s the Bluebird,” Ashton said, pointing to the famous café. “That and Mabel’s are the only real music joints in this part of town. The rest are downtown.”

“The Bluebird has open-mic nights on Mondays. I want to go tomorrow.”

“Do you have original material? You can’t do covers there.”

“I have a bunch of my own songs.”

“Make sure you also bring a signed lease with you. You’ll have to prove you live in the city.”

Ashton navigated through a busy area before he turned left into the Westchester apartment complex. Six buildings, each with four brick-front town homes, made a square around the parking area. A pool and fitness center sat at the far end of the landscaped parking lot.

“It’s really nice,” Kate said.

“Home sweet home.”

Kate giggled. “I love your accent.”

“At least I don’t sound like a snotty Yankee.”

“Neither do I!”

“All right, darlin’, if you say so.” His dimpled grin was full of easy charm as the breeze floating through the open window ruffled his blond hair. “Your apartment is in that building, and mine’s over there.” He pointed to the other side of the parking lot as he turned the car around to head back out of the complex.

He gave her a windshield tour of all the Nashville highlights: the Country Music Hall of Fame, “Music Row” where all the recording companies had offices, the Grand Ole Opry, the Parthenon, and Belmont and Vanderbilt Universities. As they drove through the city, he tossed Tennessee trivia at her.

“Do you know who the three presidents from Tennessee are?”

“That’s easy: Andrew Johnson, Andrew Jackson, and James K. Polk.”

“Excellent, A-plus. But do you know who the honorary fourth Tennessee president is?”

“Honorary president? What are you talking about?”

“Why, Jack Daniels, of course,” he said with a charming smile.

She cracked up. “Funny, I didn’t see that in any of my American history books.”

“It’s a well-kept secret.”

They returned to Green Hills to go to Mabel’s, where she’d applied for a job before she left Rhode Island.

“A buddy of mine from college bartends here,” Ashton said when he’d parked the car on the street. “Let’s see if he’s working.”