Kate followed him into a dark hole in the wall where the smell of smoke and stale beer mixed with music coming from a stage in the back of the large open room. Two bars were doing land-office business on the first floor. A sign on the wall over one of the bars said, “Everyone welcome: Be’s, Used to Be’s, Might Be’s, Never Gonna Be’s.”

The walls were littered with framed photos of country music royalty, many of them posing with a massive black woman who had to be Mabel herself. Interspersed among the photos were gold records, musical instruments, and framed copies of handwritten songs. Ashton took Kate’s hand to keep her with him as they navigated the Sunday afternoon crowd. He led her to the second floor, where a lone guitarist performed on yet another stage.

Ashton tugged Kate along with him and waved to the bartender. “This is Butch Cassidy,” Ashton hollered over the noise.

“That is not your name,” Kate said to the jovial bartender. He had close-cropped curly dark hair and mischievous blue eyes.

Butch grinned and reached out to shake her hand. “What can I say? My mother had a sense of humor.”

Not sure whether to believe either of them, Kate shook his hand.

“What can I get you?” Butch asked. They had to yell to be heard over the crowd and the music.

“Couple of beers?” Ashton said, looking at Kate.

“Just a Diet Coke for me.”

“Kate is a new transplant from Rhode Island. She’s here to strike gold.” Ashton had lost the hint of cynicism he’d had before she sang for him.

“Aren’t they all?” Butch nodded to the room full of people as he drew a beer for Ashton from the tap. “Wanna be’s. Every one of ’em.”

“This one might be different,” Ashton said with an appreciative glance at Kate. “She’s got some pipes.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you get hooked up with this guy?” Butch had the same middle Tennessee drawl as Ashton.

“Our dads are friends. I applied for a job here. Who do I need to talk to?”

“Charlie Sledge is the manager. He’ll be here tomorrow morning. What’s your last name? I’ll put in a word for you.”

“Harrington.”

“Kate Harrington,” Butch said. “I’ll remember that. Maybe someday I’ll be able to say I met you the day you landed in Nashville.”

“Maybe so,” Kate said, taking in the chaos that was Mabel’s, filled with the satisfaction of being exactly where she wanted to be.