“Hey, I get it. We just met. You don’t owe me anything, especially an apology.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

He understood more than she realized. Dylan worked in an industry where a minute piece of personal information could explode into a gossip magazine maelstrom. He was picky about what he shared of himself and with whom. Which was why he’d try his best not to pry further, no matter how enticing it was to write a song about her.

Dylan held his hands up to the dash vents to cool off. Joy had the AC cranked and convertible top up. It seemed sacrilege to drive Route 66 without the top down, but he wasn’t going to complain. He was hot and in desperate need of a shower. He hoped the bar where he was playing tonight had a place where he could wash up.

“Are you a professional musician?” Joy asked.

“More of a songwriter, but yeah, in a way, I guess. How can you tell?”

“Aside from the guitar in the back seat? You mentioned you were gigging tonight and your vocals are off the hook.”

“Thanks.” A little smile touched his mouth. He could listen to her compliment him all day. In fact, he wouldn’t mind just listening to her. He’d bet a pack of Screamer blue guitar picks she had a mean set of pipes.

“What about you? Do you sing?”

She raised a hand. “Humble brag here. You’re looking at the number-one shower-singing superstar on the west coast.”

He laughed loudly, his head falling back. “Play any instruments?”

“No. But I’ve been obsessed with music for as long as I can remember. My favorite toy was a plastic boom box.”

“I had a plastic horn. It sounded like a dying moose. I took it everywhere with me. What did you do when you weren’t rocking out to the Wiggles?”

“I competitive surfed.”

His mouth fell open. “No way. I didn’t expect that. Though now that you mention it,” he said, assessing her, “I can see it.”

Her nose crinkled. “You can?”

“Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Freckles across the bridge of your nose. You probably tan after one day in the sun.”

“You totally stereotyped me,” she grated. “Why do I feel insulted?”

“Don’t. You’re a California girl. Nothing wrong with that.” Unable to resist, he crooned the chorus from the Beach Boys’ song. Joy laughed; she even rocked her shoulders and did the Christina Aguilera with her finger to the beat. That was the reaction he wanted. If she loosened up, maybe she would open up. He also loved listening to her laugh. She’d looked sad and lonely at the diner and melancholy again when he’d pegged her with questions about her sister. When she smiled, she beamed. A fun energy radiated off her. Too bad he wouldn’t see her again after today.

“Where are you playing tonight?” she asked.