Chapter 20

The first thing Jacob did the next morning was work on a dinosaur song for the Wilson children. The idea had come to him in those hazy moments between sleep and waking—a playful composition inspired by the Irish Rovers’ “The Unicorn Song,” but featuring prehistoric creatures instead of mythical ones. He could already envision Michael’s excitement, the boy having asked repeatedly for dinosaur songs during their porch sing-a-longs.

Jacob settled at his kitchen table with coffee, notebook and guitar, sketching out verses for different dinosaurs—the towering Brachiosaurus, the three-horned Triceratops, the swift Velociraptor and, of course, the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex. Each verse would tell something about the dinosaur’s characteristics, with a chorus tying everything together. Most importantly, the song would include speaking parts for each of the Wilson children, with opportunities for dinosaur sounds—roars, grunts and squeals that would transform his porch into a Jurassic concert hall.

He worked steadily through the morning, pausing only to refill his coffee cup. The song took shape organically, the melody simple enough for youthful voices to join in, the rhythm catchy enough to keep their attention. He incorporated call-and-response sections where the children could echo lines back, making them active participants rather than just an audience.

After a couple of hours, Jacob had a complete draft—four verses, a repeating chorus, and carefully noted places for each child’s dinosaur impression. He played it through several times, making minor adjustments to the lyrics and chord progressions, imagining the children’s reactions. It differed from his usual compositions—lighter, obviously, but crafted with the same attention to detail he brought to all his work.

He was just putting finishing touches on the song when his phone rang, Jet calling to let him know she’d arrived in Nashville earlier than expected and was hoping to hear “The Lover’s Lament” in person rather than via recording.

“I’m at that coffee place near Stan’s—Roots & Branches,” she said. “Any chance you could meet me here in about an hour? Bring your guitar?”

Jacob agreed, pleased at the opportunity to present the song directly. While he’d become comfortable with other artists interpreting his work, there was still something special about that initial sharing—watching someone hear his creation for the first time, seeing their immediate, unfiltered reaction.

He showered and changed quickly, putting on a clean button-down shirt and jeans—his version of “dressing up” for public outings. His scarred face drew less attention in Nashville than it had in his previous city; the music community seemed to focus more on talent than appearance, and his growing reputation as a songwriter preceded him in many circles.

Roots & Branches was a cozy, rustic cafe that catered to the local music community. The cafe owner had adorned the walls with vintage guitars and album covers; They also carefully curated the background music to showcase local artists. Jacob spotted Jet immediately—her natural hair styled in two intricate braids, her presence commanding even in the casual setting of a corner table with a laptop and coffee mug.

“Jacob!” she called, waving him over with genuine enthusiasm. “I can’t believe you’re actually living here now. Dreams do come true.”

He settled across from her, guitar case propped carefully against the table. “Didn’t expect you until next week.”

“The label moved up some meetings, so here I am,” she explained. “I’ve been telling them about this amazing airport song you mentioned, and they’re pushing to get something new on the album before final mastering.” Jet leaned forward slightly. “So? Can I hear it?”

The cafe was relatively quiet for midday, with only a few other patrons scattered at distant tables. Still, Jacob hesitated briefly before removing his guitar—public performances, even casual ones, remained something he approached cautiously.

Jet read his hesitation accurately. “We could go somewhere more private if you prefer. My hotel has a small conference room I could book, or—”

“This is fine,” Jacob decided, positioning the guitar on his lap. “Just warming up.”

He began with a simple introduction, explaining the song’s origin—the couple at the airport, the man in uniform, the woman trying to maintain composure as they parted. Jet listened attentively, her expression softening as she recognized the emotional landscape Jacob shared before he played a single note.

When he began “The Lover’s Lament,” his voice kept low to suit the cafe setting, Jet’s focus became absolute. She leaned forward, eyes occasionally closing to better absorb the lyrics, her hand unconsciously marking rhythm on the tabletop. Jacob watched her reaction as he played, noting the slight catch in her breath during the bridge, the almost imperceptible nod at particularly resonant lines.

As the final chord faded, Jet remained silent for several heartbeats, a response Jacob had come to recognize as the highest compliment—the listener needing time to return from the emotional journey of the song.

“Jacob,” she said finally, her voice slightly husky, “that’s the one. That’s absolutely the one. It’s perfect for the album’s closing track—the emotional resolution everything else builds toward.”

He nodded, pleased but not surprised by her reaction. He’d known from the moment he completed the song that it would fit her voice, her emotional range.

“I can hear the arrangement already,” Jet continued, excitement building in her voice. “Piano forward, minimal percussion, maybe some subtle strings in the bridge. Your lyrics deserve space to breathe.” She pulled her laptop closer. “Do you mind if I record you playing it again? Just so I can start working with it right away?”

They spent the next hour refining specifics—Jacob explaining the emotional intention behind certain lines, Jet suggesting slight adjustments to phrasing that would better suit her vocal approach. It was the easy collaboration of two artists who understood and respected each other’s strengths, the creative partnership Jacob had once thought impossible for someone as guarded as himself.

“This is going to be special,” Jet said as they concluded, carefully saving the recording. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Her gratitude still surprised him sometimes—the recognition that sharing his creations was a form of trust, not merely a transaction. “Your voice will make it better,” he replied simply.

They parted with plans to meet at the studio the following week, Jet already texting her producer about scheduling time to work on the new piece. Jacob watched her hurry toward her rental car, phone pressed to her ear, her excitement palpable even from a distance. His song, once a private observation of strangers in an airport, was already beginning its transformation into something larger, something shared.

There was just enough time for a quick lunch before his appointment at the Parker Galleries. Jacob opted for a sandwich at a nearby deli, eating while reviewing the photos Sara had sent of both gallery spaces—Jane’s contemporary Gallery 615 in East Nashville and Sara’s more established Parker Fine Arts downtown.

The contrast between the spaces intrigued him. Jane’s gallery was housed in a converted industrial building, with concrete floors, exposed ductwork, and abundant natural light from massive windows. Sara’s occupied a historic Victorian mansion, its rooms transformed into intimate exhibition spaces while maintaining original architectural details. Different aesthetics, different audiences, different approaches to presenting art.