#2 The Country Kitchen: Chasing The Next Verse (ENG)

Chapter 4

Miles's heart pounded so loudly he was certain it must be echoing throughout the room. But he forced himself to take a deep breath. He had taken the first step. The song was out there. And Dixie Dave had praised it. But now? Now came the real test.

Dakota looked at him with a piercing gaze. She wasn’t one to give compliments just to boost someone's confidence. When she said something, she meant it. Miles knew that by now. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin slightly, and responded,

"I'm ready."

His voice was steadier than he had felt just moments ago. Dakota gave a slow nod, then stood up, grabbed a stack of notes from her desk, and handed them to him.

"Good. Then start with these. They're songs we need reworked for various projects in the studio. Make them yours. Show me what you can do."

Miles took the papers, his eyes scanning the handwritten notes, scribbles, and chord progressions. This wasn’t just a test. It was an invitation.

Dixie Dave stood, giving Miles a firm pat on the shoulder.

"You know, kid, a good song is like good whiskey. It needs time to mature. But if you’ve got the right instincts, you’ll know with the very first sip that it’s something special."

Miles let out a nervous laugh. "Then I hope I’ve got the right instincts."

Dixie winked at him. "You’ve got more than that. You’ve got the fire. Now keep it burning."

Miles felt the weight of the papers in his hands, heavier than just paper. They were a chance. A challenge. Maybe even the start of something bigger.

He looked up and met Dakota’s gaze. Her eyes were clear and direct, yet they held a warmth beneath her professional facade.

"Listen, Miles," she began, her voice calm but leaving no doubt that every word mattered. "This isn’t about you not writing your own songs. I know you’re a great songwriter. But the music business doesn’t always work the way we’d like. Sometimes you have to make compromises. Sometimes you’re handed a theme, a half-finished song, or a concept you wouldn’t have chosen. The question is: What do you do with it?"

Miles nodded slowly, her words sinking in. This wasn’t just a test of his skills—it was a test of his adaptability, his creativity under constraints.

Dakota stepped closer, her voice softening slightly.

"I want to see how you take something that’s not yours and still make it your own. I want to know if you can spark a fire even when you’re not the one who gathered the wood."

Miles took a deep breath. "I understand."

Dakota crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the desk, her expression serious. Her eyes sparkled—not with severity, but with a passion born from her own experiences.

"Don’t get me wrong," she began quietly, though her voice carried an undeniable weight. "I’m not here to change you. No good producer or mentor wants that. An artist who tries to be someone else loses what makes them unique. Your fire, your voice, your way of telling stories—that’s your core, and no one’s going to touch that."

She paused, as if to ensure her words landed. Then she continued:

"But on the way up, on this chaotic, unpredictable path, there are opportunities. Sometimes they come wrapped in packaging you don’t like. A song that isn’t yours. A topic you never would’ve chosen. Yet, those moments can be the key to a door you didn’t even know existed."

Miles felt his shoulders relax slightly. It wasn’t what he had expected, but it was honest. And somewhere deep down, he knew she was right.

"It’s not about bending yourself out of shape," Dakota said softer now, almost like a confession. "It’s about being flexible, open. The greatest artists I know aren’t the ones who stubbornly walked their own path, rejecting every opportunity. They’re the ones who understood that growth isn’t always comfortable. That sometimes, the spark comes from someone else, but you decide how to turn it into a fire."

Miles looked back at the notes in his hands. They weren’t just a test. They were an invitation, a tool—not to change him, but to challenge him.

He looked up at Dakota, his voice steadier now. "I’ll try. Not because I want to bend myself. But because I want to see what I can make of it."

Dakota’s smile was subtle but filled with pride and acknowledgment.

"That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. The song may not be yours, but the magic you put into it will be."

Chapter 5

A week later, Miles stepped through the glass doors of The Country Kitchen's office, a mix of nerves and determination etched on his face. In his hand, he carried a brown paper bag, the enticing aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans wafting from it.

With a crooked grin, he held up the bag as he entered the room. "Brought the best coffee in town. Figured there's probably more coffee consumed here than water, right?" His tone was casual, an attempt to mask the tension brewing inside him.

Dakota, standing in the corner deep in conversation with her A&R, Pete, turned around. Her smile was warm, but her eyes sparkled with a mix of expectation and professional curiosity that Miles had come to recognize. "We'll see about that. Have a seat, Miles. We're eager to hear you."

The room wasn’t large, but it carried weight. Posters of past successes adorned the walls, and an old microphone stood in one corner, a silent witness to countless stories. Miles sat down, neatly arranging his notes on the table, taking a deep breath.

He wasn’t the same Miles from the week before. Dakota's words had ignited something within him. No more doubt, no more hesitation—just the urge to show what he was made of. He reached for his guitar, strummed the strings once, and began to play.

His voice filled the room, raw and honest. The songs weren’t all his own, but he'd made them his. Every chord, every line carried a piece of him. He sang of nights that stretched too long, of love that didn’t last long enough, and of hearts broken more often than cherished.

When the final note faded, silence lingered. Not from a lack of reaction, but because sometimes words fall short. Dakota nodded slowly, her smile broader now, more genuine.

"You get it," she said softly, almost more to herself than to him. "It’s not the song that makes the artist. It’s the artist who makes the song."

Miles returned her smile, this time without a trace of uncertainty. "I thought that was the plan."

"And?" Her voice was gentle, but laced with a serious undertone. "How do you see yourself? Not just here and now. I mean… where do you belong?"

Miles blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. He lowered his gaze, as if the answer might be hidden in the grain of the old wooden table.

"I don’t know if I can say for sure yet," he began slowly, his fingers curling around the rim of his coffee cup. "But I think I belong wherever the music needs me. Where a song is more than just a melody. Where words stir something, even if they fade into silence."

Dakota nodded, as if that was exactly the answer she’d expected. "And what if the music doesn’t need you?"

Miles grinned, lopsided and almost shy. "Then I need it."

A soft laugh escaped Dakota, not mocking, but warm and genuine. She stood, taking her coffee cup with her, but turned back before reaching her desk. "That’s the difference. The ones who think they’re needed burn out eventually. But the ones who know they need the music always find a way."

Miles leaned back, her words echoing in his mind, seeping into the cracks where doubt used to live. He watched her as she disappeared behind the counter, the warm glow of an old bulb dancing in her hair.

"You know," he began after a moment, his voice rough from coffee and unspoken thoughts, "I never really believed the music needed me. But it was always there. Like a shadow on days when the light was too harsh, or a fire when everything else felt cold."

Dakota paused, her head tilted slightly. She said nothing, and that silence gave Miles the space he needed.

"When I was nineteen, I thought I had life figured out. Took off with nothing but a beat-up guitar and a head full of songs. Played in bars so empty it felt like I was singing to the chairs. But there was this one time in Tulsa..."

He trailed off, as if replaying the scene in his mind.

"A little dive, barely bigger than this room. A guy sat at the bar, looked like he'd had more whiskey than hope. I played a song I'd written the day before. It was about loss, about trying to hold on to things you just can’t. Afterward, he came up, handed me a crumpled five-dollar bill, and said, 'Thanks. You said exactly what I couldn’t.'"

Miles smiled faintly, turning the cup in his hands.

"That was the moment I knew why I do this. Not for applause, not for money. For that one person who finds something in my words they need."

Dakota set her cup down, returned to the table, and sat across from him.

"And since then?" she asked quietly.

Miles shrugged. "I've made mistakes. Lost people because I thought music was more important than relationships. Drank through nights, hoping the hangover would wash away my insecurities. But in the end... it was always the music that stitched me back together."

Dakota studied Miles silently for a moment, her thoughts drifting to someone she knew well.

"You know, that reminds me of Dave," she said finally, her voice warm and calm. Miles looked up, a curious glint in his eyes.

"Dave?" he repeated.

"Yeah. He was the same. Lost himself in the music, thought he had to handle everything alone. Never let anyone in until he realized that silence weighs heavier than the words left unsaid." She leaned forward slightly. "If you ever need someone to talk to, Dave's always around. He says he wishes he’d had someone back then who just listened. Maybe he sees a bit of himself in you."

Miles nodded slowly, absorbing the words, turning them over in his mind. Then, with a crooked smile that carried a hint of relief and a touch of self-irony, he muttered, "I've always said I'm somewhere between Warren Zeiders and Brett Young. Just... not quite as sexy."

Dakota couldn’t help but laugh, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room with a lightness Miles hadn’t felt in a long time.

"You know what, Miles? You talk about your mistakes, about nights full of doubt and all that chaos. But between the lines, I hear something else. I see someone, especially on social media, who's still here, still making music, despite everything. That's not failure. That's survival."

Miles looked at her, his eyes a little brighter, a flicker of hope sparking within them. "Yeah? And what are you trying to tell me with that?"

Dakota reached into her bag and pulled out three carefully folded papers, laying them in front of him. Her fingers brushed over the paper briefly before she looked up at him.

"I want to offer you something, Miles. A record deal, a publishing deal, and a management contract. But here's the catch—there isn't one. You decide what you want. Take one, take all, or take none. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I just want you to know there are people who believe in you."

Miles stared at the papers as if they were relics from a world he thought was forever closed to him. He swallowed hard, his fingers trembling slightly as he touched one of the contracts but didn’t pick it up.

"Wow, I'm speechless," he whispered finally.

Dakota leaned back slightly, her gaze soft but steady. "I don’t want you to decide now, Miles," she said gently. "Sleep on it for a few nights, two, maybe three. Take the time you need. Read them carefully, have someone you trust look them over—preferably a lawyer."

Miles lifted his head, searching her face for a hidden agenda, but there was none. Just sincerity. The weight of the past years, missed opportunities, and broken promises seemed to press down on him briefly before he nodded softly.

"You really mean this, don’t you?" His voice was barely a whisper, a mix of disbelief and hope.

Dakota smiled gently. "I mean it with all my heart. You have talent, Miles. But more importantly, you have a story worth telling. I just want to give you the stage you deserve. The rest is up to you."

Miles took a deep breath, as if trying to capture the moment. His fingers brushed over the paper again, this time with less hesitation. "Okay," he said finally, his voice a little steadier. "I'll think about it."

Dakota nodded, stood up, and gave his shoulder a light pat. "Good. And no matter what you decide—it won’t change the fact that I believe in you."