The Country Kitchen - Welcome To Nashville (ENG)

Chapter 1

The door clicked shut softly as Dakota tossed her leather jacket over the chair. Her desk, as always, was covered in notes, song lyrics, and a half-empty cup of latte macchiato from the day before. She reached for her phone, but before she could even glance at the screen, Brooke appeared in the doorway - holding a fresh latte.

“I know you need this first.” She placed the cup in front of Dakota and leaned against the doorframe. Dakota took a sip and leaned back.

“Okay, what is it? You’ve got that look.”

Brooke grinned. “Did you check TikTok last night?”

Dakota raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Brooke, I had my day off yesterday, you know...”

“No social media,” Brooke finished in sync with her, rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah, like I didn’t see that coming.”

A smirk crossed Dakota’s face. “And now you’re telling me I missed something big?”

“Definitely.” Brooke leaned in a little. “Miles Lawson said in his livestream last night that he wants to come to The Country Kitchen.”

Dakota paused for a moment. “Miles Lawson? The guy every major label is after?”

Brooke nodded. “That’s the one. He told his fans he’s not interested in big labels. He wants a team that really understands music. And that he could see himself working with you.”

Dakota exhaled slowly and set her cup down. “Interesting.”

“More than that. He even sent a DM to the label last night - on Insta.”

A small, amused grin spread across Dakota’s face as she leaned back in her chair, her steaming cup still in hand. “A DM? Insta?” She shook her head but couldn’t help but smile. Because she knew exactly what that felt like. In the beginning, she had done the same thing.

Five years ago, she had arrived in Nashville with nothing but a suitcase and a head full of dreams. She wanted to build a label that truly put artists first - not one of those big machines where everything was about numbers. No, she wanted music to be made by the people who loved it. She wanted artists to be treated fairly, to have the freedom to create without being trapped in contracts that took more than they gave.

Back then, Dakota had sent DMs, too. She had worked her way through industry networks, gone to small gigs, checked out every bar in town, and talked with songwriters late into the night. She had discovered artists that no one else had noticed and given them a platform. She had stood her ground against people who told her it was impossible without connections and a million-dollar budget. And now - now a guy like Miles Lawson was DMing her, because he was looking for exactly what she had built.

She looked at Brooke, her smile widening. “Reminds me of myself.”

Brooke grinned. “Thought so. So, what’s the plan?”

Dakota took another sip of her latte and set the cup down slowly. “We make him wait.”

Brooke laughed. “Seriously?”

Dakota winked. “No. But I’m not just going to let him in because he’s a big name. I need to know what he really wants. If he’s ready to be part of a community where it’s not just about him - it’s about the music.” She tapped her finger on the table. “We’ll invite him. But not to the office.”

Brooke’s eyes lit up. “The Country Kitchen?”

The Country Kitchen was more than just a label to Dakota. It was her second home, the place where she had brought her vision to life. A mix of bistro, coffee shop, and bar, it was where musicians, songwriters, and industry people gathered—people who were just as passionate about their craft as she was. It was a place where real connections were made—not through contracts, but through conversations, shared melodies, and spontaneous jam sessions. If Miles felt at home here, then Dakota would know he truly belonged.

She leaned back and took a deep breath. A lot had changed since she moved here. But some things stayed the same - it always started with a message. And sometimes, that message could change everything.

Chapter 2

Thursday arrived faster than Dakota had expected. The sun was high in the sky as she sat at her table in The Country Kitchen at 11 a.m. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, the ones Jake always pulled from the oven around this time. The guitar in the corner was still leaning exactly where it had been left the night before, and a few musicians were already gathered at the large wooden table, talking, laughing, strumming a few chords.

When Miles Lawson walked through the door, Dakota smirked. He looked exactly like you’d expect a hyped-up newcomer to look - casual jeans, boots, and that kind of effortless aura that the TikTok generation loved. His eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail.

She gave him a moment, then stood up, walked over to him, and extended her hand.

“Miles. Welcome to The Country Kitchen.”

He grinned and shook her hand. “Nice place. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me today.”

“Wait until you try the food.” Dakota gestured to the long wooden table. “Have a seat. Coffee? Latte? Or maybe a bourbon?”

He laughed. “Still early enough for coffee.”

Dakota poured him a fresh cup and sat across from him. Jake had just placed a tray of warm cinnamon rolls on the table, and the scent of butter, cinnamon, and sugar filled the air. She broke off a small piece while Miles wrapped his hands around the mug, taking his first sip with a nod.

“So, Miles,” she began, “tell me - how does it feel to become famous overnight?”

He chuckled quietly and leaned back. “Overnight? Not really. It took years before anyone even noticed me. But yeah, suddenly, everyone knows my name. Pretty crazy, huh?”

Dakota nodded. “Show business is a marathon, not a sprint. But you have this moment now - what are you going to do with it?”

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table. “I want to do it right. I don’t want to be a one-hit wonder. I want albums, tours, a real fan base.” He looked at her. “And I heard you know exactly how to build that.”

Dakota grinned. “Let’s just say - I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way.”

Jake slid a plate with a cinnamon roll in front of Miles. “Try it. No deal until you pass the kitchen test.”

Miles laughed, tearing off a piece. The moment he put it in his mouth, his eyes widened. “Damn. That’s good.”

Jake winked at Dakota before heading back behind the counter.

Dakota leaned forward. “So, Miles, what exactly are you looking for? Coaching? Songwriting sessions? Connections?”

He took another bite, thinking. “A little of everything. But mostly, I’m looking for a label that won’t sell out. I get that business and making money are important, but I don’t want to sell my soul.”

Dakota nodded in understanding. “That’s a fine line. A lot of labels only care about the big money, and if you’re not careful, you end up stuck in a contract that puts you in a box you can’t get out of.”

Miles took another sip of his coffee, his brow furrowing. “That’s exactly what I want to avoid. I want to make music that’s honest, that feels real. Not generic radio hits built for streams.”

Dakota crossed her arms and leaned back. “Then you need a team that understands you - not just your numbers. Someone who sees your vision and supports it.”

Miles sighed, then chuckled. “That’s why I want to be here. I know I might never be a chart-topping star, but that’s not what I’m after. I just want to make my music. And I believe it’s good enough that I can make a living from it.”

Dakota studied him as she leaned back in her chair. His gaze was steady, direct - he meant every word. And damn, she could relate to that.

“So, you’re not afraid?” she asked, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup, which was starting to cool.

Miles smirked. “Of course I’m afraid. But if I let that stop me, I wouldn’t do anything at all. There’s never a perfect time. But if you don’t start, you stay stuck. And I don’t want to be stuck. I want to move. Here. With you.”

Dakota nodded. His words hit her deeper than she wanted to admit. Because for years, she had been stuck. Trapped between what she wanted and what the world expected from her. Between what was possible and what was safe.

“That’s a damn good mindset,” she finally said. “But this won’t be easy. We’re not a hit factory, and I’m not some miracle worker who turns every artist into a star. We make real music. And sometimes that means you have to stick it out for a long time before things really take off.”

“I know.” He took another sip of coffee, and Dakota saw the determination in his eyes. “But I don’t want shortcuts. I want to earn this.”

She let his words settle. Miles reminded her of the young woman she had once been. Young, wild, convinced that talent alone was enough. That you just had to be good. But now she knew - it took more. Dedication. Hard work. And the willingness to grow.

Dakota leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. “Alright,” she said finally. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

His grin widened. “So, I’m in?”

She shrugged. “It means you get a shot. What you do with it is up to you.”

Miles nodded, and in his eyes, Dakota saw the same hunger she had once felt. Maybe, she thought, she could help him avoid the mistakes she had made. Or maybe, he would remind her why she had taken this path in the first place.

She took a deep breath and leaned back. “Come to the studio tomorrow at ten. Bring a song that truly represents you.”

Miles’ eyes lit up. “I’ll be there.”

Dakota nodded, watching as he thanked her and left. A part of her hoped he was serious, that he was really ready to give it his all. But another part—the more experienced, the more skeptical part - knew that many came, and only a few stayed.

Later, as she sat in her office, his words kept replaying in her mind. Maybe, she thought, this was exactly what she needed - someone to remind her why she had started all this in the first place.

It felt almost surreal how far she had come. Five years ago, when she moved to Nashville, these kinds of conversations had kept her up at night. She had been full of ideas, full of dreams - but then reality hit. And with it, the pandemic.

For two years, almost nothing happened. No one wanted to back a new label, no one was interested in a newcomer like Dakota. She was stuck in a city full of musicians and couldn’t do anything but hold on. A lot of people would have given up - she had considered it more than once. But she pushed through. She kept making music, listening to demos, pitching songs, building connections.

And then, at some point, the tide turned. In a short time, she found artists who truly had something to say. She built a name for herself - not as someone chasing hits, but as someone who gave musicians a home.

Now, she sat here in her office, with a list of artists she was proud to call her own.

Miles might think he was just at the beginning, but Dakota knew it wasn’t just about taking the first step.

It was about taking it again and again.

She leaned back, glanced at her notes, and smiled.

Tomorrow was a new day - and maybe, for Miles, it was the start of something she had begun five years ago.

Chapter 3

The first rays of sunlight cast a soft golden glow across Dakota’s office. Her thoughts were already elsewhere. Today was an important day. Miles Lawson was coming into The Country Kitchen studio for the first time - officially.

She thought back to their conversation yesterday. She had told him to bring a song - one that truly represented him, one that showed who he was and what he stood for. Most artists took weeks, sometimes months, to write a song that felt genuinely them. And Miles? He had less than 24 hours.

She wasn’t expecting much when the studio door opened. But as Miles stepped in, his guitar slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of determination and quiet respect, Dakota felt it. That spark. That gut feeling that something was about to happen.

“Morning,” he said, short but confident. No hesitation.

“Morning, Miles.” Dakota leaned back in her chair. “So? You got something for me?”

He nodded, sat down on the stool in the middle of the room, and ran his fingers over the strings a few times. “The song’s called Blood, Sweat & Countrysongs. I wrote it last night.”

Dakota raised an eyebrow. “Last night? You mean … you wrote it in a day?”

He shrugged, but she caught the glint in his eyes. “Well, when you really want something …”

She shook her head in disbelief. There was a difference between simple motivation and raw passion. And Miles? He belonged in the second category.

“Alright then, let’s hear it.”

He took a deep breath, positioned his fingers on the strings, and started playing. And then - Dakota heard it.

His voice was rough yet warm. Honest. It told of long nights, of struggling to find the right chord, of a love for music that never faded. This song wasn’t just lyrics and melody. It was a story. His story.

Dakota leaned forward, letting herself be drawn in.

Mama prayed, Daddy worked the land,
I was raised on calloused hands.
But my soul burned like a neon sign,
Dreamin’ ‘bout a life past the county line.

His fingers glided over the strings, and Dakota could feel that he lived every single word. She could see the picture he painted - a kid growing up in a small town, aching to be more than what people expected of him.

It’s blood, sweat & countrysongs, whiskey & scars,
Late-night dives and broken guitars.
Ain’t just playin’, it’s how I survive,
Singin’ my truth ‘til the day I die.

The hook was catchy but not cheap. The verses spoke of sweat, hard work, and an unshakable belief that country music was more than just a genre. It was a way of life.

As the last chord faded, the room fell completely silent. Only the faint hum of the amplifiers filled the air. Dakota let out a breath - only then realizing she had been holding it the entire song.

“Damn, Miles,” she finally said, leaning back. “That’s not just a song. That’s a statement.”

Before Miles could respond, the studio door swung open. A deep, slow baritone voice broke the silence.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Who’s making a statement in my town?”

Dakota didn’t even have to look up to know who the voice belonged to - Dixie Dave.

One of the biggest names in Nashville. The man who had managed to bring traditional country music into the modern charts with his own twist. A multi-Grammy winner, a stadium-touring legend, a songwriter whose tracks had been playing in bars for years. And most importantly? One of Dakota’s closest friends.

Miles turned around, his eyes widening. “Holy shit …” he murmured, automatically standing up.

Dixie leaned against the doorframe with a grin, his cowboy hat pulled low over his forehead. “Relax, kid. I don’t bite.” He shot Dakota a knowing look. “Dakota, you gonna introduce me to your new discovery?”

A smirk crossed Dakota’s lips. “Dixie Dave, this is Miles Lawson. Miles, meet Dixie Dave.”

Dixie extended his hand, and Miles shook it, still looking like he was trying to process what was happening.

“Good song, kid,” Dixie said as he stepped further into the studio. “Sounds like real heart. Like someone who knows what he’s singing about.”

Miles blinked, as if making sure this wasn’t a dream. “Wow. Thanks, man. I … I never thought Dixie Dave would ever hear one of my songs.”

Dixie chuckled, settling onto an amp. “Well, Nashville’s smaller than you think. Especially when you know the right people.” He winked at Dakota. “Me and Dakota go way back. And when she says someone’s got potential, I listen.”

Dakota crossed her arms and studied Miles. “So, Miles, do you still think this is just something you’re trying out? Or are you ready to go all in?”