Tori Kelly as Magnolia "Maggie" Wilson

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Maggie smiles at a coworker as she walks down the black and red carpeted hallway of Big Loud. She passes the framed album covered on the walls leading to the lounge that she's claimed as her studio. She's pretty high up on the list as one of the most well known songwriters in Nashville so she's kinda like royalty around these parts. She drops her notebooks and bag down the small white table in the middle of the room before sitting back on the black leather couch. She kicks her feet up, takes her glasses off, then rests her head against the back of the couch. She pops her lips as she hums quietly, moving her sandal clad foot to a random beat in her head. "Mags, you busy right now?" A quiet voice asks. She opens her eyes to see Michael Hardy leaning against the doorframe.

"No, what's up?" She sits up, bunching her blonde curls up into a messy bun.

"Wanna grab some lunch? There's a new pub that just opened on the corner. I've been dyin' to try their burgers." He smiles, putting a pinch of dip behind his lip.

"Sure." She stands, picking up her bag and books. Maggie follows Michael out of the building and down to the small restaurant.

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"Michael," Maggie sighs, picking at her salad with her fork. "I'm havin' writers block."

The brunette looks up from his plate and nods. "I usually either go for a drive or get laid to help me get over that."

"Sex helps you?"

"Always works." The two share a blush. "But, I'd start with going for a drive, if I was you."

Maggie rolls her eyes. "I was thinkin' 'bout gettin' laid first. It's been a long time since me and Matt, y'know..."

Michael chokes on his drink. "How long is long?"

"Nine months." He can't help the snicker that falls from his mouth. "It's not funny, dude! He's been between Nashville and Little Rock so we really haven't had time."

"That's your problem, baby." Michael uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. "Make time and then you'll be back to your usual self." She sighs, leaning back against the wooden chair then looks up at Michael. He offers a friendly smile, reaching over to pat her hand. "You need a dick in you now- even if Matt isn't around." A laugh bursts from her lips, her eyes scrunching up as she leans forward against the table. He laughs with her, the entire restaurant looking over at them. "Nine months is a long time, Mags, too long. At least we know you're not pregnant."

"Shut up." Her cheeks are bright red. "We gotta get goin' back to the studio. Them songs ain't gonna write themselves." Maggie stands, slips a twenty into the bill tray then she's out the door with Michael following suit.

She stops in front of a small convenience store. "I'm out of cigarettes." She mutters, looking at her empty pack. "Shit." Maggie makes her way inside.

"Hi y'all." The girl behind the counter greets.

The two smile back, heading to the furthest cooler door. "Check it out, baby." Michael knocks his knuckle against the glass. "Their White Claws are on sale."

"Those things are nasty, that's why." She mumbles back, picking up a ten-pack of fireball along with a six-pack of Smirnoff Screwdrivers. "I also need a pack of Marlboro Menthol Lights too." She shows the woman her ID as she's scanning her beer.

"$24.63." Maggie hands her a twenty and a five, takes her change then picks up her items. "Have a great day, y'all." She nods back as Michael opens the door for her and they're back on their way to the studio.

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It's nearing ten at night and all Maggie has managed to write is the treble clef on the left side of the staff. She has herself sitting upside down on the couch, her guitar in her hands, with crumbled sheets of paper around her. She groans out in frustration, flipping herself over to her feet, setting her guitar on the stand. She shuffles her way to her kitchen, grabbing a Screwdriver then slips out the back door.

She leans against the railing of her porch, looking over the mountains down at the brightly lit city, Nashville; the Music City. Michael's right, she does need to get laid. Maggie huffs as she grabs her phone, calling the only person she trusts to help her out of her funk; her fiancé. He answers after two rings. "Hey, Matt."

"Mags, what's up?"

"Are you still in town?"

"Yeah I am, baby. What's up?"

"Wanna meet up before you have to leave? There's that bar that's open off Tanner Street.

"Sure. See ya in twenty minutes." Matt hangs up, leaving Maggie blushing to herself as she heads to her bedroom to change into a cute dress with her sandals, her walk by faith foot tattoo peeking out of the straps. She grabs her purse then heads down to her car.

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Maggie's eyes land on the tallest guy at the bar. His navy front, white mesh backed ball cap makes him stick out even more as the blonde makes her way through the crowd. "Hey, Matt." She smiles, her hand going to his back. "I missed you." She shouts over the live music. There's applause followed by a shriek of a guitar being plugged into an amp. "Thanks for meetin' me."

"What's up, Mags?" He asks as they sit at a high top table.

"Just wanted to see you before you left." She smiles again, adjusting her flowy dress, shouting over the guy at the mic that announces the next band on stage.

"We used to chase that Chattanooga freight..." The man behind the mic sings with a smooth voice making goosebumps show on every girls skin.

"I mean it's not a bad thing, Mags-" she furrows her brows as she looks off to the side.

"Sh, wait." She holds her hand up. "Hang on."

"I guess I'm still doing now, what's I's doin' then." She turns around, her face going from confusion to anger. "Chasin' you like a shot of whiskey..." Maggie and the singer share a look that has him turning red. She clenches her jaw as he keeps singing. She heads to the bar to get a couple more drinks for her and her fiancé, sitting next to him at the table. Matt throws his strong arm around her shoulders, talking into her ear so she can hear him better. She bites her lip as he starts kissing her neck.

"Still chasin' you, still chasin' you." He steps back from the mic with burning cheeks and a clenched jaw. "Hey y'all. Thanks for lettin' us be here tonight at the Robertson Bar. My name is Morgan and these guys are my buddies." His blue eyes land on that blonde heartbreaker. "This next one is called 'Whiskey Glasses'."

Maggie glares up at the singer, he's already looking back at her. "Let's get outta here." She stands, never breaking eye contact with Morgan as she grabs Matt's hand, pulling him out to the parking lot.

After rushing to second base in Matt's truck before he had to head to the airport, Maggie returns back to her place with fresh inspirations and ideas. She sits at her upright piano and starts tapping around, humming as she looks out the window at the view of the mountains and the city. She sings a few lines of the song she's written before she yells out in frustration, throwing her notebook across the room before standing, running her hand through her mess of curls.

Morgan's singing her songs.

The songs she wrote when they were in high school.

Those are her songs.

She can't call him, she deleted his number. Every single way of communication is impossible because he's blocked on everything.

She lets out another frustrated scream, dropping herself onto the couch with her head in her hands. She grabs her phone and calls Michael. "Where the hell does he get off!?" She snaps as he answers.

"W-what?" He answers, startled by the sudden aggression.

"That asshole stole my songs! He was playin' them at the bar! Those are my fucking songs!"

"Slow down, Mags." He yawns. "Start over."

"He stole my songs!"

"Who!?"

"Morgan Wallen."