They meet when Kylie brings in her late father’s 1972 Martin D-28. The neck is warped. The sound is broken. She can’t play it anymore without crying.

Enter Theo Vance — not a musician, but a luthier (someone who builds and repairs acoustic guitars). He’s soft-spoken, with calloused hands and a gentle laugh. He restores old instruments the way Kylie restores forgotten feelings: carefully, patiently, with deep respect for the cracks.

They don’t get married in a grand gesture. They buy a small house with a big garage he turns into a workshop, and a sunroom where she writes. Sometimes she hums a half-finished melody while he sands down a guitar neck. Their love isn’t a hit single — it’s a B-side that ages into a classic.