You’re Still the One
by Rachel Harris
Copyright © 2016 by Rachel Harris. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
“He’s not gonna know what hit him.”
Arabella forced a smile at her friend’s over-the-top confidence, even as her heart thumped beneath the thin blue silk of her gown. Country Roads, Nashville’s hottest nightclub, was a maze of familiar faces, complete strangers, and eager journalists laughing and swapping industry secrets, and for once, she was determined to be in the mix. Leaving the cool, comfortable shadows behind.
“That’s the plan,” she murmured, tacking on a silent from your mouth to God’s ears. After all, snagging her crush’s attention was Ella’s main motivation for coming out tonight. That, and to celebrate another successful release for her father’s label. Exchanging a smile with Mr. Tisdale, her future boss and the VP of business affairs for Belle Meade Records, she added, “But if nothing happens, at least I can say I tried, right?”
That response pretty much summed up Arabella’s life philosophy. She was a look on the bright sidetype of girl, a people pleaser to her core, and, for the night at least, a fake it until you make itwoman.
What she wasn’t, however, and what she would never be, was confident in the art of seduction. Her skill level hovered around basic flirting, and even that left a lot to be desired. She didn’t have her best friend’s swagger, or her cool, inherent air of mystery. Nope, Arabella Stone was the epitome of the sweet, drama-free, girl-next-door.
Next door, if you lived in the most affluent city in Tennessee.
And if you called Nashville royalty your neighbors.
“Oh, stop it with that devil’s advocate crap,” Lana hissed, steering them both toward an emptying table near the center of the room. She wrapped a slender arm around Ella’s elbow, and a row of thin silver bracelets clanked at her wrist. “I’m telling you, Sexy Charlie’s gonna swallow his tongue when he sees you.”
At the mention of the bassist’s name, Ella eagerly searched the crowd again, hoping for a glimpse of his trademark unruly dark hair. Charlie usually avoided these sorts of events, much to her father’s extreme annoyance, but she had it on good authority that he’d make an appearance tonight.
When they came to a stop at the table, Ella slid a high barstool out from underneath. “I’m not trying to be a downer. Obviously, I hope he likes what he sees, but I’m keeping my expectations realistic.”
Carefully, she wiggled up onto the seat, trying her best not to accidentally flash sideboob. Between the gown’s plunging neckline, the crazy high slit, and the matching peek-a-boo cutouts at the waist, one wrong move had the potential of leading to a serious wardrobe malfunction. Not ideal when one was surrounded by scandal-hungry journalists. Or worse, when one was the daughter of David Stone.
Glancing around the room again, this time to ensure her dad hadn’t arrived yet, Ella crossed her legs demurely and felt the slit of her gown creep higher on her thigh. Fighting back a blush, she gave the fabric a covert tug and breathed through another rush of anxiety. Clearly, her fabulous plan had a few minor wrinkles. The main flaw was that with each passing moment, she felt less like a worldly temptress and more like a fraud playing dress-up in her best friend’s closet.
Technically that’s exactly what she was, but Lana had made a compelling argument for abandoning her usual style. Sensible pumps and retro-inspired gowns wouldn’t do for tonight’s mission.
Admittedly, the public location wasn’t Arabella’s favorite. As a rule she avoided making a spectacle of herself, and if her dad found out what she was up to, he’d turn ten shades of red. He and Charlie didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye.
Dad’s job was to keep country music fans happy, and they wanted their musicians hot, talented, and relatively scandal-free. Charlie was two of those things. They also preferred them to at least appear capable of monogamy, a feat hard to accomplish when you’re photographed with no less than a dozen different women in a single month, but for once, Ella wasn’t so worried about appearances or her dad’s approval. Tonight was her one and only shot. Her internship at Strange Wheel Studios began the day after Memorial Day, and once that was completed, she’d officially join the ranks at Belle Meade Records, thus making Charlie her future employee.
Nope, if she was ever going to follow her heart and scratch the first item off her summer top-ten list, this was the night to do it.
“Realistic is code for boring,” her friend muttered.
“No, it’s needed for survival. Let’s not forget that even if Charlie likes what he sees, it won’t change the end of the story.”
Lana raised a perfectly shaped brow, and Ella waved a hand, encompassing her father’s kingdom. “I’m still a Stone. In this town, that’s the equivalent of an iron-forged chastity belt. Guys who want in the music business only slip me demos, and guys already in it steer clear so they don’t piss off my dad. After last week’s fiasco with the mayor’s daughter, Charlie’s already on his bad side, which means, at this rate, I’m gonna die a single, dateless, granny-panty-wearing old shrew.”
“There’s never an excuse for granny-panties,” Lana replied, and Arabella shook her head with a smile. Leave it to her bestie to focus on what was truly important. “And what’s this about dating? It’s a hookup, Ella, not a marriage proposal.”
Ah, another wrinkle in her mission. Lana believed that tonight was mere wish fulfillment, a celebrity crush that Ella wanted to scratch. But the feelings she had went so far beyond a simple crush they weren’t even in the same conversation.
Charlie Tucker had starred in Ella’s dreams ever since she was fourteen years old. Back then, she’d been flat-chested with a mouth full of braces, and he’d been six years older, which meant she’d barely even registered on his radar. If anything he’d seen her as a gawky little kid.
No, she thought with a rueful smile. Not little kid…Little Bit.
The loathsome nickname proved just how hopeless her situation had been, how pathetic, but neither the name nor the glaring age difference had deterred her heart, because with one playful wink and one slow smile, young Arabella had been a goner.
Sadly, twenty-two-year-old Ella wasn’t that much better.
“As long as you get your flirt on and skedaddle before your old man shows up,” Lana continued, flicking her wrist to flag down a waiter, “your dad will never have to know.”
Her distracted gaze shifted to the dance floor, no doubt on the hunt for tonight’s victim. She was always on the prowl. Then, without warning, Lana’s eyes zinged back with a snap. “It…is just a hookup. Right?”
In lieu of responding, Ella studied her fascinating pink nail polish, and the future prosecutor inhaled a sharp breath. “Oh, honey.” From the sympathy coating those two words, you’d think Arabella had lost a puppy. Here comes the opening argument.
“Ella, you know I’m all for you letting loose and having a wild night. You deserve that more than anyone I know.” Reaching across the table, Lana placed a gentle hand on her arm. “But Charlie Tucker doesn’t do serious. You, of all people, know his reputation.”
Ella almost laughed aloud. Of course she knew. She’d read the stories like everyone else, saw the published photos, and probably knew more about the bassist’s checkered past than his band’s bulldog publicist. But did any of that change her feelings one bit? Nope.
It was because of her observation—which sounded so much better than obsession—that her crush had intensified. Unlike everyone else, she saw past Charlie’s bad-boy image, looked beyond the scandals and women, and what she found was so much more than the player the media presented.
Charlie’s love for his family peppered every interview he gave, although the media never seemed to focus on that. His contribution to the band, also left unheralded, was every bit as vital as Tyler Blue’s. The front man wrote the band’s lyrics, but Charlie was the one in charge of Blue’s music—and anyone worth their salt in this business knew words without melody were nothing more than poetry.
Most importantly, Ella recognized in him a secret longing to prove himself. To stretch beyond his limits and make a difference in the world. The need wasn’t blatant. He quickly shut it down or guarded his expression whenever it slipped out, but it was there, in glimpses, in glances, and in offhand, wistful remarks. That was the Charlie Tucker who consumed her thoughts.
Admitting that to the queen of self-preservation, however, was pointless. Lana believed hookups were fun and men were great companionship, but both were only ever temporary. A transaction of sorts. The product of a messy divorce, she deemed romance to be nothing more than a marketing ploy for Hallmark.
So, Arabella looked her best friend in the eyes and gave the only honest answer she could. “I’m not a moron, okay? I have no romantic delusions beyond tonight.”
What she did have were a bunch of silly fantasies, ones that involved Charlie kissing her outside their giant tour bus and declaring his love in front of a stadium of thousands. Luckily, Lana was too focused on delivering her closing thoughts to press the point.
“Good,” she said as her gaze flicked to the left. “Because the hot waiter headed this way is damn near devouring you with his eyes. Have your fun tonight, but never forget there’s always another man waiting in the wings, and none of them are worth losing your heart on.”
Before Ella could comment, the waiter appeared.
“Welcome to Country Roads. I’m Kurt and I’ll be serving you lovely ladies tonight.”
Arabella raised her eyes and then did a double take, shocked to find the cute blond’s stare solely focused on her. Normally when she and Lana went out, guys barely noticed her unless it was to ask if the seat next to her was taken.
He leaned close to be heard over the music, and the scent of sandalwood tickled her nose. “Can I interest you in a drink from the bar?”
“Umm.” This was uncharted territory. If she had been Lana, she’d have acted coy and ordered something sexy, but Ella couldn’t pull off coy…and she was a freaking lightweight. “Amaretto and pineapple, please?”
That it came out as a question did not bode well for her confidence level, which made the need for a drink even more vital. A hint of liquid courage certainly couldn’t hurt at this point, and the sugar rush might even compensate for her foot bob bob bobbing beneath the table.
“You’ve got it, gorgeous.”
Kurt smiled into her eyes, and Ella’s belly fluttered at the compliment. Over the years she’d been told that she was attractive, that she had her mother’s famous smile (if not her smoky voice) and her father’s coveted olive complexion, but she didn’t exactly stop traffic or inspire men to cross rooms. Those sorts of things were Lana’s department.
She glanced down at her dress with new eyes. Could a wardrobe change really make that much of a difference? Maybe Charlie would notice her after all.
“I’m sure you get this all the time…” Kurt trailed off and Arabella lifted her head. He was digging in his apron, and if the overhead lights weren’t playing tricks with her vision, a slight blush warmed his high cheekbones. She’d watched this exact thing happen tons of times, servers and random guys stopping to ask Lana for her number. Is that what’s happening now? Lana grinned, confirming her hunch.
Kurt shifted his weight and closed his eyes as if seeking courage. Then he raised his head. “Would you give this to your dad?”
It took a moment for the words to compute.
Arabella followed his hopeful gaze to where he held a small flash drive in his hand. “Belle Meade’s our dream label,” he told her, urging her to take it. With reluctance, she did. “We know everything about them, and a buddy of mine took a class with you at TSU. I can’t believe you sat in my section tonight. It’s like fate or something.”
Right. Fate.
Lana’s mouth tightened with anger, though her eyes held nothing but sympathy. Just that quickly Arabella had forgotten the times that she didn’t simply fade into the woodwork…whenever guys found out who she was and wanted to use her to get to her dad. Normally she tried to play it off like it didn’t hurt while Lana went off on the guys, but tonight was important for Belle Meade, and Ella didn’t want to make a scene. She was stressed enough as it was. Subtly, she shook her head, silently begging Lana to stand down, and her best friend huffed a breath.
Narrowing her eyes at their waiter, Lana spit out, “Scotch on the rocks.”
An oblivious and still smiling Kurt swung his gaze in her direction. After taking in Lana’s severe ponytail, smoky eyes, and show-stopping display of cleavage, his lips curved in a smile, a genuinely flirtatious one now that Arabella could see the difference. Had her self-esteem been hanging on by more than a thin thread, she probably would’ve laughed aloud. Or, you know, cried.
Lana sneered and shot him a look that said, are you for real? “Better make it a double,” she muttered, dismissing him with a flick of her wrist, and Ella shook her head.
Lana Mabry exuded confidence and challenge, and she could drink a trucker under the table. The combination proved irresistible for mere mortals, but she rarely used her powers for evil. In Kurt’s case, she didn’t even encourage it, not that it mattered. He was yet another bug caught in the web, and as he turned on the charm and ignored Lana’s stone-faced signs of disinterest, Ella collapsed against her seatback with a sigh.
Men, some would say, were the one thing that didn’t come easily for Arabella. Those same people believed her life plan involved riding her dad’s coattails to the top of the label’s ladder with nothing but a sweet smile and a box of rocks for a brain. No matter what she did, what she accomplished, she was always seen first and foremost as a Stone, an heir apparent to a music label dynasty and the daughter of a beloved late Grammy winner. The prim and proper princess of Nashville.
Real life was far from a fairy tale, but it did teach her humility, and for that, she was grateful. Thanks to the calculating eyes tracking her every move, judging her before she could even say a word, Ella had discovered that if she wanted the industry’s respect, she’d have to earn it.
That truth prompted her to hold down two part-time jobs while busting her ass at Tennessee State University, where she recently graduated with honors in commercial music. Come August, she was more than prepared to take her rightful place in her father’s company. Not that anyone, especially her former classmates, ever saw it that way.
Arabella had an incredible job waiting for her while so many of her friends struggled to even get an interview, and she knew she was blessed. But the constant scrutiny and second-guessing was what led to her secret application at Strange Wheel. Scoring the internship under her mother’s maiden name had been the first true validation of her talent—and a giant first step in proving she was more than a brainless legacy.
“Aw, crap.”
Ella blinked away the memories. Kurt was gone, their drinks were on the table, and a napkin with what suspiciously looked to be digits scrawled on top rested under her friend’s tumbler. Le sigh.
“What?”
Lana waggled a finger at her face. “You’ve got that glowing look again. You’re thinking about New Orleans, aren’t you?” She set her elbows on the table and leaned in with a scowl. “Ever stop to think you’re being selfish, chasing your dreams and leaving your poor roommate all alone?”
Ella rolled her eyes as she took a long pull of her drink. “It’s only for the summer,” she vowed, grateful that Kurt had at least gotten her order right. “Between texts, calls, and Skype, you won’t even know I’m gone. Besides, I’m still hoping you’ll join me for the fourth.” Stirring her straw, she added wistfully, “Fireworks, a couple of Hurricanes, and a crowded Bourbon Street? Imagine the damage you could do.”
Lana’s eyes twinkled with mischief, her bout of impending loneliness forgotten. “Hmm. I don’t know. Think they can handle me down there?”
“Sweetie, no one can handle you. We just try our best to keep up.”
Her friend laughed and raised her drink in salute. “A toast,” she declared. “To an incredible summer kicking butt and chasing dreams.” She waggled her eyebrows and added, “And a hot night filled with possibilities.”
As the clink of their glasses permeated the air, the skin at Ella’s nape prickled with awareness. A shocked gasp parted her lips.
Lana’s gaze drifted to the left. “Future conquest at eleven o’clock.”
Arabella nodded, though she hadn’t needed the warning. Her body was well aware, firing like it always did whenever Charlie was near, even when she merely watched him from the shadows. Pushing, prodding, begging her to step out and take a chance. For once, she intended to heed that call.
Honestly, she didn’t need much. She didn’t expect forever. She simply wanted one night to live out her fantasy. For as long as she could remember, Charlie Tucker had been the guy, and tonight, all she wanted was for him to see her as more than just a little kid. To actually see her as someone desirable.
To simply see…her.
…
Charlie tugged at the tie that was hell-bent on choking him, and his sister swatted his hand.
“Stop messing with it,” she chastised, fixing the impossible knot at his throat. “It’s supposed to be this high. You’d know that if you bothered to dress up more than once every blue moon.” Grace leaned back to inspect him, touched his newly scruff-free cheek, and gave a satisfied smile. “There. You actually clean up pretty nice when you bother to try. Much less hooligan and more James Bond.”
Charlie snorted and shot her a look. “Hooligan? What are you, eighty?” Then, ignoring her frustrated sigh, he slid two fingers behind his stiff collar and yanked. “And don’t get used to the monkey suit. The only reason I’m in this thing is so boss-man can see me play nice for the cameras, and then I’m getting the hell out of here. Tyler and the boys owe me for this.”
When another sweeping glance of the room proved Stone was still MIA, and torture-by-tie wasn’t ending any time soon, he grabbed a hoity-toity puff pastry thing off a passing tray. It was gone in one bite, and his stomach grumbled. He should’ve grabbed the whole platter.
“I’ve got to say I’m impressed,” Grace commented, her tight voice indicating she was anything but. “You weren’t lying before. You’re literally just standing here, sucking up oxygen, and they’re circling like piranhas.” She indicated the dozens of women staring appreciatively in his direction, not a one deterred by her presence. “How do they know I’m not the love of your life? We could be madly in love, eager for a moment alone, and they’re waiting around for me to slip off to the bathroom.” She scrunched her nose. “It’s seriously disgusting.”
“You’re the one theoretically hooking up with your brother,” he commented dryly. She elbowed him in the ribs, and a grin curved his mouth. He glanced back at the crowd and spotted a former hookup shooting him daggers. Nadia? Natasha? He knew it started with an N. Taking hold of his sister’s elbow, he casually nudged her a couple steps to the left.
“It’s not even me they’re after anymore,” he told her, leaning his back against the wall. “They want their five minutes of fame and a picture to post on Instagram, but tonight, they’re wasting their time. The last thing I need is Stone catching me with another woman.” Grace side-eyed him. “Well, you know. One that doesn’t share my DNA.”
Charlie’s luck with the fairer sex was nonexistent. Sure, the hookups were fine, but it was the aftermath that sucked. The latest hoopla took the prize, though, and it explained his presence here tonight.
Usually, he stayed away from industry shindigs. They were for the birds, all glad-handing and sucking up, fake laughs and canned compliments. Not to mention the stupid clothes. But, as it turned out, there wasn’t much Charlie wouldn’t do when it came to securing his future. This side of legal, that is.
Ignoring the hope-filled eyes trained in his direction, he turned to his sister. “Distract me,” he said. “Tell me something good. Anything that doesn’t involve photographers, mayors’ daughters, or scandalous headlines.” He glanced down at Grace, and his frown lines softened. “How’s my niece doing?”
“Better,” she replied, her face transforming with a relieved smile. “Ever since your talk with her, Abby’s been real good. She carries that notebook you gave her everywhere she goes, jotting down her thoughts and who knows what, putting it all into lyrics.” Grace’s voice caught on the final word, and she paused to collect herself. A lump rose in Charlie’s throat. “I can’t thank you enough for whatever you said to her. Music has given her a way to get her emotions out of her head and onto paper. And that…God, Charlie. It means the world to us.”
For the first time in months, the tightness in his chest lessened and Charlie was able to draw a deep breath. He’d been throwing a Hail Mary when he suggested it, hoping what worked for him would work for Abby, too. Music silenced the white noise, helped him make sense of the world. Hearing that it did the same for his niece, knowing that he gave her that outlet, was like a missing piece finally put back into place. It was a good first step in fixing the hurt that he’d caused.
Grace put her hand on his arm. “She’s busting at the seams to come visit you this summer. She keeps telling her friends that her big famous uncle is gonna record her songs.”
“It’ll be an honor,” he whispered, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.
Helpless didn’t cover what it had felt like watching his strong, incredibly bright niece turn inward. First, it’d been the loss of her smile in their video chats. The same smile that had stolen his heart sixteen years ago when she was born. Then it was learning she’d withdrawn from dance and social clubs, knowing how much she loved being a social butterfly. But it took Abby being admitted to the hospital for anxiety-related vomiting and fatigue, and subsequently placed on antidepressants, for Charlie to get his ass on a plane and back out to Franklin. Back where he should’ve been all along.
Kids today dealt with too much shit. Unrealistic expectations, bullying, social media. They didn’t have that crap when he was younger. When he’d needed to zone out, he headed to the lake and went fishing. Nowadays, kids hid behind computers and their phones…and then, they didn’t even talk on their phones. They texted. They posted pictures of kittens on Facebook, or tweeted snarky comments about society, but they didn’t share what bothered them. They held it close to their chest. Some of this he’d known from interacting with fans and watching TV, the rest he’d learned from Abby.
It was because of her that Life & Lyrics was born.
And that led to the monkey suit.
The stupid pictures floating around wouldn’t stop his new foundation from getting off the ground. Grace just confirmed it; Life & Lyrics had the potential to help a lot of kids—teens like Abby—and though Charlie screwed up pretty much every aspect of his life other than the stage, he’d prove tonight that he could get his act together. Soon, with no new scandals added to the list, and the damn media off his back, Stone would agree to become a member of the board and back the foundation, and Charlie’s dream would become a reality.
Grace yawned and glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Any sign of your boss yet?”
“Nope, not yet.” He dropped the back of his head against the wall. “But he’ll show eventually, trust me on that. When he does, I need to be here.” He looked down into her tired eyes and smiled. “But just because I need to hang around this suckfest doesn’t mean you have to.” Charlie nudged her shoulder. “Go on home. I’ve monopolized you enough.”
She laughed. “Please, as if wearing something other than yoga pants is a hardship. I got to see you in person and not just on some dang magazine cover, and I got out of the house. That makes for a killer night in my book. Poor Sam’s the one stuck at home tackling Mount Laundry.”
“I’ll bring him by a six-pack tomorrow,” he replied with a grin.
A sudden rush of gratitude and longing swelled within him. Maybe it was being back in Nashville after so long away. Maybe it was talking about his niece, or spending time with his oldest sister. It was probably the most fun they’d spent together in years. No conflict, no judgment, no—
“Besides,” Grace continued. “You needed a night out without a random groupie suctioned to your arm.”
And there it was.
He shook his head, a chuckle rumbling his chest. She really couldn’t help herself, could she? “Hear you loud and clear, Mother Hen.”
She shrugged without a hint of apology. “What can I say? Old habits die hard, baby brother, and just because you’re some big shot country star doesn’t mean I’ll stop worrying. In fact, I worry more. It’s the dreaded curse of being the oldest.”
“Just like keeping you on your toes is the burden of the youngest.”
Growing up, Charlie didn’t have one mom—he’d had six. One by birth, and five older sisters who’d viewed him as a life-sized baby doll. Naturally, one would assume they’d smothered him with attention, but that wasn’t the case. Oh, they coddled him plenty and gave tons of unsolicited advice. But for the most part, Charlie ran wild.
To hear the tabloids tell it, he still did, but that just pissed him off. Sure, he had fun. He loved women, they loved him back, and when he wasn’t on the road, he liked to let loose. But so what? Wasn’t that his God-given right?
Charlie worked damn hard for what he got, and he loved making music. But this gig of his wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Take tonight for example. Here he was, standing in a room filled with people, a good third eyeing him like a piece of chocolate, and yet he felt completely alone. So, yeah, he accepted willing, eager companionship when it came his way. He was a hot-blooded male. Sue him.
Grace tilted her head, ever the mind reader. “You know, there are plenty of nice girls in Nashville,” she said wistfully. “I suspect the same holds true for Magnolia Springs.”
One hour. They’d lasted longer than he’d thought.
“Nice girls,” Charlie repeated. “Like the mayor’s daughter, perhaps?” His sister had the good sense to wince, but the victory rang hollow. “Yeah, I’m not thinking a nice girl’s the answer, either. Clearly, I only bring them down to my level.”
Grace frowned, but it was the truth. The mess with Maddie Clark was nothing but a misunderstanding, but the fact that neither she nor her father were here tonight proved how badly he’d screwed up. The mayor got off on being seen with Nashville’s finest, and his support was good for business, plain and simple. Another reason that Stone was pissed.
“No,” he declared. “No more women.” The words tasted like ash on his tongue, but if that was what was required to get his foundation off the ground, so be it. “Until Blue leaves for our fall tour, my one and only focus will be Life & Lyrics. That’s it. No more parties, no more hookups, no more chances for the paparazzi to get another headline. I promised our publicist that I’d stay off the grid this summer and keep my damn head down.”
In other words, he’d be boring. Charlie would prefer doing that here, where he could make sure Abby was okay, but that wasn’t an option. The band relocated to Louisiana two years ago, and they had to rehearse for the tour. Not to mention Nashville was too dangerous right now. Normally he could fly under the radar without arousing too much attention when he was on his own—it was when the whole band was together, or even just he and Tyler, that the paparazzi came into play. But that was under normal circumstances. Scandals involving the mayor’s daughter tended to shake things up.
Step one in Charlie’s boring summer plans: find someone organized to help lead Life & Lyrics. He’d hoped he’d found that in Maddie Clark, but that notion went to hell in a handbasket after the recent…er…photographic hiccup in the papers.
Shaking off that unpleasant thought, he offered his sister a smile. “Now, go on home and hug that niece of mine,” he ordered. “And don’t forget to call when you get there so I know you made it safe and sound.”
Youngest or not, Charlie was the only son in the family, and looking out for five sisters, even now that he lived hundreds of miles away, was a full-time job.
Grace hesitated, looking like she had a lot more to say, but surprisingly, she held her tongue. A first. “Will do,” she said instead. “And you don’t forget to call me when you make it back to Louisiana. I’ll never get used to how much you travel,” she muttered with a frown. “I prefer knowing my family is on solid ground and in one place.”
She pushed up onto her toes, pressed a kiss against his clean-shaven cheek, and wiped at the lipstick stain she’d left behind. “Love you.”
The floral notes of her shampoo filled his senses, reminding him of crowded bathrooms, loud kitchens, and laughing out by the barn. The void that formed whenever he wasn’t performing or Blue wasn’t in the recording studio widened in his chest, and Charlie swallowed hard.
Playing professionally, touring the world, came with a ton of benefits. Fame and money, the opportunity to do what he loved and get paid for it. But damn if he didn’t miss his family. Or occasionally wish for more.
Wrestling back the emotions, he brushed a kiss against her hair. “Love you, too.”
Grace gave him a sad smile and waved good-bye, and Charlie watched as she disappeared into a crowd of hundreds. A sharp ache pricked behind his ribs, and he shoved his fist against his chest, trying to fight the pain and sudden loneliness. Near the door, the top of her golden head bobbed, then pushed through the exit. A heavy sigh left his lungs, and he lowered his gaze.
Eager eyes were still pinned on him, the women closest already beginning to whisper. Charlie quickly schooled his expression into the familiar lines of playfulness and checked his watch, cursing when it revealed only ten o’clock.
He’d been positive it was nearing midnight.
With no boss in sight, and no more bite-sized pastries en route, Charlie loosened the damn knot at his throat and kicked his foot up against the wall. Tonight was about making nice with the boss and bringing that bright smile back to his niece’s face. For that, he could suffer just about anything. Even a monkey suit.
Fixing his eyes on a point on the far wall, above the women’s hungry stares, he began strumming a bass line in his mind. Monotonous hours on the road had prepared him to wait things out for as long as they took, and that’s exactly what he’d do now.
Pretending he didn’t feel so alone.
…
“Finally!”
If the abrupt, random exhale wasn’t enough to wake Ella up from her daydream, her chair suddenly sliding back several inches did the trick.
The culprit, Lana’s foot. The reason…she wasn’t so sure. “Excuse me?”
Her best friend shot her a look that clearly said Ella was daft in the head, then thrust her chin toward the far wall. “That woman he’s been with. She just left. I’m telling you, Ella, she’s got to be his assistant or something, because she’s so not Sexy Charlie’s type. Way too wholesome and motherly. All she did was kiss him on the stupid cheek for God’s sake.”
Lana rolled her eyes at the audacity of that innocent action before a wicked grin curved her lips. “You, my dear, are gonna kiss a whole lot more than that. Now, go! Quick. Before the hoochies beat you to the punch.”
It was a genuine toss-up as to what Arabella should respond to first—the hoochie comment, or the whole lot more aspect of her supposed upcoming kiss. In the end, she decided on neither, finding herself on the receiving end of another impatient grunt from her overly enthused roommate.
“Some fairy godmother you turned out to be,” she muttered, trying her best to ignore the butterflies doing a jazz square in her stomach. Lana opened her mouth to hound her once again, and Ella lifted her palms in the air. “I’m going, I’m going.”
The only thing was…now that she could approach Charlie, her feet felt weighted with lead. Carefully, she slid out of her barstool, mindful of any wardrobe mishaps, and inhaled a lungful of optimism.
She could do this.
Heck, if imagination counted as practice, she’d been preparing for this almost half her life. And, more than that, this was her graduation present to herself. While some women—her pushy fairy godmother for one—bought expensive shoes or inhaled copious amounts of chocolate when they met a goal, there was only ever one thing Arabella wanted: Charlie Tucker.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered, raising her voice to tack on a, “Wish me luck.”
Lana shot her a double thumbs-up, and Ella exhaled three short blasts of doubt before spinning on her heel, wordlessly repeating her newly adopted motto over and over and over again:
Be daring.
“For as long as she could remember, Charlie T...
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