CHAPTER 10
The late-afternoon sun was starting to set, radiating a soothing heat through Mackenzie’s body. She reclined on the settee, stifled a yawn, and stretched languidly, basking in the feeling of her skin gliding over the sunbaked slipcover. Picking up her guitar, she ran her fingers down its neck before cradling the instrument.
Outside, a strong wind whistled through her back courtyard, the branches of the great oak creaking under the pressure. Mackenzie loved springtime in Nashville. With its rain-washed freshness and lack of major holidays, it was her favorite season.
It was as if Mother Nature was wiping the slate clean. Something Mackenzie could get firmly behind.
She’d been trying to work on this song for the past week. Which would have been a lot easier to do if she weren’t still thinking about Hunter. Or the dozen or so times he’d called her. Or how her house still smelled like him. That’s how potent he was.
She’d opened all the windows, hoping to erase his visit completely, then pulled out her lucky sweatshirt. It was ratty and old, two sizes toobig, and had the Berklee College of Music logo on the back, but it felt like simpler times.
Guitar cradled in her lap, hand lightly resting on the strings, Mackenzie settled her head back against the settee. She didn’t strum but silently listened to the branches tapping against the glass roof of her sunroom.
Only, instead of channeling independence and female-inspired rebellion—the two themes her client had requested for their album—all she could picture was strong, firm, masculine hands sliding down her body to her teal panties ...
Gaah.
Mackenzie grabbed the remote and punched in her “Get Focused” playlist to distract herself. The theme song fromSchindler’s Listfilled the room, bouncing off the walls in such a rich, heartbreaking way she held her breath and listened.
She braced herself for John Williams’s notes to flow through her, the first verse of the song leaving chills rising in their wake. At the chorus, her heart slowed to a stop as the sorrow of the violin wove around the hopefulness of the harp, creating a gentle melody that pulled her into another world. Made her forget reality and exist only in the notes.
The song came to the final chorus and her fingers began to glide across the strings, finding their way to the right notes, one by one. Not quite a melody, but she was headed in the right direction, building toward something that resonated. She could feel it.
And then she heard it.
Another guitar lightly strumming in the background, adding a little flash to her folk.
Hunter!
She could recognize his riffs anywhere. And the melody was as inspiring as it was irritating. Inspiring because, for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel lost in the song. The irritation came when sherealized that all it took was a few keys from Hunter and she completely gave in to his lead.
With a frustrated strum across the strings, she came to a hard stop. “You’re trespassing,” she said loudly.
“You’re right. You should call the cops,” Hunter said from the other side of the open window. He was on her porch—she could tell from the proximity of his voice—and he’d been listening to her play. “Oh wait, that would mean picking up the phone.”
He sounded annoyed.The feeling’s mutual, buddy.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Getting ready to write my new album.”
“The studio is that way.” She pointed her finger to the north. “About twenty minutes in the opposite direction.”
“Twenty minutes, huh?” The porch swing creaked under his weight. He was making himself at home. “You want to go back to the top or pick up where we left off?”
“I want you to go back to your studio so I can get back to work.”
“Can’t,” he said simply, then started strumming a catchy hook that sounded like a Hunter original.
“Why not?”
“By now I’m sure my studio is filled with a bunch of record executives waiting for me to tell them what writer I chose.” He rattled off a few names that collectively held more awards than the Beatles.
“Impressive list,” she said, telling herself that it was a good thing. In fact, it was exactly what she wanted and exactly what Hunter needed.
“Turns out, even after a few flops, I’m an impressive guy to work with.”
He was more than impressive. And that was the problem. “Who did you choose?”
