At the end of it all, we find our way backstage to say our goodbyes to Linda and Chris. We promise we won’t take so much time apart before meeting up again, but we all know it’s inevitable. Wyatt shakes Chris’ hand, but when he attempts to shake Linda’s, she pulls him into a hug and sends him away with a pinch on the cheek. I can do nothing but chuckle as Wyatt takes my hand and leads our escape to the car. Dalton and Raleigh hop in the front seats, and we cozy up in the back.
Leaning into Wyatt’s side, I let his arms slip around me as the engine starts and Dillon’s Dance Hall is left behind us. I feel a little twinge of disappointment as Dalton takes a backroad to negate the concert traffic. Dillon’s is a place I’m still free to be myself; those are becoming harder and harder to find these days.
Wyatt pinches me by accident as he shifts his arm. He’s none the wiser about it, but to me, it’s as if he’s done it to remind me that I can be myself with him, too. I hate to admit it, but sometimes I can’t help but think of my broken heart when I feel Wyatt’s touch and yet, knowing it’s his touch has the fallen pieces of my heart fusing back together. I smile to myself and bend into him. The sound of his steady heartbeat could be enough to lull me asleep if my own wasn’t beating with every thrilling possibility of us.
Resting his head against mine, he lowers his voice in a way that causes another pulse to go through me. “I’ve got team stuff tomorrow, but I want to see you.”
Shifting slightly, I glance up at him. “Hannah has something planned. Don’t you worry.”
“You gonna let me in on whatever surprise she’s roped you into?” His voice is still low, but there’s an excited cadence to it.
“Not a chance,” I hiss. He just laughs and pats my arm where his hand dangles over my shoulder.
For the rest of the ride, we bump along in a sleepy silence. His eyes are closed, but his fingers are keeping a steady back-and-forth caress against my skin, signaling that he’s awake.
The quiet murmur he makes as he breathes lets me know he’s enjoying this as much as me.
We reach his house far too quickly. Pulling to a stop, he eases his arm away from me and reaches out to take my hand briefly. Kissing my knuckles, he steps out. “See you tomorrow?”
I nod. If only he knew what Hannah and I have cooked up for him. He smiles sweetly and lets go of me. Suddenly freezing from the lack of his touch, I reel my hand in and curl up in the seat. My phone buzzes as he closes the door behind him.
Linda Mayfield:He’s a good one.
I bite my lip with a smile. She has no idea how right she is.
Chapter 15
Wyatt
THE SURPRISE THAT Mae had teased and Hannah had dropped hints about all day via text ended up being a glorious home-cooked meal. I knew my sister could bake, but I had no idea just how good of a cook Mae was until I sank a spoonful of her jambalaya into my mouth.
I’d arrived from practice with Ben to be welcomed by the sweet and sultry aroma of the stew and Hannah’s famous cornbread. Seeing Mae in my kitchen over the stove, twirling a little spoon made everything seem all too real to me. She greeted me with a steaming bowl and a gentle kiss on the cheek before turning away to serve Ben a bowl.
Over dinner, I was able to pry out her secret talent for cooking. She met me with a gloomy look and, at first, I regretted my questions. Suddenly the floodgates broke open and she couldn’t stop speaking about her grandmother who taught her everything she knew in the kitchen. The food tonight was practically off ofan episode of Iron Chef. The spicy French Quarter flair of the crawfish mixed with the honey-butter cornbread combined for the most delectable meal ever conceived in my kitchen. Hannah and Mae should do a team cooking competition for charity; they’d win easily.
I asked Mae if she would teach me how to cook a few dishes and she agreed. It would be nice to come home and be able to make a meal other than boxed mac and cheese. It would be even nicer if she could join me for said meals.
Now we’re all sitting in the living room, nursing our full stomachs. The Nashville game is on low in the background while the kids play on the floor and Hannah picks Mae’s brain about other celebrities she’s obsessed with.
“You should teach Ben to play guitar,” Hannah says as she reaches for Carly’s drink that’s been left to make a ring on the mahogany table. I wave her away when she looks over, letting her know that I don’t care. “He has a wonderful singing voice.”
Mae’s eyes wander to Ben, who holds his arms up in defense. “Don’t listen to her, Mae; I have no musical talent whatsoever.”
Sitting back in thought, Hannah’s gaze finds me again. “Do you still have mom’s old Gibson?”
I swallow and shift, causing Mae to leave my side. I motion to the closet. I had to put it away the day she died; it was too much. I’ve never been overly attached to music or anything about it until mom passed, and all I had left was her guitar. I just always had a feeling I needed to keep it. I have a feeling that reason is sitting right beside me today.
When Hannah emerges from the dusty closet with the 1965 Gibson, Mae’s eyes brighten. “Why do you have this beauty locked away?” she asks me. I wish I had a real answer for her.
“Mom was the only one who could play,” Hannah answers, shrugging her shoulders. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she tries to explain further but falters.
I continue on for her: “When she died, she left it to me, but I couldn’t look at it without getting angry. I almost smashed it once.” Mae’s hand finds my upper arm, giving me strength. “I figured it would be better for it to be tucked away than smashed to smithereens on my floor.”
Mae reaches out to touch it but then pulls away, waiting for an okay. Hannah doesn’t waste any time delivering it into her arms. Cradling it like a newborn, Mae runs her painted fingers down the fretboard and across the polished red wood.
“Should I play something?” she prods timidly. Hannah ignites with the idea and jumps off the couch into the air.
“You have to!” She turns to me with hope in her eyes. “Wyatt, what was that one song she was always, always working on?”
