“I wanna practice now!” Bethany jumped up and grabbed one of the guitars. Hannah followed her lead.
I hovered at the edge of the carpet in the living room. The girls were critiquing each other on their posture and how to hold the guitar. The authority in Bethany’s voice made it sound like she’d been playing for years.
June packed her instrument. Her hair hung over her shoulder, and the front of her loose top gaped. I yanked my gaze away. She clicked the case shut and straightened. A cacophony of strumming filled the air.
“Sounds like music,” June said and stepped over her guitar. She grinned when she approached and my heart skipped a damn beat.
“How’d it go?” I was only interested in lessons, dammit.
“Good. They’re so curious and they had a lot of questions.” Her white teeth bit into her bottom lip. I stopped my groan before it was audible. “I hope you don’t mind that I took some time to answer them.”
“About June Bee?”
“Well, I am her.”
She certainly was. Did I need to be sitting to learn what they’d asked? I’d rather not hear at all. “Want a snack before you go?”
Her gaze brushed over the counters behind me. A plate of sugar cookies was pushed into the corner by the fridge, a pan of homemade granola bars was on the table, and a coffee cake I’d made for no damn reason was untouched by the oven. Good thing she couldn’t see the inside of the fridge. I’d made an oatmeal bake for breakfast and the girls were still toasting my homemade waffles like their own private Eggo stash.
I’d been a little stressed this week.
“I’m sure you have work to do,” she said.
There was always work to do. “I came in for a break and to check on how things went. Have a seat.”
I went for the counter but I caught her hesitation before pulling out a chair at the table. Was she remembering the crappy way I had snapped at her?
The song I’d walked in on evened the score.
He wasn’t the guy who got away, he was the one who let me go.
I’d had to let her go. For her own good.
“I like your new house,” she said.
“It’s not new.” The old farmhouse had needed a lot of work in the early days. I took out four plates, forks, and a knife and started cutting the coffee cake.
“It’s easier.”
When I looked over my shoulder, she was nibbling on that lower lip again. “What do you mean?”
“Being in the cabin was weird. With you.”
A walk down memory lane. It’d seemed wrong not to pull her into my lap while she cried. The first tear had gutted me, but that she still trusted me enough to openup had humbled me. “Would you have told me what had happened if we’d been anywhere else?”
“Probably not.”
I put a square piece of dessert on two plates and carried them to the table. “If I lived at my old place, I wouldn’t have found you.”
A tiny furrow formed along her forehead. “Is this Wren’s recipe?”
I was okay with a subject change. My old place was the house I’d shared with my ex-wife and kids. “Yep.”
“How is she?”
“Good. She’s in a condo in town.”
Her nod was slow. “I never thought you’d move.”
