Page 16 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

She finally slipped her hand into his.

His stomach hollowed at the contact, a diving swoop like a kingfisher plunging in mid-air. He couldn’t be sure she felt the same sweeping rush, but he pressed the pads of his fingers to her wrist, felt the jump of her pulse. Yes, Clementine. I feel the same.

“I’m Jack,” he said quietly, as though too much sound would send her scurrying away, “but I also go by Maxwell, and I own a bearded dragon named Ricky.”

Her eyes cut to him, accusing almost. “Ricky?”

“Ricky Ricardo.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Afraid it is.”

“But…” Her breath shuddered.

“Yes?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe we’re not supposed to.”

It really didn’t make sense, meeting this mysterious woman out of the blue. Yet here they were, shaking—no, holding—hands, both with dragons named for the I Love Lucy duo who’d charmed a generation of TV fans. Doubt still lingered at the back of his mind, but it was less persistent.

Clementine shook her head and snatched her hand back. “I totally forgot, but I have somewhere I have to be. Can’t believe it slipped my mind.” She moved as she spoke, walking backward, away from him.

She couldn’t go too far. Not in a town this size. But he had a way to see her sooner. He wanted to see her sooner. “I can help you.”

She kept backing up, fast enough he worried she’d trip. “With what?”

“Anything.” He cringed, unsure how that had snuck out. “Your father, I mean. Anything you need for his birthday present.”

She stumbled slightly as she stopped. “How can you help?”

“I know a tribute artist. Meet me at the diner at nine tonight and we’ll get that photo for him.”

A white lie, considering he was the tribute artist, but showing his passion was easier than explaining it. Performing had changed his life. It connected him to his granddad and had allowed him to be someone other than a stuttering kid with lanky limbs. It made him fearless, bold, seductive. He lost himself on stage, absorbed the bass and lights and applause. When discussing it, he often mumbled and waited for ridicule.

No. He wouldn’t try explaining it to Clementine, but she didn’t seem keen to jump on his offer.

Marvin’s mower whizzed in the distance. Imelda’s dog menagerie yipped and yapped. Another man walked by the pond, enjoying the view. He wasn’t a local, but his thick beard looked familiar, his dark complexion—he was the man who’d snubbed him at the diner. Not the sort he liked invading Whichway, but Elvis fans helped support businesses and filled motels.

The visitor’s aggressive knife tattoo wasn’t visible and he seemed pleasant enough now, busy watching the ducks, while Clementine was busy not replying.

“Okay,” she finally said, but she’d returned to hurrying away, turning as she jogged. “See you at nine.” She ran off, light on her feet.

He stood there, lightheaded as he watched her go.

After last year’s performance loss and his breakup with Ava, he’d promised himself he’d beat Alistair Murphy at this year’s festival, put that cocky weasel in his place. A small part of him also wanted to show up his ex. They’d both used each other—Jack to take a breather from work and enjoy a woman’s company, Ava to further her fledgling singing career. He didn’t want Ava back, but the way she’d manipulated him had left a sour taste in his mouth. It had made him feel inept and naïve. He wanted her in the audience, regret on her face as he wowed the crowd. Petty, but the hint of retribution would feel good.

As long as the win was solid.

After a contestant had seduced a judge to pad his score, they’d instilled a “no fraternization” policy. Friendships were acceptable. Intimate relationships were not. If Jack won the tribute title, but did it while dating a judge, he could be disqualified.

Then there was his father, the more important reason to be named this year’s tribute king.

Every year, Maxwell David the Second beamed while watching Jack perform. Winning was something concrete he could do for his sick father, but the town thought Maxwell was gallivanting abroad, not fighting for his life at home. Jack had lied extensively the past months, ensuring their deception’s success. His father’s idea, but Jack had been the one misleading investors, coworkers, friends. Another sacrifice to keep David Industries afloat.

If Gunther’s sabotage came to light and investors learned their CEO was sick, the business’s stock would plummet. Hundreds would lose jobs. Unless they could announce a technological breakthrough first.