Page 59 of Grumpy Bear

It did take a particular level of skill to maneuver through the landmine of attention, to keep a smile on my face while the guests made innuendos and overt passes. It was a little intimidating. Austin was a master at it and a decent coach, considering his goals couldn’t be more different from mine. He’d likely end up in the middle of a gang bang before the day was over, and he’d be happy about it.

I couldn’t go one second without thinking about being alone with Coleman in the cabin. The memories of last night flashing through my mind were every bit as intoxicating as the booze Austin kept making me drink.

I was also counting down to the bonfire. I was itching to restring my guitar as soon as the pool cleared out and people went to nap and clean up before dinner.

Coleman found me in the cabin, sitting on the sofa in my underwear, hair still wet from a chaste shower in Bathhouse One, staring into space with my guitar on my lap.

“Well, hey there.”

“Hey.” I stood, resting the guitar against the sofa.

“Don’t you look tan. Didya have fun?”

“I did.”

“Anybody I need to beat up?”

“No.” I walked straight into him, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his neck.

“I stink,” he muttered.

“You smell like a man who’s been working all day. Everything go okay?”

“A thousand minor fires to put out. The usual.”

“And the creek?”

“The dam is holding.” He lifted his chin toward the guitar. “What’s the verdict?”

“Well. The good news is my phone works. But the guitar…” I hid my expression by pulling away, picking it up and throwing the strap over my shoulder. I chuckled without meeting his gaze. “It’s, umm…” It’s fucked, I wanted to say, but it was simpler to let him hear it.

I strummed a few chords, the notes sounding dull and muffled.

He grimaced. “Is that permanent?”

“A few more days to dry out might improve it a little, and—”

Before I could finish, he left. He went back out the door and returned two seconds later with the Hummingbird. He held it out to me. “Take this.”

“I can’t accept—”

“Play it tonight.”

I held it reverently. After hanging on the wall all these years, the cherry-and-gold-stained surface was surprisingly free of dust. The strings looked like they hadn’t been changed though. Not since… Well, since Wayne had been alive.

Coleman was watching me, scratching the back of his neck. Was my guitar worship making him uncomfortable, or was it seeing the guitar in somebody else’s hands? He defaulted to practicality as usual. “You have some strings?”

“I can take them off mine. If it’s okay.”

“Yeah. Do whatever you need to do.”

“I promise I’ll be very careful with it.”

“I know you will.” He smiled reassuringly and kissed me. “Listen, I need to grab a quick shower and deal with whatever fresh kitchen drama has erupted.”

“For real?”

He made a disgusted sound in his throat. “Every fucking day.”