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She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. All the shops were closed, the only sounds were the hiss of a distant nail gun and the night battle between the tree frogs and crickets. But one text and she could hear his taunting voice in her head.
Instead of answering, she stuffed her phone back into her pocket and picked up her pace toward Between the Lines. It buzzed again and she managed to ignore it for another block as two more vibrations warned her of more texts.
Unable to turn off her curiosity, she dug out of her phone. Three picture images slowly loaded. Bold, block handwritten setlists, one for each night. They were all labeled, as professional-looking as a typed list.
It was exactly what she’d needed.
There was no reason at all to throw her phone. He was being professional. Just like she’d requested. She jammed her key into the lock and swung open the door. The happy jingle of the overhead bell made her scowl.
She locked up and stomped up the stairs to her loft. The satisfying screech of the old metal lever latch releasing and the pulley system that opened her door made her feel a little better.
She hit the lights and evened out the rest of the way.
Her apartment.
Her haven.
The soothing blues and violets of the sheers that framed her tall windows. The massive magenta couch she’d bought in New Haven that had taken her, Nic, and Adam to get it up the stairs. Followed by another twenty minutes of swearing to get it through the door. Her beloved four poster mahogany bed that took the center stage on a raised dais on the far side of the loft. Along with the ridiculously expensive feather duvet that somehow kept her cool in the summer, and warm in the winter.
These were her constants.
This place was all hers. And one day, when she found the right man, she’d have a house and kids. She’d been building a nest egg for just that day. But nowhere in that plan was there room for a rock star.
She texted back a simple and unadorned, thank you, and plugged her phone into its charger by the door and put him out of her mind.
Mostly.
Ten
Logan snapped the locks on his guitar case. He wasn’t entirely sure when Izzy had snuck out of the barn. He and Zeke had been conferring over the music for a song by Otis Redding and he’d simply known she wouldn’t be there when he turned around.
The air felt different. And the unending supply of energy he’d been blazing through simply melted out of him. Had he been performing for her?
No.
Not completely anyway. The moment he and Cole had plugged in he’d known that the barn was where he belonged for the festival. He’d do the main stage to close out the weekend as he always did, but this was where the magic was.
Lindsey and Cole meshed well enough at the start, but by the end of the night all of them had been as tight as a jam band. Zeke and Morgan, from his band, could play with anyone. He’d had complete confidence in that.
The real wild card would be Johnny Cage. He was a helluva talent, but the boy wasn’t really good at playing second string. And while Logan was more than willing to share the stage with a bunch of artists, this was his show.
Every song had slid into place. It had been years since he’d felt that connection. Fresh and different had been his focus since he’d stepped foot in this barn. The mix of artists he’d chosen for the three extra shows would either be madness or genius. He was still on the fence with which way it was headed.
“You ready to go, Logan?”
He turned at Lindsey’s voice. She was stunning. Beautiful in a way that made men do stupid things. Zeke had been tripping over himself to impress her all night. Logan had met her at a show in Georgia last year and there had been a little buzz between them.
He’d followed her career, watching her falter on the club circuit only to finally hit the radio waves with a strong single. That one bump had been all they’d needed to set Brooklyn Dawn on the right course. Asking her to be a part of the festival would give her the last blast of promotion she needed to get her record label to push her album harder on release. The industry needed a shake up and bands like Brooklyn Dawn were a good start.
Lindsey was exactly the kind of distraction he needed this weekend. She was bright and talented. A sweet and sexy woman with a youthful exuberance that would make him feel alive for a little while. And when it was over they’d go their separate ways without hurt feelings and promises. Lindsey York didn’t dig under his skin like a cactus needle.
She came into the barn, her hands fisted into a hoodie. “Are you all right?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “Yeah. Just a little distracted.”
“It’s been a long night. But a good one, I think.”
“You knocked it out of the park tonight.” He gestured to the stage. “I’m sorry Jamie couldn’t be here to play with us. I think she’d have enjoyed this.”
