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“So you don’t regret coming back home?”
“Are you kidding? I love having movie night with you and the girls. The warm weather down here is fantastic compared to frigid winters and icy lake breezes. I’m happy to be back even if I’m not happy how it came about.”
“Good. I was worried Ryan’s return would send you running for another decade.”
“I didn’t run because of Ryan, I just kept up with my previous plans because what else was I going to do?”
“Did you ever consider just going to Nashville even though he never asked?”
“No. He didn’t ask and that was as clear a hint as any of his feelings as if he’d just said go the hell away.” My heart had been too battered, my ego too bruised, to follow him like a lovesick fool. “What about you, Val? Have you considered dating again?”
She nodded. “I considered it and dismissed it. I know just about every man in town within acceptable dating age range already, which leaves my options severely limited.”
“So date someone older than you, or even better, someone younger than you. It doesn’t have to be forever, Val.”
“Is forever even a thing anymore?”
“Not from my perspective, but fun is still a thing right? We’re not dead, so we should be enjoying this stage of our lives. We’ve earned it, dammit.”
“Absolutely.” Valona flashed a wide grin and held up her oversized coffee mug and tapped it against mine. “Does that mean you want to go to Wet Whistle tonight and ogle Grady the bartender?”
“Why the hell not?” I felt a little uneasy, being so happy and settled. So content with my life as it was, that I was sure something lurked in the bushes waiting to tear my peace up, limb from limb. I just knew it.
I couldn’t exactly pinpoint it, so I continued going about my life for another week, putting one foot in front of the other, smiling at customers and soaking up the praise of my friends and neighbors in town because life was good. Really good.
Despite the fact that I’d made a fatal error in sleeping with my high school boyfriend. Despite the fact that it was so deliciously good that it invaded my thoughts and my dreams. Ryan was back in town and living next door, but still my life was good.
Really darn good.
Chapter 13
Ryan
Being with Pippa again, sharing a bed with her, spending hours on end with her, and yeah, even sliding deep inside of her body, it had all unlocked something wonderful, something magical inside of me. Words. No, better than just simply words, there were lyrics. Lines and lines of lyrics and music that turned into fully formed songs seemingly overnight.
Songs.
Music.
For the past two weeks I’d spent every day and every single night holed up in my studio, writing and strumming my guitar, playing the piano and digging deep to produce song after song. It felt as if I’d captured a part of myself I’d forgotten existed, the guy who could get so wrapped up in his craft that he forgot about the world around him. Sure, I’ve been writing songs for the past fifteen years, once I was able to convince the label to let us a play a few that turned into major hits, but not like this.
I hadn’t written like this in ages. Not since Pippa was my muse.
“Knock, knock.” The familiar voice of my youngest brother, Roman, interrupted my thoughts and my writing, but I was happy to see him after two weeks straight in my studio.
“Sorry we’re closed,” I told him with a grin before I waved him inside.
“You weren’t recording were you? Because it looked like you were daydreaming.”
“Not recording,” I confirmed and motioned for him to take a seat. “What’s up? Bored being free and clear yet?”
“Nah, I had a few meetings with the studio suits, did some photo shoots and spent a few days learning how to surf with Britney in Malibu.” He wiggled his eyebrows as if I hadn’t already guessed that Britney was one of his temporary romances. “It was a great time. How about you, big brother, learned to have any fun yet?”
“Oh yeah,” I deadpanned. “My life is a million instances of fun each day.”
“Way to sell it. Pippa is back in town and working for you.”
“I’m aware,” I told him, my voice thick with annoyance. “Your point?”
Roman held up his hands defensively. “Just making conversation. How’s the songwriting coming along?”
“Excellent. I’ve gotten about a dozen songs recorded over the past two weeks. Some for the band, some for you and some just came to me.” It was a beautiful thing, to have the lyrics and the music flow so freely, to come together so easily. “What?”
“Something is up.” He pointed at me with a knowing smile. “You and Pippa.”
“There is no me and Pippa,” I growled in response. The stubborn woman had not called or stopped by once in the past two weeks. She had made no effort to reach out to me since our night in Gatlinburg, which stung. A lot. We were next door neighbors, and I had barely caught a few glimpses of her as she left or arrived back at home after work. If not for some work-related emails and calendar reminders, I might have thought she forgot I existed.
