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“We talked about loving you, Paisley. And how hard you were to walk away from.” Gavin leaves it at that and exits the room.
It strikes me that Gavin punched the door and walked away from Sweet Caroline’s. He skirted me in his anger when I arrived home and his groomsmen were carrying boxes out to his car. And this afternoon, Gavin has informed me he’s prepared to leave Brighton. His actions are justified. Except this is the third time he has walked away.
We were close friends once. Although, I’m curious if me becoming Gavin’s wife was never an unwavering draw for him… The same way Gavin becoming my husband wasn’t a constant pull for me.
Jake ran, and as he boomeranged back, he worked on becoming the man I needed him to be.
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I flipped the open sign in the window to closed twenty minutes ago but didn’t lock the door. The boutique bell jingles, alerting me to the person who’s stepped inside after hours.
“I’ll be right there!” I sing an octave too loud. Nervous energy has gotten the best of me.
I’m in the back, tidying up so that everything is in the proper place for tomorrow before getting ready to leave.
Exhaustion slides over me, worrying about the last-minute things that Jake had to tick off his list. When we finally get to bed, I plan on sleeping in. My sales girls wrote “DO NOT DISTURB” in bright red marker on the calendar. They even tried to cajole me into taking today off. But I knew pacing the apartment or getting underfoot at Sweet Caroline’s wasn’t for me. My excitement about tonight has been building for weeks.
I grab my purse and the black garment bag with my outfit and shoes in it. Coming out from the storage room, I stop in my tracks. “Well, look who it is!”
“Good evening, Miss Paisley.” Carver lifts his hand with the brace on it, touching his thumb to his lower lip the way I’ve noticed he does when he gets conscientious of his injury.
He’s making progress with physical therapy, but his dexterity and range of motion won’t ever be the same. Sloan says the reality only seems to bother him when Carver forgets agreeing to Jake breaking his hand means his dreams aren’t what they used to be.
“Why so formal, Mr. Galloway?” I tease to ease Carver away from his insecurity.
“It’s a big night. You’re the lady of the hour.”
“Ha-ha!” I laugh and point. “I’m pretty sure Caroline is still the lady of the hour.” I love how Jake honored his mom by the naming the concert hall after his mom. Say what you will, the original Sweet Caroline’s was a Brighton institution.
“How do you feel about it all?” I ask.
Carver’s mother danced on that stage. The club holds a lot of history for him.
“The end of an era speeches are getting trite, but seeing as the club is where we spent our youth, I’m not sure we’ll ever stop reminiscing. I’m glad Jake’s brought the old girl into the future. It was past time to build on what he was too stupid to understand he already knew about running venue. I’m happy he’s finally settled, too.”
I snort at Jake’s oldest friend’s forthright description of how much Jake’s outlook changed after touring.
“Speak of the devil. Where is my boyfriend?” Jake planned to pick me up like always.
Each evening that I’m free, he strolls the main road to come get me. Jake’s eagerness to bring me back to the club to show off the amazing progress that’s been made is contagious. Though we jaunt through downtown Brighton at a slower pace, sometimes we fetching dinner along the way or stopping in at another store to browse.
“Kelsey is hung up with delivery delays and the main act arrived earlier than Julian expected them. Jake’s got a mild case of opening night jitters.” Carver pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “Although I wouldn’t get overly concerned. He’s in his element, glad-handing and acting like the Jake who couldn’t get enough of throwing big events. Since it’s dark out, he asked me if I wouldn’t mind walking you to the club.”
“So, I don’t get to ride in your posh car?” I act insulted.
I’m not.
Carver holds his key fob out for me. “I thought you might want to make it to the church on time so I brought the car. I’ll let you drive. If you don’t tell my wife.”
“Are you flirting with me?” I punch him in the shoulder.
He’s got biceps like Jake’s and Carver laughs when I shake out my hand, sputtering a tiny “ow”. We’ve both endured bigger hurts.
He tosses me his keys. Behind the wheel, adrenaline pumps through my veins by the time we pass the newly lit Sweet Caroline’s Music Hall sign. I park out back in a reserved spot. I thank Carver for coming to get me. He suggests we walk around the building to the front entrance to get the full effect. Security lets us pass.
