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I study her. “Who told you no?”
Piper shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
It does matter—to me. But I don’t push.
“Do Harper and Mia still work at Empire?”
Her eyebrows rise.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m just surprised you remember their names.”
“I’m good with names,” I lie. I’m notoriously terrible.
“I guess so. I wasn’t expecting you to know mine when I showed up here.”
There’s a hollowing sensation in my stomach as she confirms what I’ve always suspected. Every moment around her has been stuck in my head like a record caught on a certain track while she was surprised I remembered her name.
I don’t make any more attempts at conversation, just focus on finishing my food.
CHAPTERTWELVE
PIPER
Wagon Wheel is located in the heart of downtown Oak Grove.
Althoughdowntownis a stretch to describe three blocks.
I focus on the storefronts passing by, attempting to ignore Kyle’s presence on the other side of the gearshift.
We had a short, uncomfortable discussion about who would be driving tonight.
I was all set to take my rental sedan until he said, “Just get in,” and did exactly that.
So, I did, too, and we’ve been driving in silence ever since.
Open fields gradually gave way to this collection of buildings that is apparently the totality of the town’s center.
I shift nervously on the bench seat as Kyle pulls into the dirt and gravel parking lot. I was so taken aback by him apologizing, then inviting me somewhere, that I didn’t really think through what this outing would be like.
HOWDYis painted on the exterior of the building, the letters large, uneven, and faded. A huge wooden wheel hangs off the front side of the building, directly above the front door.
The entire structure looks like a safety hazard.
But none of the groups loitering outside or headed inside show any apprehension. So, I school any from my expression as Kyle pulls the keys out of the ignition and spins them around one finger.
He says nothing. Neither do I.
I watch the laughing crowd in front of the bar—girls wearing short skirts and cowboy boots, guys wearing big belts and bigger hats.
Dry my sweaty palms on my jeans.
“None of them know I’m leaving music,” Kyle finally says.
I glance over, only to find out he’s staring straight ahead. I trace his profile with my eyes. Chiseled jawline, strong nose, messy hair.
“I won’t say anything.”
