Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
WYATT
March 17
“The party’s here!” I call as soon as I wrestle the stroller through the front door of Dog-Eared Books, Grace’s new bookstore.
“My favorite ladies!” Grace hustles out from behind the counter. She immediately drops to her knees in front of the stroller, chucking Eden on the nose and cheeks and eliciting the most delicious belly laugh.
“We’re hitting the town so Mama can do her online botany class without that pterodactyl screech you’ve been working on, right?” I say to her gummy little smile, and in reply, she gives us a perfect demonstration of the ear-splitting scream she’s become so fond of.
“Good lord, you’re gonna be a loudmouth just like your auntie Wyatt, aren’t you?” Grace says.
“The world should be so lucky,” I reply.
The bell on the door of the shop tinkles, and in walks Carson, fresh from school dismissal. Or at least I hope she is and that the red tights, red bubble skirt, and red blouse aren’t some new monochromatic fashion statement.
“It’s color week at school,” Carson says before I can even ask. “Today was red day, and that’s why I look like a jar of marinara.”
“That skirt is cute, though,” I tell her. It emphasizes the way her round butt narrows to her nipped-in little waist. With her long, loose strawberry-blond curls and dangerous curves, she looks like she was painted by Botticelli.
“Thanks, my mother thinks it’s too short,” Carson replies.
“You’re twenty-five, what could it possibly matter what your mother thinks of your clothes?” I ask. Lord knows I’d be tempted to throw hands if Libby uttered one word about the contents of my closet. Of course she’s too buys stealing my clothes to get on me about them. I’m damn near ready to put a padlock on my closet door.
“It’s hard to claim the high ground when I’m still living in her house,” Carson grumbles, and then she groans. “I’ve got to get out of there. Ever since my dad retired it’s like micromanaging my life is their new hobby. Don’t they know they’re supposed to be playing pickleball, not trying to set me up with every eligible man at their church?”
“If you can hang on until our house is done, you can move into my apartment,” offers Grace. She and Decker bought a few acres out near the quarry and are in the process of building their dream house, complete with a half-size indoor rink out back. As soon as the season is over—and we’re all hoping that doesn’t happen until the Stanley Cup Finals—he’ll be back in Cardinal Springs for good.
“How long do you think that’ll take?” Carson asks, her eyes alight with hope.
Grace grimaces. “It’s probably going to be about a year of construction.”
Carson groans and drops her head onto the counter with a dull thud. “If I’m still living with my parents next year, please put me on a raft and push me out to sea. What about Decker’s apartment?”
When Decker was in Cardinal Springs last summer for reputation reasons, he rented the place across the hall from Grace, and even though he moved back to Chicago for his final NHL season, it’s still full of his furniture.
“I wish you had asked me earlier. I absolutely would have handed you the keys,” Grace says. “But Dan needs a place to stay, and he’s sick of Archer’s guest room, so Decker offered the place to him a few days ago.”
Carson’s cheeks pink up.
“Dan’s living here? Like, permanently? What about New York? And his job?”
“You’re welcome to ask him when he comes to get the keys, which should be any minute now,” Grace says, glancing at her watch. “If you’re able to get any real answers out of my brother, you have my congratulations.”
As far as I know, Grace’s brother Dan is some kind of finance bro in New York. A trader? Frankly, the entire stock market is none of my business, and while I know Grace’s other brothers pretty well, what with their penchant for drinking in my bar and pinning me against pickup trucks with their tongues (okay, just the one, but my god , Owen’s tongue, it haunts me), I barely know Dan at all. Until recently, he never came back to Cardinal Springs. Then he showed up last summer, unannounced and with no explanation. He’s been drifting in and out, crashing at his dad’s or in Archer’s guest room and then disappearing for a while. It’s all very mysterious.
“Hey, do you have the new Janice Andrews?” Carson asks, and Grace hustles to the back to find the box with the new shipment. I pull Eden out of her stroller and settle her onto my lap, selecting a copy of the Motley Crüe memoir from the nearest shelf and flipping it open.
“You know, I have a robust, beautifully curated children’s section right over there,” Grace says when she reappears with Carson’s book.
“Yeah, but I need to start teaching her the red flags early. Like, don’t snort ants and don’t date drummers,” I reply, giving my niece a raspberry on her chubby little cheek.
“You don’t date at all ,” Carson points out.
“If you expand your definition of date , I do that plenty,” I say, then sigh. “ Did that plenty, anyway. But then this little nugget showed up, and now all I want to do is figure out ways to make her giggle.”
“So you seriously haven’t seen anybody since Eden was born?” Grace asks. “That seems like a record for you.”
I glance over at my best friend. I’ve been wanting to tell her for a while. I hate keeping a secret from her, and at this point I don’t think there’s a reason to. It’s not like kissing Owen changed anything. We’ve just become better friends. Yeah, we flirt a little (a lot), but what’s a little flirting between friends? It’s been two months since I had Owen McBride’s tongue in my mouth, and nothing else has happened. I think it’s safe to tell her now.
“It’s true. I’ve barely had time for any extracurriculars. I did go on one epically bad date the other night, but that’s been it, uh…” I bury my face in Eden’s roly-poly neck like a coward. “Other than that one time I made out with your brother.”
Carson gasps, and Grace drops the roll of pennies she’s holding.
“ What? Which one?” Grace cries.
“Owen,” Carson says.
I whip my gaze to her. “How did you know?”
“Please. I have eyes,” Carson says, rolling them. “I saw the way you were staring holes into his chest at that speed dating thing.”
“Where was I during all this?” Grace asks.
“Hockey,” we reply in unison, because Grace spent that entire night muttering swear words at the officials while staring at her phone.
“Ugh. Sorry,” Grace says. “I’ve become that girl who disappeared because she got a boyfriend.”
“Don’t be sorry! You’re in love, and I love that for you,” I tell her. “And anyway, it’s not a big deal. It was the night before that big ice storm back in January. It was just a one-time thing. We agreed it was a mistake. We’re just friends.”
“January? It’s March! That was two months ago!” Grace cries, Eden startling in my lap at the sound. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
I wince. “I’m sorry. Are you mad?”
Grace shakes her head. “Of course not. Mostly I’m just annoyed that I could have spent the last two months trying to shove you guys together. I’ve noticed the chemistry between you. I just figured you were both oblivious.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” I tell her.
“Why not? Owen’s a good guy,” she says.
“Exactly,” I reply. “Owen’s a good guy, and I’m not a good girl.”
“That’s bullshit,” she says.
“Okay, fine. I’m a fucking great girl. But he wants a girlfriend, and I don’t want to be a girlfriend. I just want to fuck around, and I’m not about to fuck around with your brother . So there’s no sense in getting everything tangled and confused when we obviously want different things.”
“Nobody knows what they want until they get it,” Grace says. “I mean, look at me. I was sure Decker was the absolute last man on the planet I wanted to be with, and now we’re moving in together. I can’t imagine my life without that hot hockey disaster. Give things a try with Owen. See what happens.”
“There’s no zealot like a convert,” I mutter. I glance at Carson for support, but she nods at Grace.
“I’m with her on this one. Owen is hot and sweet and he wants you,” Carson says matter-of-factly. “It’s really nice to be wanted. I don’t know why you’d run away from that. Figure out the label stuff later.”
“Yes, we’ll just wait until I grind his heart into the dust and leave a trail of misery through my best friend’s entire family,” I say.
“Or maybe you’re afraid he’ll break your heart,” Carson says, raising her eyebrows at me.
“Please. Owen McBride? Heartbreaker? Bullshit,” I say. I look over at Grace. “Right?”
She shrugs. “Don’t ask me. Everyone thinks Dan is the mysterious one, but Owen hides his shit behind all his good deeds. I have no idea what his deal is. I know he dated Francie during residency, and that was pretty serious, but one day he called and said it was over. I don’t think there’s been anyone since.”
“None of that says perfect hookup for Wyatt,” I say. “I mean, maybe the mysterious part, but the good deeds? The long-term girlfriend? No. No way.”
Grace shrugs. “It’s your life. I’m just saying, don’t let your mysterious shit get in the way of something good.”
My cheeks heat at that, because as close as I’ve grown with Carson and Grace over these last couple of years, I haven’t shared very much with them about my past. They know my mom went to prison and that I came to Cardinal Springs to care for Hazel. They know I stuck around so Hazel had a home to come back to during college. But they don’t know about my time in Nashville or that it ended in disaster even before I got the call that my mother had been arrested. That despite my best efforts, I once let a shitty man take advantage of me.
The bell on the door tinkles again, and in walks Dan McBride. His brow is furrowed, his blue eyes dark, and he strides into the brightly colored, sunshiny space in a dangerously well-fitting black suit, a black leather carry-on slung over his shoulder. Standing on the rainbow rug in the middle of the store, he looks like the squarest peg in the roundest hole. Like a certified Suit Daddy, which is wildly at odds with the corn-fed smiles you usually find in Cardinal Springs.
“Keys?” he asks, his voice low and rumbly from disuse.
“Lemme grab them. They’re in my office,” Grace says, not bothering with the usual pleasantries. She knows how to easily communicate with her brother.
But I’ve never liked easy.
“So, are you fresh off a flight?” I ask, nodding at his bag.
“Yeah,” he says. His jaw flexes, his eyes dropping down to my niece, bouncing and squealing in my lap, then rising back to my face. He’s got the kind of intimidating gaze that I’m guessing usually shuts people up. Not me, though.
“From New York?”
“Yup.”
“Why were you in New York?”
The muscle in his jaw jumps. “Work.”
Okay, this is fun. I can barely suppress a grin. “What do you do?”
“Finance.” It’s the first multisyllabic response I’ve pulled from him.
I pause, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Are you in the CIA? Or a spy of some kind? A hit man or a hired gun?”
“No,” he replies, his gaze steely, his vocabulary back to one-syllable words deployed like gunshots.
Grace returns from her office jangling the keys.
“Here ya go. All Decker’s stuff is still in there, but he said feel free to donate whatever you don’t want to Habitat and move your own stuff in,” Grace says. Then her eyes light up. “Oh, or you could give it to Carson! She’s looking to get her own apartment, so she’ll need furniture.”
Carson stands stock-still, her eyes wide, unable to speak.
Dan’s eyes cut to her, sweeping over her all-red outfit, her cheeks growing crimson to match. I’m pretty sure Carson has it bad for Dan. That or she’s just terrified of him. Maybe a little of both? Danger can certainly be fun in the right context. And from the way his gaze lingers on her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, I wonder if there’s not a little spark of something on his end too. Though using the word spark to describe anything about stoic Dan McBride feels wrong. The man carries himself like a Secret Service Agent, only the things he’s guarding are his own thoughts and feelings.
“Thanks,” Dan says, taking the keys from Grace and shoving them into the pocket of his suit pants. He looks at me, then slides his gaze over to Carson before he nods and turns, striding out the door like he’s heading into battle.
“Good talk, buddy!” I call as the door swings closed behind him.
Grace sighs. “Something is going on with him, but he’s a total vault.”
Carson lets out a little puff of breath, shifting from foot to foot like she’s finally coming back online. “That man scares the shit out of me,” she whispers.
“Yeah, but scary can be a little bit sexy, huh?” I wink, and her whole face goes pink.
“As much as I love encouraging my friends to date my brothers,” Grace says, giving me a trademark stop meddling look, “Dan is not for Carson.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because Dan is barely for Dan ,” she says. “You ladies both deserve to be with men who adore you and treat you like queens. Guys who have their shit figured out. That’s why I think you and Owen would be a perfect match, Wyatt. He would worship you.”
“And while I definitely deserve to be worshipped, it’s not what I want,” I say gently. “One and done—that’s my motto.”
That’s how you avoid getting hurt.
Grace rolls her eyes, but the pressure releases when a customer walks into the store and she springs into action. Within moments she’s walking the older woman to the romance section, peppering her with questions and pulling selections from the shelves. Carson settles into the overstuffed leather chair in the corner, scrolling through apartment listings on her phone, and I set Eden down on the carpet so she can practice her independent sitting. She still slumps forward, but her core strength is getting there. Soon she’ll be out of the happy little potato phase and on her way to becoming a person.
I can’t wait.
And then a voice coming from the store’s stereo system jerks me into awareness.
I haven’t heard her voice in years, but I know it well. I used to hear it coming out of our tiny bathroom as she washed her hair in the crappy apartment we shared in East Nashville. I heard it during closing at the dive bar where we worked, singing Dolly and Patsy and Reba and Shania as she placed chairs upside down on the tabletops. I heard it as she wrote her own songs, strumming her battered old Martin on that gaudy floral chair we found on the side of the road.
We always talked about what it would be like, hearing one of her songs on the radio for the first time. How we’d take a bottle of champagne to the Bluebird, toast, and pour out a glass on the stoop as an offering to the country gods.
And now there she is, clear as a bell, singing about all her worst mistakes.
I know those mistakes better than anyone.
I know that voice like it’s my own.
And I haven’t heard it since that day I left Nashville.
“Wyatt, are you okay?”
Grace is looking at me, brow furrowed, and I don’t think it’s because Eden is about to shove the corner of the Motley Crüe memoir into her gummy mouth.
“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “Just zoned out for a second.”
Through the speakers, the satellite radio DJ announces Romy Maxwell’s debut single, “All I Done Wrong.”
Eden squirms in my lap, but I can’t move a muscle. Because the DJ isn’t done talking.
“Romy Maxwell’s hitting the road this summer, opening for country superstar Griffin Stone on the Midwest leg of his US tour. You can hear that single and the rest of her debut album, Bad Mistake , which is rapidly climbing the charts, in Milwaukee, Chicago, Detroit, Indianapolis, and Cincinnati. So head to Griffin Stone’s website for tickets.”
She’s coming to Indianapolis. My former best friend has finally achieved country stardom and is touring with my ex-boyfriend, the man I caught her kissing right before he wrote a song about me and hit number one with it.