Force of Will (Incendiary Ink #2)

Your Touch

WILL

"You're distracted." Maya looks up from her pad thai. "Studio session go okay?"

I've been pushing noodles around my plate for ten minutes, thinking about the way Raine's voice wrapped around the harmonies today. About how natural it felt, having her back in the control room. Our Thursday dinner ritual at Lotus Thai usually helps clear my head, but tonight even the familiar comfort of Maya's company isn't enough.

"Dad?"

"Sorry." I focus on my daughter's too-perceptive expression. "Session was fine. Your mom's still the best in the business."

"I know." She stirs her tea, too casual. "That's why I asked her to sing at the wedding."

The words hit like a missed cue.

"She's doing At Last."

My chopsticks freeze halfway to my mouth. Our wedding song. The one she used to sing at clubs, the one playing when I first saw her on stage. The one she surprised me with at our wedding reception.

"Dad?"

"Good choice." My voice sounds steady. Almost natural. "Classic."

"It was your song, right?" As if she doesn't know. As if she hasn't seen the wedding video a hundred times.

"Maya Elizabeth."

"What?" Pure innocence. "I just thought it would be nice. Mom already agreed."

Of course, she did. Which means she spent all day in the studio, directing my harmonies, critiquing my timing, and never said a word about planning to sing our wedding song at our daughter's reception.

"When did you ask her?"

"Last week." Maya sips her tea. "After Lucas's show."

The Whiskey. When she was watching us watch each other. Planning this all along.

Though lately, everything feels like a plan. Like Raine choosing a condo three blocks from my house after her divorce, when she could have bought anywhere in LA. Like Maya suggesting we keep our standing Thursday dinner at this Thai place, which just happens to be halfway between my place and Raine's new building. Even the route home takes me past her street – not that I'm counting the steps from her front door to mine.

Four hundred and twelve. Give or take.

"You're as subtle as a crash cymbal, you know that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." But her smile is pure Raine – that hint of mischief she used to get before surprising me with late-night studio visits. "Besides, we need to talk about the ceremony music, too."

"One ambush at a time, please."

She laughs – her mother's laugh. "Come on, dad. You really think Mom suggested At Last?"

"She didn't?"

"She tried to talk me out of it. Said it might be too complicated."

The server clears our plates. I try to push away the memory of Raine in that ivory dress, focus on my daughter instead of wondering if her mother was thinking about that moment today in the studio.

"How's the rest of the planning going?" Safe territory. "Devon's family still flying in from Boston?"

"For the menu tasting next month." She pulls out her phone. "His mom's got strong opinions about the cake. Though not as strong as Devon’s opinions about the band."

I smile despite myself. Devon's a good kid – corporate lawyer who quotes Zeppelin lyrics in legal briefs and geeks out over vintage guitars. The kind of son-in-law a musician couldn't help but like.

"He's still pushing for the string quartet to learn 'Stairway'?"

"Actually, he had another idea." She scrolls through her notes. "About the processional..."

"Maya."

"The planner needs to know about dietary restrictions first," she continues smoothly. "Chase mentioned you're all doing that clean eating thing for the tour?"

"His idea. Something about maintaining sobriety through healthy choices." I shake my head. "Never thought I'd see Chase Avery drinking green smoothies."