Chapter 2
[Cadence]
“Where are you?” My older sister’s concern rings through the phone as I cross the quaint small-town street and slide into my BMW.
I’d arrived in Sterling Falls yesterday evening when I’d originally told Enya I wouldn’t be here until this morning.
I’d planned to surprise her by arriving a day early. Last second, my plans changed.
“Getting coffee.” What I hadn’t planned on was running into Ford so soon. Or having him stare at me like I was a blank music score.
The heavy pause between Enya and me hints my sister wants more details. More like, where was I last night? And who was I with?
My reputation isn’t one that surprises Enya. Being the best between us, she’s never judged me for my lifestyle or my decisions. I live large. Over the years, I’ve sometimes thought she was jealous of me, but I’ve learned through therapy I’m more envious of her.
I want to be a better person. I tried and made the biggest mistake of my life.
“Don’t you worry your love-swollen head,” I tease.
Enya sighs. She does worry because she knows the error of my ways. Again, she’s not passing judgment on me, she’s just concerned, no matter how many times I’ve tried to reassure her that I’m fine. It’s over.
I straighten my shoulders, take another sip of the coffee I stole from Ford, and repeat the mantra in my head.
I’m fine.
It’s over.
A broken heart is good for a singer’s soul.
I could write an entire album based on my experience.
I should be writing, or at least fiddling with my guitar, but somehow my head and my heart aren’t getting the memo.
I’ve hit a dry spell. It could also be that I’m exhausted.
A world tour isn’t for the faint of heart.
“I’m leaving town now, and I’ll be to your house in ten,” I wistfully announce.
Sterling Falls is a cute mountain town in West Virginia with two main crossroads and a green square just off the small business district.
The community is perfect for my sister and her future.
The one that includes a gorgeous husband and her beautiful baby girl, Adara.
A few months ago, Enya moved here as a single, new mom, and her world flipped upside down when she met the curmudgeon baker, a local reformed bad boy from a huge family.
I haven’t met every Sylver, but I know who Ford Sylver is. Who didn’t?
The tall, lean, six-foot something machine was a looker. With hooded eyes full of ghosts and cliff-like cheeks, he’s a study in edgy masculinity. Not to mention, he does this jaw tick thing, like he’s clenching his molars, biting back his feelings. Or he wouldn’t mind taking a nip of me.
Either way, he’s as tense as they come.
Not that I know anything about him coming.
We might have played a little drinking game, and he told me a thing or two about himself last night, but I don’t have sex with married men. Or newly divorced ones.
With a full-body shiver, I take another sip of my coffee. Unfortunately, the liquid gold doesn’t dull the sudden chill of Evan’s memory.
“See you soon,” Enya’s voice breaks into my wandering thoughts, and I nod as if she can see me.
“Soon.” With a more genuine smile in my voice, I click off the phone, set my coffee in the drink holder, and start the ignition.
I’m a shaky driver. Being driven everywhere when I’m on tour has had the residual effect of diluting the practice, but I wanted to drive to my sister’s house like any good sister might.
The distance from here to my home in Nashville is only five hours. Five blissful hours of alone time.
Right foot accelerator. Left pedal is brake. Hands at ten and two. Glance over your shoulder to reverse and . . .
I slam my foot on the brake as my gaze catches on Ford in the review mirror. He is exiting the Curmudgeon Bakery with a drink carrier full of coffees and a bakery bag on top of a box of donuts.
He is such a good-looking man with his short dark hair and artfully-scruffed face. A hint of his fragrance wafts through my nose. Worn leather and fresh fields. Strange, as he’s all the way over there and I can’t possibly smell him from here.
Still, a woman learns these things when she tries to undress a drunken, shattered man.
For the first time in my life, a man wasn’t trying to grope, fondle, or get me into bed in a strange hotel room.
And I didn’t need, nor want, to go anywhere sexual with Ford either.
If anything, I simply wanted to help. To take away his hurt and sorrow.
To erase the heartache that seemed to be permanently etched into the furrows of his face.
He wasn’t at the I’m-fine-It’s-over stage with his relationship.
Since neither my company nor tequila did the trick, I laid down beside him on the bed until I was certain he wouldn’t be sick.
It was a very strange, decidedly unsexual, yet oddly intimate experience.
And I didn’t know what to make of it. Shaking my head, I turn back to the task at hand—driving to my sister’s place.
Only, my gaze flits to the screen on the dash where I wirelessly programmed my phone. A text pops up, mechanically read to me in an eerie monotone voice.
“Did you sleep alone last night?”
Forgetting all that I’m supposed to do, my foot slips from the brake pedal, I release the steering wheel, and the car rolls backward.
Before I can react, I see Ford Sylver through the rearview mirror again, eyes wide and tight, shouting something before my car rear-ends an SUV parked across the road.