Chapter 5
Sunday
I can’t stop thinking about it.
I slip the take-out hot cocoa that I just purchased from the diner into the cup-holder in Casey’s truck, and I pull my cell from my purse, lowering the brim of my cowgirl hat over my eyes.
He’s not in the Army anymore… and he might have just asked me out.
I mean, maybe Jason didn’t technically ‘ask me out’. As some sort of mountain search-and-rescue warden he was probably just looking out for me, after being so exposed to what can happen to hikers during the colder seasons. And that thing he mentioned about the outdoor cinema screening was most likely the nostalgia talking.
But I can’t help feeling unbelievably happy about seeing him, especially when he seemed just as happy to see me.
Warmth spreads through my chest as I think about everything that happened this morning. About watching him set up the canopy from my lookout on the back porch, before telling him that I needed to head into town.
The way that he immediately made his way over to me and gave me his handsome country-boy smile when I told him that I’d left a mug of coffee for him on Casey’s kitchen counter.
The way that he told me that he’d be stopping by again later this week, and then nervously rubbed at the back of his neck as he reminded me that I’ve got his phone number on the card.
His subtle small-town way of saying that he wants me to use it.
And I can’t help but smile because I’m really freaking tempted.
The sound of a door slamming shut brings me back to the present, and I glance across the street from my position behind the windshield.
I slide a little farther down the drivers’ seat and tip up the brim of my cowgirl hat so that I can check out the pedestrians bundling up as they walk by.
In Phoenix Falls town-square it’s business as usual, with people buying supplies from the mountain-wear outfitters, and others stopping for food in the diner that I just walked out of. The sky is a light afternoon blue, with fluffy grey clouds hovering close by, and a pedestrian glances through my windshield and tips his cowboy hat when he catches my eye.
I breathe out a shaky exhale of relief, grateful that this town is nothing like Nashville.
Because if this was Nashville that guy would have been asking me for a photo, or maybe even dialling the press to let them know my current location. But in Phoenix Falls he’s just a guy being a gentleman, totally unaware of who I am and just acknowledging me to be polite.
And here he’s wearing cowboy boots because he’s an actual cowboy.
I return the small smile and then drop my attention back to my cell, opening up the search engine and finally beginning to type.
Sunday Wells. Riley Dutton.
And then I click enter.
I nibble gently on my lower lip as I scroll through the headlines.
One hour ago.
Two hours ago.
Eight hours ago.
I press my fingers against my forehead before pulling my hat back down over my eyes, willing myself to breathe calmly as I face the fact that the press’s interest hasn’t died down at all.
If anything the story is getting bigger, which is probably to do with the fact that Riley’s new album is about to be released.
I pinch one of the photos beside a headline and my jaw drops open as I zoom in, because is that a new photo of me sitting in the private booth back at Cash’s Bar with Riley and his team?!
How the hell did the Observer even get a hold of these images?
And I can totally see how they’re managing to paint the idea that he and I had a secret relationship, but the reality of this photo is that we’d just written up a contract – something that was mutually beneficial for my bar and for Riley’s status. We were having a quiet celebration before him and his team left Nashville to go on the road, but there was sure as hell nothing romantic going on.
Even my body language in the photo screams we’re just friends for crying out loud! My right leg is literally crossed away from his – although, now that I’m looking at it, Riley’s arm is draped along the back of the booth, and it could kind of look as though he was trying to put it around me.
But even that’s a stretch.
I toss my phone on the passenger seat and pick up my hot cocoa, frowning out of the windshield as I try to tamper down my irritation.
I didn’t move to Nashville so that I could become a country star – I moved to Nashville so that I could save the bar that my mom and step-dad fell in love in.
It was my way of honouring the life that Cash gave us, for showing Casey and I what a family feels like, even if it was taken away from us all too soon.
I sure as hell didn’t move to Nashville so that I could suddenly become famous. I mean, if I’d wanted that I would have gone to LA.
I shoot a wary glance over to my cell and slowly pick it up again.
And after another minute of scrolling I close the tabs and clear the past hour’s search history, holding my phone against my chest as I stare up at the roof of the truck.
Everyone in Nashville thinks that I’m Riley Dutton’s ‘secret girlfriend’. Riley Dutton, who has over seven million fans and a sold-out tour for an album that hasn’t even been released yet.
I breathe out a shaky exhale and make a tiny prayer that I don’t now have seven million enemies.
I take a few moments to let my adrenaline settle, coming to terms with the fact that there’s no way I’ll be going back to Nashville anytime soon. Even with the job offer that’s still sitting untouched in my emails, I don’t need to make any big decisions yet.
Plus, it’s the perfect opportunity to help Casey before he returns home.
I glance back down at my phone and my mind circles back to this morning, the thought of Jason’s six-foot-four frame standing over mine in the cabin.
I would love to see him again, but there’s a whole host of things that I need to clear up before I do.
And if I do take him up on his offer… what exactly was he offering?
To hang out as friends? To save me from having my ass handed to me in the mountains?
Or to finally make the move that we both always wanted?
It wasn’t that I was too young at seventeen to want to be with him.
It’s that I’d loved a soldier before and my heart couldn’t handle losing another.
I tilt my head back against the seat, so lost in the memory of us and what could have been, before finally pulling myself together and throwing open my door before I can change my mind.
We made a really tough call at a really young age, but it had been the right decision to prevent us from the inevitable future heartache.
Him being away all the time.
My constant fear about his job.
Even now that he’s no longer serving, his chosen careers are still really dangerous.
Like, all the heavy lifting required during his construction work? The terrible weather conditions he faces during his search-and-rescue missions?
Could he literally be doing anything more risky?
I mean, the first thing that he said to me was to avoid certain mountains, knowing how treacherous the roads are and how unpredictable the wild landscapes can be. And yet, not only does he go up those mountains regularly , but he’s saving other people’s lives when they’re in dangerous situations. Which, by default, means that he’s risking his own. As if he hadn’t already been doing that enough for the past freaking decade.
My cowgirl boots hit the blacktop and I lock the car without a backwards glance, suddenly riled up at how much danger he puts himself in.
Like, is he kidding? He went from risking his life in the Army to doing freaking search-and-rescue ? In mountains and passes that even he considers to be dangerous?
I pull his business card from my pocket, clutching it protectively as I cross the square.
One thing at a time , I remind myself, stepping up onto the sidewalk and making my way to the end of the row.
And then I’m standing right outside my brother’s secret investment, my eyes growing wide at how beautiful it looks.
Because I remember this town having a bar, but I sure as hell don’t remember it looking like that .
There’s a printed note taped beside the open door, announcing the fact that the bar is currently under renovation. And under that it states that the bar will be up and running by the summer.
Roughly around the time that Casey should be home.
I stare up at it, feelings racing, with only one thought in my mind.
Why the hell did Casey buy a bar?
Casey visited mom and me in Nashville on a multitude of occasions, but I’m fairly certain that he had no interest in running our bar. He’s my brother and we’re pretty close, so if he’d had any interest in it, he would have told me.
And even if he had wanted to run a bar of his own, I know that he would have just steepled his giant hands together and said, Sunday, I’ve been thinking.
And I would have had no issue with that because, as much as I adore Casey for being a soldier, I would do pretty much anything to make sure he would be safe for the rest of his life. So having him ask me for tips on managing a bar of his own would have been music to my ears, and I would have told him everything I could.
So I’m totally confused about why he’s keeping this a secret.
Did he not want me to know? Or is the bar not actually for him?
Is he helping out a friend who was struggling to manage it? Maybe someone who was struggling with money?
In which case, that would be super ironic seeing as Casey barely has a spare cent to his name.
“Oh boy,” I whisper, as I step closer to the front door, which, now that I think about it, is literally standing wide open.
Wait.
I glance around me.
Is Casey’s business partner in town right now?
I mean, I obviously know that Casey isn’t, seeing as I’ve been video-calling him while he’s on base. And he wouldn’t hide out in Phoenix Falls because every second that he’s at home he always spends with Haven and Tucker.
So with that possibility crossed off the list, I take a tentative step forward, until I’m just breaching the threshold and peering into the newly renovated bar.
It’s stunning, and so Casey, which makes my heart ache a little.
Why on earth is he hiding this from me?
It almost reminds me of his cabin, with its exposed log panelling and dark brown hues, the whole interior cosy and intimate, every pane gleaming and smooth to the touch.
I drop my hand from the wall and slowly make my way toward the back, resting both of my palms flat down on the supports of the L-shaped bar. It’s missing its counter top, which means this place is still very much mid-reno, and when I peek down the back-rooms corridor I can see that old appliances have been stripped out – meaning that there are definitely a few essentials that will need to be purchased before this bar is ready.
And they will no doubt be a few expensive essentials.
I tilt my head to the side and feel a blonde curl brush against my cheek.
I bite back a small smile.
This project has my name written all over it.
A small buzzing in my pocket recaptures my attention, and I give the bar one last look before heading back out into the afternoon light.
The grey-blue sky overhead is still threatening a storm, but the gentle drizzle that’s hitting the pavement looks like it’ll be sufficing for now.
I pull my cell out of my jacket and tap onto my email notification.
My eyes light up with surprise when I see that it’s a message from Casey – the spotty cell service in the area probably making the email come through later than it otherwise would have. So I tap a quick message out to him in response, not knowing if it’ll send while I’m not connected to his WiFi but trying nonetheless.
And then I’m smiling as I step into the gentle rainfall, knowing exactly what I can do while I’m back in town.
Casey is currently super low on cash, and I’ve just been transferred more money than anyone could ever need. Plus, I’ve spent over ten years running one of the finest bars in Nashville, meaning that, if he needs a helping hand, I’m more than suitable for this particular job.
I shield my eyes from the cool rain, glancing around to see if I can spot Casey’s business partner. But when no-one in the square catches my eye, I turn on my heel back toward Casey’s truck.
And smack head-first into a guy coming from the opposite direction.
I stumble back a step, breathing out a laugh as I glance up at the unsuspecting figure, his expression half-startled as a smirk curls his lip.
“Apologies,” he says, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He looks me up and down as he pockets his lighter.
He looks like a bouncer – broad, tall, and good-looking – with dark blonde scruff on his jaw that makes him seem Scandinavian.
He raises his eyebrows toward the bar that I’ve just stepped out of, and I instantly raise my own, wondering if this guy could be Casey’s business partner.
“Bar’s closed for a couple months,” he states.
I can’t stop myself. “Is it yours?”
He shakes his head and puffs on his cigarette before removing it with his thumb and forefinger.
“I wish,” he says gruffly, blowing smoke to the side as he taps the ash. “Whole town’s gonna love this place.”
“Why’s that?”
He jerks his chin at it. “Take a look.”
I glance back at it over my shoulder, admiring the gleaming wood even from here.
The guy takes another drag on his cigarette, and without even looking at him I feel his gaze on my face.
“You new in town?” he asks suddenly.
I breathe out a laugh at that. “I’m the opposite of new in town.”
He looks me over and tips his chin, a silent request for me to continue.
I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans, blowing a curl from my face as I stare at the bar.
“This is my hometown. I haven’t been back for a while.”
“Why’s that?”
I slide him an amused look for repeating my earlier words back to me.
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he takes another drag from his cigarette.
“I moved to Nashville,” I tell him.
The boy who I loved in high school joined the military when I was seventeen and I couldn’t bear the idea of waiting around for him in this small town, is what I don’t tell him.
He nods as he casually takes in my outfit – the big fluffy jacket, the pale denim jeans, and the pointed tips of my trusty cowgirl boots.
“Yeah, you’ve got Nashville written all over you,” he admits. He swipes his free hand through his hair and asks, “You back for good?”
I genuinely have no idea, so I just shrug and say, “Maybe.”
His mouth quirks into a smile and his eyes meet mine. “Lucky us.”
I breathe out another laugh at that and give him a you wish eyebrow raise as I start to back away and head toward Casey’s truck.
He gives me a friendly wink and calls out, “Name’s Beckett, by the way.”
“Whatever,” I call back to him, rolling my eyes but still smiling.
I reach the truck, climb inside, and sit back for a moment, revelling in the whirlwind morning that I’ve just had, with about fifty million revelations in the space of four hours.
I kick the engine to life and gently ease the brim of my hat from over my eyes, shaking my head with a smile as Beckett tips his chin at me.
I laugh quietly as I drive past him and give him a small salute of my own.
Then I turn up the country song on the radio, thinking, God, I love small towns.