Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Austin
Waking up with Cassie in my arms is something I’m still getting used to.
Her legs are tangled with mine beneath the covers, and she’s thrown her arm over my waist. After our shower last night, she put her hair in a plait—a style I’ve noticed she prefers for sleep.
With her glasses still perched safely on the side table, I have the perfect view of her face.
Like this, there’s no sign of the dark cloud that’s been her constant companion since she came to town.
While I like to believe that I—and the friends she’s made here—have brought some sunshine to her life, I worry it’s not enough.
I’m not stupid—there’s obviously more to whatever is going on between Cassie and her mother than she’s let on.
Cassie wants to stay here, but whatever secrets she’s keeping are holding her back.
My head knows the woman in my arms meant it when she said she wants to make Pine Grove her new home.
However, I’m self-aware enough to recognise that the part of me shaped by the young boy I used to be, whose father left to start a new family and never looked back, won’t feel at ease until Cassie’s put a concrete plan in place.
“You’re thinking awfully hard over there. What’s on your mind?” Cassie’s voice is thick with sleep.
“The future.”
She snuggles closer to lay a soft kiss on my bare chest. “You’re worried about something?”
I can’t tell her the truth. Not without coming across like I’m pushing her to tell me what she’s hiding before she’s ready. “No, not really.”
Her fingers lightly trace over my arm, creating patterns between my freckles that only she can see. “You sure?”
I kiss the top of her head. “Yeah. I just like to plan ahead, that’s all.”
Cassie’s baby-blue eyes search mine as if she might find the answers she’s looking for if only she looks hard enough. “OK. These mysterious plans had better include me, though.”
“Of course they do.” Wanting to lighten the mood, I add, “Who else is going to steal all my shirts?”
* * *
Cassie
Austin’s nervous, but I think the best way to approach this practice session is for me to act like everything’s fine.
He’s more likely to relax if I keep the focus on the music rather than on him.
We’re sitting on opposite ends of his navy couch, guitars in hand.
I’m not surprised he could tune his by ear—it’s obvious he’s an experienced musician even if he’s not confident in his abilities.
With anyone else, I’d assume it was false modesty, but that’s not who Austin is.
With Austin, what you see is what you get, and if you don’t like what you get, you can go somewhere else.
It’s one of the things I like most about him.
Unlike with the people in my old life, there’s no need to be constantly on guard, searching for a hidden motive.
If Austin wants something, he’ll ask for it, just like he did by asking me to perform at Bowman’s again.
I agreed because I genuinely want to do it, but I know that if I’d turned him down, he would have respected my decision.
Guilt churns in my stomach and I fidget uncomfortably.
With our performance scheduled for just under three weeks away, the pressure’s on for me to figure out how I’m going to share my secret.
Doing a second gig as Cassie St. James could blow my cover, but I don’t know how to tell Austin the truth.
The longer I keep quiet, the more difficult it becomes.
I think we’ll be OK as long as I tell him before our performance.
That’s the only way to guarantee he’ll hear the truth from me before anyone else can find out and beat me to it.
What I do know is that right now, while Austin’s practically gnawing a groove into his lower lip with worry, is not the time to tell him.
Leaning forward, I grab my phone from the coffee table and open the music app, pulling up the first of the two song suggestions I came up with.
I’m not sure if Austin will know them. If he doesn’t, I’ll play them and see what he thinks.
“Alright, I have a couple of songs in mind, but if you don’t like my choices, we can absolutely change them,” I tell Austin.
He perks up. “What have you picked?”
They’re both country songs. I went with one classic and one more modern option. Austin’s face lights up with recognition when I rattle off my suggestions.
“I already know the chords for both.” His smile dims. “Or I did. Like I said before, until you caught me in my office, it had been a few months since I last played. I kind of let the bar take over my whole life for a while there,” he admits sheepishly.
“That’s because you love Bowman’s and it needed your attention for it to become what it is today.
Now that you’ve reopened and things are running smoothly, you can make room for other things you love again.
It’ll just take a little while to get back into the habit of keeping your personal time a work-free zone. ”
“I don’t think adjusting will be a problem. I’m feeling pretty motivated to make time for the things I love.” The tips of his ears darken, and he breaks the moment, patting his guitar. “I will need a quick reminder of the chords for these songs, though.”
“No problem.” I pull up the web browser on my phone, then hand it to him. “Those are the tabs for the first song.”
I give Austin a few minutes to re-familiarise himself with the chords, then we do a few practice runs where I quietly sing along.
“You’ve totally got it,” I tell him when we finish our latest run-through. “Are you ready to add in your vocals?”
“I’m really not much of a singer,” he argues.
“Please. I heard you while you were doing the dishes the other day. You’ve got a great voice.”
He scoffs. “No, you’ve got a great voice. I’m… passable at best.”
“Well, passable is still a pass, so let’s go.”
“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”
I grin. “Nope.”
“Why did I invite you inside my house again?” he teases.
“Probably something to do with all the sex.”
“So, you’re saying I’m just another man facing the repercussions of choices his dick made?”
“You sweet talker. And they say romance is dead,” I quip.
He sighs in defeat.
“Ah, there it is, the fifth and final stage of grief—acceptance.”
Austin snorts, shooting me an incredulous look. “What am I supposed to be grieving?”
I shrug. “The death of your single life?”
“Nothing sad about that, Trouble.”
“How about the loss of your ability to say no to me?” I suggest, batting my lashes.
“That sounds about right. Fine, I’ll sing.” Hesitation creeps into his expression. “Let me run through it a couple of times on my own first?”
“Sure.” I stand up, set my guitar on the couch, then press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll grab us some water from the kitchen. Don’t worry, I’ll wait ten minutes before coming back.”
It only takes seven minutes before I hear the low rumble of Austin’s voice. Smiling, I pick up our glasses of water and head back into the living room only to freeze when I realise that he’s on the phone—my phone.
“Who is this?” A pause. My heart leaps into my throat.
What if whoever’s on the other end gives me away?
The only people outside of Pine Grove who should have that number are Liam, Bailey, and Ant.
None of them would purposefully spill my secret, but what if they said something before realising that I’m not the one who answered the call?
“You’ve got the wrong number,” Austin says, then hangs up.
That means whoever called didn’t ask for me—at least not by my real name. Dread grips my chest. Either this really was an innocent mistake, or someone from my old life got hold of my new number and called asking for Melody.
“You answered my phone?”
“Yeah, sorry I was scrolling through the tabs for the other song when it rang—I hit accept by mistake.”
“Who was it?”
“I didn’t get a name. It was a posh woman looking for someone called Melody.”
Miranda. It must be. I don’t know how she got my new number, but I’m sure it was her. “Can I see?”
Austin gives me an appraising look as he hands over my phone. “Are you OK? You’ve gone really pale.”
Sure enough, when I bring up my call log, Miranda’s number is at the top of the list. When I swipe the screen away, I notice Ant has sent me a text.
Ant:
I can’t be sure, but I think Miranda’s gone through my phone.
She stopped by the house again to ask more questions about where you’d gone.
I left my phone on the coffee table like an idiot while I went to fetch her a bottle of water.
When I came back, she barely stayed five minutes, and she looked too happy when she left.
Wanted to warn you just in case. I’m sorry.
Ignoring Austin’s growing concern, I type out a quick reply, grateful he didn’t see Ant’s text. That would have only led to more questions I’m not ready to answer.
Me:
She did, but it’s OK. A friend answered my phone when she called and told her she had the wrong number. That should throw her off the scent for now.
To my surprise, my phone chimes with an immediate response from Ant. He must really have been stressing out over this.
Ant:
I’ll delete all our messages in case she somehow gets hold of my phone again. Do you need me to fly out there?
Me:
Not yet. Can you keep an eye on Miranda?
Consider it done.
You’re not coming back to Nashville, are you?
No. Nashville isn’t home anymore.
Forcing a smile onto my face that probably looks as brittle as I feel, I retake my seat.
“I’m fine.” Even if Miranda somehow gets her hands on Ant’s phone again, he still thinks I’m at Liam and Bailey’s place in London, and it’s not like Austin will have answered the phone by announcing our location.
She might figure out that I’m in England, but nobody except for Liam and Bailey knows where I really am. My secret is still safe.
Guilt gnaws at me—I should tell Austin everything right now, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I’m not ready for this to be over. While I think he’ll understand my need for secrecy, there’s every chance he won’t look at me the same way once he knows the truth.
Austin’s a private person, and being with me means being thrust into the public eye.
Plus, if he knows I’m Melody Night, there’s no way that he’ll perform with me at Bowman’s.
He’s too damn good to keep hiding his gift away.
That settles it. I’m going to wait until right after we perform together, then I’ll tell him everything. “Shall we take it from the top?”