Chapter 11
Knowing what having a stalker feels like is the exact reason I shouldn’t be sitting on my front porch right now. But having that understanding isn’t stopping me.
A major reason for leaving the city was the hope I might get my drive to create music back, but if I’m honest with myself, I don’t know if I really thought it’d happen.
It’s why the only instrument I brought with me was my acoustic guitar.
Stonebridge Hollow and The Lantern Inn blew my expectations—my hopes—out of the water.
It’s like I’m eighteen again and just starting to explore making my own music. Learning how to build a melody and write lyrics, and desperately wanting to spend all my time doing that.
But I’m itching to have all my instruments with me—my banjo, my fiddle, and most especially my piano.
Is it an extravagance to figure out a way to get a piano? Absolutely.
Will that stop me from asking Madison if I can do it? Not in the slightest.
My soul is screaming at me to play around with anything and everything. I have all these ideas flying through my mind and I need to get them out. It’s like an invisible force driving me in a way I haven’t experienced in longer than I’d like to admit.
It’s been seven months since I’ve written any kind of music, but I’ve known I was on a downward spiral longer than that. Still, I didn’t realize just how out of love I’d fallen with the process of creating music.
If I really think about it, my last two albums were written in the depths of writer’s block—forced from a need to satisfy everyone, not just the label but my fans too.
When I listen to those albums, I hear the difference in every note and lyric.
I like to think my music hits on a wide range of emotions, just as life does, but those two albums were filled with darker imagery. Things I’ve always touched on but never written an entire album about, let alone two.
The sound of a screen door falling shut pulls me from my musings, and I wish I could say I don’t spring up from my chair like a jack-in-the-box but, unfortunately for me, I do.
Madison’s barely started down the steps of her front porch by the time I’m standing in front of her.
“Hey.” Her brows pinch and her eyes trace over my face, concern painted across her features. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I had a question for you. Well, maybe more of a favor.”
“Okay…” She drags the word out, the silent question obvious in her voice.
My gaze falls to my feet and I kick at an imaginary pebble on the walkway, not really sure where to start my request.
“I’m aware you don’t know anything about my career, and I don’t really know if that’s important for me to ask this favor, but I’m gonna give you some of it anyway.”
“Beck—”
“I’m a pretty successful folk singer.”
Madison’s hands land on her hips at the interruption, but I need to get this out.
I can talk about myself during an interview with little problem.
But talking about my success on a personal level?
Not something I’ve ever been able to do.
To an extent, I recognize I have every right to have pride in my work.
Maybe I even have a right to be a little egotistical about it, but it’s not who I am. And I hope it’s someone I’ll never be.
“Not getting into the specifics of what that actually means, I’ll just say that I’ve recorded fourteen albums over the last twenty years, and they’ve all done really well—way better than I ever could have imagined for myself, even at this point in my career.”
“All right…” She draws it out, her concern morphing to confusion, and I can’t say I blame her with my rambling.
“All that to say, I haven’t written anything new in over seven months, and it’s been even longer since I’ve actually found enjoyment in making music.”
Madison’s body relaxes, her hands falling from her hips, and something like pity filling her eyes. “I want to come back to how the number of albums you’ve recorded correlates to why you haven’t written anything in a while, but for now, what’s the favor?”
It’s my turn to be confused.
How do the two things not correlate? Of course my success should help push the fact that me not writing in almost a year is a big deal. That’s not pride or ego talking. It’s proof of how serious it is that I’m not creating anything new.
Fourteen albums in twenty years is roughly eighteen months between each album. At this point, there really isn’t any hope of me staying on pace to release my next album in the same timeline. It’s not just the label and Aaron breathing down my neck, it’s the pressure of letting my fans down too.
Madison reaches for me, placing her hand on my forearm.
“I just mean that music is clearly a part of you.” She pulls her hand back, her eyes shifting over my shoulder before she continues.
“Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think someone would continue doing what you are for over two decades without loving it.
” Her face softens as she brings her eyes back to mine.
“Your success doesn’t have any bearing on that.
The simple fact you haven’t written in such a long time is enough to tell me how big your favor is. ”
I have to stop myself from taking a step away from her. Her words and understanding look, like somehow she knows I haven’t been viewed as anything other than a commodity from most of the people in my life, hits me in a way I don’t understand.
Or maybe it has nothing to do with anyone else and everything to do with the fact that Madison’s words make me realize I don’t think I love what I do anymore. And I’m not sure when I stopped loving it, but I think it’s been a lot longer than three years.
“Decided to look me up?” I force a smile, trying to shift us back to lighter territory. Now isn’t the time for me to analyze my life choices.
I can’t change anything about where I am in my career right now. I have commitments I have to see through before I can make any drastic changes, but this new realization does mean I need to start thinking about what I want my future to look like.
“Of course not,” Madison rushes to say. “I said I didn’t want to, and I meant it. Anything I’ve learned has been from you.”
“I’m just teasing.” The smile on my lips isn’t forced this time.
I have no doubt there’s something magical about this place that somehow constantly brings the light back into the moment, but I think that magic might just be Madison Hawthorne herself.
She pushes at me with a slight chuckle, and I love the sound. “What’s the favor?”
“Right.” I shake my head, nearly forgetting the whole point of me stalking her this morning.
“I didn’t really expect to find the joy in music again, so I only brought my acoustic with me.
I know it’s a big ask, and it will require moving things around, but I was wondering if I could make space for a piano in the cottage? ”
“Oh.” The smile falls from Madison’s lips, and her entire body goes stiff.
“It’s okay if the answer’s no. I know it’s a big favor.”
“It’s not that.” She looks over her shoulder to her house, her weight shifting from foot to foot before her gaze comes back to me.
The sight of her biting her bottom lip has fire heating my veins, and an image of me soothing the bite takes center stage in my mind.
“I…” Her words stop and I have to force myself to pay attention. “I actually have a piano in the house.” She gestures over her shoulder. “I don’t know anything about pianos, but the guy who was out here restoring it seemed pretty impressed.” She shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal.
If I didn’t see the tension in how tight her shoulders are or her anxiety in the way she continues to shift her weight, I might not think anything of it.
“You’re offering to let me use the piano in your house?” I ask, wanting to make sure I understand.
Madison visibly swallows, her eyes bouncing between mine, as if she’s studying me. Maybe trying to decide if she can trust me in her space.
“Yeah.” Her body sags as she releases a sigh. “Only if you think it’ll work for you. There’s a lot going on around here, and that piano deserves to get some use. It’s too beautiful to just sit there gathering dust.”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m invading your space more than I already am.” A self-deprecating laugh slips free.
I hope she didn’t see me sitting on my porch waiting for her.
“I honestly don’t know how much I’ll be around the next few weeks. Thanksgiving to Christmas is pretty busy around here.”
My brows crease and I can’t help the worry that laces my words. “Maybe you should hire some help.”
It’s none of my business how she runs the inn or what she does with her life, but I know the dangers of running yourself into the ground, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Especially not someone as giving as Madison.
“You sound like my brothers.” She laughs.
While the sound brightens everything around me, her words have the opposite effect. “Please don’t compare me to your brothers,” I mumble.
It’s not that I don’t think her brothers are great guys, but I can’t stand the idea of Madison seeing me in the same light.
I can’t be the only one feeling this attraction between us.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I rush to say, not ready to make my thoughts a reality. “I just don’t want to see you get burned-out. I know how hard that can be.”
“I’m working on getting some additional staff.” Madison glances down at the watch on her wrist. “I actually have an interview in a little over an hour.”
“Crap. I’m holding you up from your run. We can talk about this later.” I take a few steps back, trying to get out of her way, but she reaches for my arm, holding me in place.
“It’s fine.” She releases me almost as quickly as she stopped me, before taking a few steps away herself. “The door’s unlocked. Go check it out, you can’t miss it. We can talk more later.” Madison doesn’t wait for me to respond before she’s jogging off in the direction she takes every morning.
I’d like to say I don’t watch her as she goes, but that would be a lie. It’d be an even bigger lie to say my eyes don’t stray down to her round ass, perfectly outlined in the dark leggings she wears.
It’s not until she disappears from sight that I shake myself from my inappropriate thoughts, ones where I imagine Madison’s ass bare in front of me as I drive into her from behind.
Giving myself a mental slap, I turn away from where she went and move toward the house. Thinking about the woman who’s ten years younger than me and living next door like that when I won’t—and can’t—do anything about it isn’t helpful to anyone.
Stepping up to the front door, I remember her words about the front door being unlocked and my thoughts move from passion and attraction to fear and anger.
It doesn’t matter how small of a town she lives in or how safe she might feel, leaving the door unlocked is never okay. There are messed-up people everywhere in the world, and it’d be a travesty if something happened to her because of a silly mistake like leaving the door unlocked.
But the moment I walk inside, I’m struck by how beautiful the place is.
Madison and her family didn’t boast enough about the amazing job she did renovating this place.
I knew she was capable with how the cottage looks, but this house was a much bigger project and could have easily been overwhelming—and maybe it was.
Madison found the perfect way to blend modern touches with all the historic character of the house.
The entry is bright with colors and large windows but the crown molding and dark hardwood floors give the place a warm feeling.
And while she opened up the space by using archways, it isn’t the open concept typically found in newer homes.
I want to move in every direction—up the stairs to my left, straight down the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house, and into the front room to my right. But the sight of the piano is what makes the decision for me.
It’s a work of art all on its own. I’m not an expert on pianos—I know what I like and stick with it—but the idea of playing on an instrument with so much history attached to it pulls at something inside me.
I can’t explain it, but it’s like Madison’s love of history is rubbing off on me.
A few steps into the room and I’m able to run my fingers over the keys. It’s second nature for me to sit on the bench and start playing. The sounds that follow are clear and intimate. The perfect combination for me, and exactly what I’m looking for.
I don’t know how long I sit there getting lost in the music, but it’s a feeling I haven’t had in so long. My ringing phone might piss me off if it wasn’t the person I needed to talk to most.
As long as Madison is truly okay with me invading her space, I have one piece of the puzzle figured out. But I’ll still need Aaron’s help to get me my banjo and fiddle.
Ian probably isn’t going to be too happy about this, but now that I’ve felt the pull and joy again, I don’t want to lose it. This is what I’ve been missing, and to know I can get it back changes everything.