25. Greta
ONE YEAR LATER . . .
L aw wrestles with the pocket door between our primary bedroom and bathroom again. If he’d open it with patience, it wouldn’t get stuck, but I’ve given up trying to convince him.
“Dammit, Greta. We have got to put a real door here,” he says. “This isn’t working.”
“That’s hundred-year-old heart pine. We are not taking it out. And it works fine. You just have to show it a little love.”
“I still don’t know how I let you talk me into this place.”
I turn and flip my skirt up over my ass.
“Oh, yeah.” He zips his suitcase. “If we didn’t live two hours outside Nashville, we wouldn’t have to pack a bag to go to a show.”
“It’s barely an hour and a half. And you love spending a few days in the city.”
“I love you. That’s why I make these sacrifices.”
“And I love you. But I also love this house.”
“Sometimes, I think you might love it more.”
“Aw, sweetie. I love you both the same.” I spin around, hoping he’s paying more attention to me than the creak of our old hardwood floors. “Do these boots look okay with this outfit or should I change?”
“You look amazing. Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready. I was just waiting on you.”
Even with valet parking and VIP tickets, we barely make it to our seats before the lights go down.
He takes the stage like he was born to be there, and the crowd goes wild when he steps up to the mic.
“Hello, Nashville! Thank y’all for coming out tonight. And special thanks to special friends who made this life happen for me.”
His eyes find us, and Law nods discreetly. I bounce on my toes, blow him a kiss, and wave. The fact that Derringer acknowledges us like that at the opening of every show we attend is testament to his character. He was always good. He just needed to find his people.
We all did.
I still get chills when his voice resonates from the stage.
“I’m from a long line of tall men with loud mouths
They say loyalty matters and blood is the glue,
But all that’s left in their veins is . . .”
The whole arena joins in to shout, “That west Texas crude!”
Law squeezes my hand, and the smile on his face tells me everything I need to know. We’re going to have a great weekend in Nashville. Derringer’s show tonight, the Astros game in his favorite sports bar tomorrow . . .
By Monday, when I tell him I’m ready to renovate the barn, he’ll be in a much better place to hear it. He’ll balk about it until it’s underway, and he’ll complain until it’s done, but he’s going to love that recording studio.
Thank you for reading Greta and Law's story! What's coming next in the Rocky Start Romance series? You won't want to miss Darby and Zane's story. Enjoy this sneak peek:
Another prerecorded airport announcement makes it nearly impossible to hear the person on the other end of my phone call. A stroller bumps my ass, so I weave my way through the crowded gate to stand by the windows, where I will hopefully not be trampled and will probably get better reception, anyway.
As soon as I stake my spot and come to a stop, my purse slips off my shoulder, pulling my arm down and causing hot coffee to slosh through the little plastic sipping hole and onto my hand. “Holy shit! That’s ridiculous.”
The customer service rep’s voice breaks up again, but I make out the words. No more cursing and not ridiculous .
“Not you. The coffee. It’s ridiculously hot. Can we stay on topic, please?”
Her voice comes through loud and clear now, but she is definitely being ridiculous.
“Of course, I don’t expect you to be able to control the weather! But I am a platinum-level frequent flyer on your airline, and I do expect you to have some sort of priority list for rescheduling!”
I pause to take a tiny sip of my lava-hot coffee before I start to yell. Okay, before I yell louder because this whole situation is outrageous. “Don’t tell me how I’m allowed to talk to you. You have no idea the day I’ve had! All I’m asking is that you—”
I’m assaulted again, this time by the backpack the guy next to me swings up by a strap as he lifts it from the floor and turns to walk away, never even looking back to apologize. I know he knows he hit me with that thing. Jerk.
“Hello? Hello?” She fucking hung up on me.
Nobody cares about anyone else anymore. We are an entire society of ruthless assholes. No one in this terminal knows I got fired today, but I feel like it’s been stamped on my forehead. Not a single one of these people would care if it was.
But I care. I care a whole hell of a lot because I cared about that job. And not just for the paycheck. I lived for that damned job. And I was the best PR executive the agency had. They’ll regret letting me go.
And when they come crawling back, I’ll already be on to bigger and better things. Fuck them.
But right now, I’m supposed to be on a plane headed for Florida to decompress on a beach for a week. I deserve that!
Another woman looks up to make eye contact from her seat at the end of a row. She gives me a look of solidarity. Women get it. We know when one of our own is going through some shit.
“How can every damn flight have a weather delay, right?” I ask. “It’s not possible that the entire country is having bad weather!”
“Can you please stop yelling? You’re not the only person in this airport. You’re not even the only one being inconvenienced. And clearly, the weather here is the problem."
Oh, no, she did not just speak to me like that. I thought she was another strong woman ready to commiserate. But she’s just another passive passenger, willing to take whatever abuse the airlines dole out. Fucking sheep. I don’t have to stand here and be condescended to like this.
I turn on my heels and slam face-first into a wall.
A wall sporting such a curated business casual look he could be on his way to a photo shoot. No one outside of a menswear ad is this put together on a random Thursday afternoon.
Look at those shoulder-length waves of brown hair, just messy enough to make him look approachable, which is the last vibe anyone should want to give in an airport.
The only flaw on him is my coffee spilled all over his off-white leather slip-on shoes. Goddammit. Now, I have to apologize to this walking billboard, who is probably going to make it a whole thing because men who look like him always do.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realize you had creeped up on me. I’ll pay for your shoes.”
“No worries.”
Oh, perfect. There’s the million-dollar smile that completes the look. He pulls a stack of napkins from his laptop bag, crouches down, and wipes off his shoes. “They’re wipeable.”
“They’re leather, so they’re also stainable. Who has the audacity to wear any shade of white shoes on a travel day?”
“Not stainable,” he says, standing back up to tower over me by a good six inches. “Sustainable. Vegan leather.”
“I definitely should’ve seen that coming.”
He jogs to a trashcan to dispose of his coffee-soaked napkins. I walk away in the other direction.
“Wait up.” He can’t be serious. What does he want from me? His shoes are fine. I speed up.
“Are we power walking?” he asks as his long legs close the gap between us in a few strides.
“Listen, I have had a supremely shitty day. And now, my coffee is gone. So, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“That’s why I had to catch up with you.”
“To make my day even shittier?”
“No. To replace your coffee. I’m the reason you spilled it.”
Wait a minute.
“You want to take responsibility for our collision? Why? You were standing still, and I ran into you.”
“I creeped up on you. Not intentionally. It’s pretty crowded in here. But still, you had no idea I was there. It was an accident.”
“Exactly. A no-fault accident, so there’s no need for you to replace my coffee. Got it?” I walk faster again.
“Okay. But I want to replace it.”
“Well, we don’t always get what we want.”
He laughs. What is wrong with this lunatic?
“That wasn’t a joke.”
“Oh, I’m aware. But you’re funny without trying. You’re also incredibly pretty, even with a scowl on your face.”
“So help me, if you tell me to smile right now—”
“I would never tell you to smile. I’d like a shot at giving you a reason to, though.”
“The last thing I need right now is a stalker.”
“No one needs a stalker. And I’m not one. But I still want to replace your coffee.”
“If I let you buy me coffee, then will you leave me alone?”
We turn the corner. The line for the coffee shop is at least thirty people deep.
He flashes me that megawatt smile again. “If, after we stand in that line together and chat until you get your new coffee, you still have no interest in getting to know me, then yes, I will leave you alone.”
“I can guarantee you that’s how I’m going to feel.”
His hand fans toward the line. “After you.”