CHAPTER 2
CARY
“Wow,” Cary muttered as the truck drove away.
When he’d first met Tyler all those years ago, he’d liked her immediately. She was sharp, funny, and utterly uninterested in the fact that he was Cary Kingston. Unfortunately, every time they crossed paths, she kept it strictly business—and seemed completely unimpressed.
He shouldn’t have mentioned the checks for Sebastien. That made it sound like a work thing. And asking someone you work with out for a drink? Risky. Hell, in today’s world, it could easily come off as harassment.
But tonight, he was going to pull out all the stops.
He’d reserve the entire restaurant. She’d seemed on edge at the coffee shop—annoyed by the fans, the interruptions, the eyes. This way, they could actually talk. Just the two of them.
If she showed up.
Cary’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he answered with a warm, casual tone. “Hey, Vegas.”
“The coast is clear,” came the gruff reply. His tour manager didn’t bother with greetings or small talk—never had. Cary didn’t need the details. He knew exactly what that meant.
Emma had been on her way to surprise him in Chicago when he—well, when he’d asked Vegas to quietly book him a flight to Vancouver instead. Detour complete. Drama avoided. For now.
Emma Turner, a B-list actress with A-list delusions, was a walking tabloid headline. They’d been on and off for years, but mostly off—depending who you asked.
“Thanks for taking care of that,” Cary said, letting the mailbags drop to the ground. He ripped off his beanie and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I’ve told her a million times—we’re not getting back together.”
A brief pause followed.
“You good?” Vegas asked.
“I’m great,” Cary replied, just as the building’s concierge opened the door for him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you, man.”
Had Cary been stupid to think Emma was different from the other women he’d dated? Absolutely.
She’d seemed like an angel at first. But then again, that’s how all demons start.
Their relationship had been one of convenience—mostly on her end. The more tabloids she landed in, the more roles she booked. It wasn’t entirely his fault he hadn’t seen it coming. She’d fooled him with her finishing-school manners and Southern sweet talk.
Tyler was different in ways he couldn’t ignore.
She’d shown up to the office in leggings and a hoodie, no makeup, no pretense—something Emma would never do. But more importantly, Tyler appreciated music—the right kind of music.
Cary lived for a simple melody, the kind that could cut straight to the heart. And he needed someone who understood that.
When Get Back came out, he’d spent the first week watching it on a loop, completely mesmerized by the way the Beatles shaped songs from scratch. Tyler seemed like the kind of person who got it—who felt music the way he did.
And that was something he couldn’t shake.
As a kid, the radio had been his best friend. He was shy, the only child of older parents who didn’t really understand him. Making friends was hard. But everything changed the year he turned eight and found a guitar under the Christmas tree.
Music became his escape. His comfort. His reason.
He carried that first guitar everywhere until high school, when he started working after school and on weekends to afford his second one—a brand-new Fender. He scribbled lyrics on napkins, the backs of receipts. Wrote melodies in his head when he was supposed to be studying.
After graduation, he hit every open mic night he could find until Sebastien walked into one—and the rest, as they say, is history.
So it was no wonder he wanted someone who shared that passion. Who didn’t just like music, but lived it.
And Cary was starting to believe—hope—that woman might be Tyler Robertson.