Chapter 2 Hunter
HUNTER
I’d hoped Seraphina would come in for dinner.
I wished that every night, but mostly I was disappointed.
Tonight, though? Seraphina Sinclair had come into the bar at seven-sixteen with her awesome teenage son.
It wasn’t that I was waiting for her. Not exactly anyway.
Truthfully, I’d found myself of late looking up every time the darn door opened.
Not totally consciously. I mean, I wasn’t a stalker.
But there was something about the woman that made my pulse quicken.
She fascinated me. I wanted to know everything about her.
Which, given my track record with women, was not a good sign.
She looked gorgeous in a green blouse, and her hair was down. Often, she wore it in a bun or ponytail. Yeah, I’d started noticing her hair styles. Also, not a good sign.
We’d locked eyes for a second, and I thought I’d caught a glimpse of interest, like maybe she was glad I was behind the bar. But now, pouring her glass of wine and grabbing a root beer for Tyler, I started this thing I do called overthinking.
I’d told her way too much just now. Admitting I’d read all of her books made me seem like a … a what? A fan? I mean, I was one. Now, I’d not meant to ask about the book, but curiosity got the better of me. This was kind of embarrassing, but I really was looking forward to Christine and Tim’s story.
I mean, who reads all sixty books by one author in six months?
You’ve got to be slightly unhinged. Reading her work in my cottage with the door closed and the lights low, totally immersed in her fictional worlds was not a typical way to spend the winter.
But maybe that’s what a man like me does when he can’t write music and doesn’t want to drink too much or think about the life I’d walked away from. Nothing weird about it. Right?
They inspire me. I haven’t written since I’ve been here. Reading your books makes me think I want to again.
Hearing my words echo around in my head made me cringe. Why had I said that? Although true, it didn’t mean it needed saying. And it was way too revealing for a guy trying to stay distant from people. I didn’t ever have to feel the kind of pain I felt after Dana left me.
The bar got busy around eight with a group of softball players in for beer and burgers after a game.
Regardless, Seraphina and Tyler were never out of my sightline.
Tyler ordered a burger and fries, his mother a salad with extra chicken.
The two of them talked throughout their meal.
I caught snippets of Tyler describing a moment at baseball practice.
Seraphina laughed a few times at something he said.
And that laugh? It was a magical sound that sent goosebumps up my arms, like I was hearing the opening notes to a poignant song.
Maybe a cello’s G note, open and resonate, pulling the listener from the ordinary to the ethereal in a half note.
I was clearing the table next to theirs, just adjacent, purely coincidental, when Tyler looked up from his mostly finished dinner.
“Hey, Hunter. I have a question for you,” Tyler said.
Oh so casually, I wandered over. “Yeah? What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been wondering if you ever teach guitar lessons? I’d really like to take some.”
Guitar lessons. Okay, didn’t see that one coming. “Um, no. I haven’t in the past.”
“Any chance you’d give me an hour a week?” Tyler asked. “I know you’re like a big deal and everything, but I’d love to learn as much as I can from someone like you. You could come to our house. Whenever it was convenient for you.”
“You can say no,” Seraphina said.
I turned my attention toward her. She met my gaze, her green eyes bright and vulnerable.
She didn’t like her son asking me for something.
My gut told me she didn’t take favors, especially from men.
Fiercely independent, this one. I liked that.
She wasn’t a woman who needed anything from a man.
She could do it all on her own and had. Traces of Seraphina’s strong-willed nature seeped into her fictional heroines.
I’d never thought about it before meeting an author, but this one appeared to be exactly like her books—complicated, independent and smart.
“I don’t know if I’d be any good at teaching,” I said. “But sure, why not give it a try? Just don’t mention it to anyone else. I’m not really open for business, so to speak.”
“Are you here in Willet Cove for the foreseeable future?” Seraphina asked.
“I guess so.” Her question took me aback.
What exactly did she know about my personal life?
Hopefully nothing. I was well-known in Nashville circles, but outside of that it was rare to find anyone who even knew who I was.
Or how many hit songs I’d written over the last decade.
Or about my public divorce from one of Nashville’s own. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You have a transient quality to you,” Seraphina said.
“Transient?” I asked, not sure if I should be offended or not.
“Like you’re here but not for long,” Seraphina said.
“Mom, that’s none of our business.” Regardless of what he said, Tyler watched me carefully, clearly curious about the enigmatic bartender.
“How did you find Willet Cove?” Seraphina asked before I could answer. “Had you been here before?”
“I have good friends who live here,” I said, despite my natural instinct to protect myself at all costs.
“After some … hard personal stuff back in Nashville, they suggested I come stay with them for awhile.” I lowered my voice, glancing around the bar, but no one seemed to be paying the slightest attention.
“I was supposed to be writing songs. Getting rid of my heartache through my work.”
“And?” Seraphina asked.
“And I haven’t been able to write. First time in my life that’s ever happened.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” Seraphina said. “I didn’t know that happened to songwriters too.”
“Yep. This one anyway.”
“I’m sorry about your heartbreak,” Tyler said. “But don’t great songs come from it?”
“Not this one apparently,” I said, wryly.
Both mother and son were hanging on my every word.
“Some heartbreaks are like that,” Seraphina said. “Suck the air right out of you. Steal your muses. Leave you gasping for breath while curled in a fetal position. Making you doubt you could ever write about love again because you’re not even sure it’s real”
Tyler and I both stared at her.
She smiled, flushing, her freckles more evident than the moment before. “Or something like that anyway.”
Mesmerized, I smiled back at her, forgetting for a moment that anything existed other than the two people at this table. “Exactly like that.”
However, reality snapped me back to my actual job when someone called me over to order another round of margaritas for their table.
By the time I’d made them and brought them out, Seraphina and Tyler had paid their bill and were standing, putting on coats.
Serving tray in hand, I hustled over to them.
“I could do four tomorrow afternoon, if that works?” I said to Tyler.
Tyler grinned. “I usually get home from practice at five but I could do half past so I could shower first. If you don’t want a smelly teenager sitting next to you.”
I chuckled. “Five-thirty it is then.”
“Thanks so much. I’m psyched,” Tyler said.
“Yes, thank you,” Seraphina said. “You’ll let me know what I owe you for the lessons?”
“Nah. I don’t need the money,” I said. “Consider this a gesture of friendship.”
“How small town of you.” Her eyes twinkled up at me. “Thank you.”
“Just trying to fit in around here,” I said.
“Have a good rest of the night.” Seraphina nodded at Tyler. “We better get home. It’s getting late.”
“My mom doesn’t like to drive in the dark,” Tyler said.
I added that to my list of things I knew about Seraphina Sinclair.
They left together, Tyler holding the door for his mother.
I watched through the window as they headed toward the parking lot, the last of the daylight leeching from the sky. What had I just agreed to? And why did it feel so important?
The last customer left at eleven-fifteen.
I wiped down the bar, rinsed the glasses, restocked what needed restocking, and did the end-of-night inventory, all rote at this point.
Before I finished, the kitchen staff departed, with the servers right behind them.
I locked up and stood for a moment in the quiet parking lot, breathing in the April night.
Willet Cove smelled good in the spring, with the scents of the sea, fruit tree blossoms and lilacs mixing into a perfume I’d call Coastal Springtime.
As soon as I started the car, it connected to my phone.
Immediately, music came though the speakers from Spotify.
Strangely enough, the first song to play was Ivy’s version of “Already Gone.” Hearing her voice made me miss her.
She was my best friend in Nashville. We’d collaborated for almost two decades, coming up together in the competitive world of Nashville.
She’d made it big seven years ago, with one of my songs, and had been on an upward trajectory ever since.
All in all, five of the songs I wrote for her were number one hits on country radio.
On the negative side, the song brought me back to that hard time in my life.
My wife had left me. I was alone in the house we’d bought together and knew with perfect clarity that the breakup of our marriage was my fault.
I’d driven her away by holding on so tightly.
The song had poured out of me. When it was done, I sent it to Ivy and told her to record it.
She put it out as a single, and the darn thing went straight up the charts.
My broken heart, revealed in a three chord song for all to hear.