Chapter 19 Seraphina #2
I swallowed my nervousness and followed Hunter out of the elevator and down the hall. This was about trust and surrender, I thought, as he unlocked the door. It was time to give my heart and my body to the man who touched my soul with his music and his goodness and his big Tennessee heart.
That night, Hunter and I walked a few blocks to a restaurant with checkered tablecloths and live music in the corner.
We ate fried catfish and hush puppies and drank cold beer.
And laughed and laughed. After our time together before dinner, I felt like I was floating.
It was still hard for me to believe, but he was real. This was all real.
“May I say, you’re looking even more beautiful than usual,” Hunter said.
I flushed, remembering that hotel bed and the messy sheets we left behind. “This is all … just right. You’re just right.”
“I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“Oh yes, I’m having a good time. And can’t wait to have more of it.”
This time I made him blush.
The next afternoon, my stomach had butterflies as we walked in to The Meadowlark Café for the first time.
The room was intimate, with maybe ninety seats arranged around a small circular stage.
The walls were covered with photographs of performers from decades past, handwritten set-lists, and signed posters.
“This place feels like home,” Hunter said. “I spent a lot of evenings here back in the day.”
A woman behind the bar looked up and broke into a smile. “Hunter Sloan. As I live and breathe.”
“Hey, Loretta.”
A small woman with salt and pepper hair and wide-set eyes, Loretta came out to greet us, hugging Hunter. “It’s good to see you. You’re looking handsome as ever.”
“You’re looking fine yourself,” Hunter said. “Loretta, this is Seraphina. She’s my—”
“I know who she is.” Loretta’s gaze swept the length of me. “You’re the writer. The one who finally had the guts to call Dana out on her lies.”
Heat traveled from my chest to my cheeks. “It’s my red hair. Temper got the better of me.”
“You did good. Hunter’s one of my favorite people, and he deserved better than what she gave him.” She squeezed my hand. “Now let me get you two settled before we open the doors. You two should have the best table in the house.”
She led us to a small table right in front of the stage.
“We’ve got a good lineup tonight,” Loretta said. “Few local acts. Maybe a surprise or two.” She winked at Hunter. “Can I get you something to drink?”
We ordered beers, and I took in the room while we waited.
The photographs on the walls told a hundred stories.
Young faces full of hope, some of whom had gone on to fill stadiums, others who’d faded into obscurity.
But they’d all stood on this stage. They’d all had their moment to prove their merit.
“This place is amazing,” I said.
“It’s about the music here, like it should be.”
The doors opened at six, and the room filled quickly. By seven, every seat was taken and people lined the walls. The energy shifted to anticipation humming beneath the conversation and laughter.
The first act was a young woman with a guitar and a voice that reminded me of early Emmylou Harris. The second was an older man who told stories between songs, each one funnier than the last. The crowd was warm and responsive, hanging on every note and every word.
Then Loretta took the stage.“We’ve got a special guest tonight.” The room went still. “Someone who got her start right here, fifteen years ago. She’s come a long way since then, but she wanted to come home tonight. Ladies and gentlemen—Ivy James.”
The room erupted.
My mouth dropped open. I hadn’t known she would be here. Had Hunter? I glanced at him, and he looked the opposite of surprised. He looked conspiratorial.
“Why is she here?” I whispered.
But Hunter didn’t answer, just took my hand under the table.
Ivy walked out from the back, guitar in hand, wearing jeans and a simple white blouse. For a second I caught a glimpse of what she must have looked like back then. Twenty and innocent, oozing with talent and hope, maybe thinking about making her Mama proud.
“Hey, y’all,” Ivy said into the microphone. “It’s good to be home. My friend Hunter Sloan’s in the audience tonight.”
Hunter lifted his hand. The crowd clapped.
“He wrote this one, and I was lucky enough to get to sing it. We released it a few weeks back, and we’ll include it in the new record coming this summer.”
More clapping. A few cheers.
She sang “Or Something Like That Anyway” to a silent, enchanted audience. When she was done, the room exploded with shouts and whistles, plus enthusiastic clapping.
“Thank you kindly.” Ivy winked at Hunter. “Hunter has someone very special with him. Seraphina Sinclair. For those of you who don’t know, she’s a famous writer. Of novels, not songs. And Hunter’s got a question for her. But first I’m going to sing her favorite song.”
The spotlight found us. My heart stopped, but I managed a wave.
The opening notes of “Already Gone” filled the room. Ivy’s voice wrapped around the notes and lyrics in a way that gave me goosebumps, even though I’d listened to it a thousand times. Hearing it live was like nothing else. When the song ended, everyone applauded.
Hunter’s got a question for her.
Was this happening? Right now? Here?
Hunter stood, reaching into his pocket. He dropped to one knee.
The room gasped.
“Tyler gave me his permission to ask you this simple question. Seraphina Sinclair, will you marry me and give me my happily-ever-after?”
I was crying by then, and all I could do was nod yes.
The room exploded with cheers and whistling. Hunter slid a diamond solitaire onto my finger and stood, pulling me into his arms, kissing me while ninety strangers celebrated around us.
“I had no idea,” I said. “I’m in shock.”
“Ivy and Loretta helped me arrange it. This place has been part of almost every important thing that’s ever happened to me. It had to be here.”
All I could do was nod as I pressed my cheek against his warm chest. Ivy started playing something slow while Loretta refilled glasses and wiped her eyes with a bar towel.
I thought about my father. All the records he’d shared with me, as if they were as sacred as the good book.
To us, they’d been markers of milestones and the sweetest of memories.
No matter what happened outside of our home, we found comfort in the music and each other.
We’d bonded with every strum, every note, every story that came out of his prized speakers.
Even though he was gone, the music was still here, which meant I never had to fully let him go.
He would have loved Hunter. He would have loved this place. And this night. I could almost feel him sitting next to us, grinning, delighted by the sparkle in my eyes. But instead, he was in heaven with my mom, and they were smiling down on me.
Then I thought about Hunter’s father. All those years, Ray Sloan had been in our house via the music. I’d had no idea that someday his son would change my whole world.
“I think our dads sent you to me,” I said when Ivy took a break to sign autographs and answer questions.
He looked at me, his eyes the color of an amber stone. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
I could still feel the beginning of a story, just behind my eyelids and in the tips of my fingers. It had something to do with this place and my dad and even Ray. Although I didn’t know quite what it was yet, I knew it was there, waiting for me.
All those years ago, when we were children, fate had already been decided. Our souls were meant to find each other. It took too long, but we couldn’t think about it that way. No more lamenting the past. We could only look forward to a future. One filled with friends and family and my sweet boy.
“We didn’t teach each other to stay,” I said. “We taught each other how to open our hearts so we knew what we were staying for.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?” Hunter asked.
Yeah, I thought. My dad. He’d always believed in me. Now, I had Hunter and Tyler as advocates and protectors and my reason for everything. And my village, who would be there for milestones and memories. There could not be a better ending to this story. Or a better beginning.
Writers love the words The End. They also love that first empty page that begins with Once upon a time …