by Liwen Y. Ho
“Yeah?”
“When you live in a small town, you learn that nothing goes unnoticed or forgotten. Things you did, mistakes you made even years ago—people still remember and talk about them. It takes a good long while to change your story in their minds.”
“Sounds like you know this from experience?”
Why was she sharing so much with him again? Maybe it was the genuine interest in his eyes. Or the fact that he sung her story as if it were his own. She felt like he understood her. The thought made her uncomfortable and safe at the same time. “You could say that.”
He nodded as if contemplating whether to push her for more information or not. “Is this inn included in the new story you want to write for yourself?”
“Yes, partly. There are still a lot of blank pages to fill. It usually takes three years for a business to get off the ground. I’m just starting out.”
“I get that. It took me over four years to be where I’m at.”
“I know. I’ve been following you online since you uploaded your first cover song. It’s amazing to see how far you’ve come. You’ve made it. Your song’s on the radio, sometimes on two stations at once, remember?”
“It still blows my mind,” he grinned. “But the work doesn’t really stop. There’s always more to aim for, more things to improve on. That’s what I’m doing right now, working on a new album.”
An album she was supposed to be contributing to. She tried to keep her tone casual as she asked, “How’s it coming along?”
“Okay. A bit slower than I’d like, but coming here has helped. There’s something about this place that inspires me.”
She nodded. She had firsthand experience with that. “I always thought so. You feel it, too, don’t you?”
“I definitely feel something.”
Her cheeks warmed. Was he flirting with her? She stared down at her plate, which unfortunately didn’t look nearly as amazing as the sparkle in Chase’s blue eyes. “This bacon is good,” she spoke up, trying to fill the silence. “I’ll have to buy this brand next time.”
“Hey, Izzy, can I ask you something?”
There was that gorgeous smile again flashing her way. “Y-yes?”
“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Dinner, you and me, tonight. I’d love to take you out.”
Stand your ground, Izzy. Say no. “I … I don’t think so.”
“No as in not tonight? How about tomorrow?”
“No as in never.” Her answer sounded ruder than she intended. “I mean, no, thank you.”
“Can I ask why not?”
She looked at him with wide eyes, then gathered her plate and cup. “I just can’t. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for the festival.”
Chase sat speechless as she walked away.
Izzy set her dishes in the sink and leaned against the counter. What just happened? Did Chase Lockhart really ask her on a date? And had she considered saying yes? She’d entertained the notion for half a second before her brain knocked some sense into her. Her heart had been bruised enough already. She didn’t need to go looking for more hurt, especially not from a pop star eleven years her junior. Not to mention, a man who’d made it clear he no longer needed her.
Closing her eyes, she basked in the sunlight streaming through the bay window. She slowly breathed in and out, allowing the warm rays to relax her. She had to get out of the house. A few hours at the festival would be a welcome distraction from the tall and handsome man in the next room—wait, make that this room. She heard him approach and clear his throat.
“I, uh, shouldn’t have assumed you were single. Someone as beautiful and accomplished as you are probably has guys lined up out the door. That’s why you won’t go out with me, isn’t it? You already have someone special in your life.”
Chase’s words gave Izzy a confidence boost, but the disappointment coating them tugged at her heart. She thought about correcting his assumption, but it was better this way. Why not agree with him and put the dating issue to rest? She turned around, a tight smile on her lips. “Yes, I do.”
“That’s too bad.”
She nodded, hoping her face didn’t betray her lie. “I appreciate the offer though.”
“Well, he’s a lucky guy, whoever he is.”
She noticed the empty dishes in his hands and offered to take them. “Did you have enough to eat?”
“Oh yeah, more than enough …” His voice trailed off as he raised his gaze to the window. “Is someone waving at us?”
Izzy glanced over her shoulder at the woman watching them from next door. “It’s our neighborhood welcoming committee.”
“And what a warm welcome she gives.” He waved back with a big smile. “You know what, I think I’ll head over to the festival after all. Mrs. Cooper mentioned yesterday she’d be selling her prize-winning pumpkin pie there. I can’t remember the last time I had homemade pie. Maybe I’ll even go for a hay ride,” he winked. “It seems there are a lot of things this city boy needs to experience.”
“Is that right?” she laughed. Chase was as genuine and down-to-earth in person as he was online, with a sense of humor to boot. It wouldn't hurt to spend a little time with him. She could consider it as research for songwriting. Her next words tumbled out without a care: “How about I give you a ride?”
4
Chase
“This is so cool. Thanks for agreeing to show me around.”
Izzy answered Chase with a small smile. “No problem. I figured it’d be better if you had a tour guide. What do you want to check out first? Food or activities?”
Chase lowered his sunglasses as he took in the view around him. The town square had undergone a complete transformation since they’d driven past it the day before. One of the streets had been blocked off to allow for a variety of booths to be set up along the sidewalk. People—young and old—were milling around, chatting and eating as they walked. The atmosphere was relaxed and comfortable, much like the cool and crisp weather. It was a great day for exploring, and there was no one else he’d rather see the festival with than Izzy.
Sure, she’d turned down his invitation to dinner, but the fact that she was here with him—and not her special someone—proved he still had a chance. And he was going to take advantage of every minute he had to win her over.
“Definitely food,” Chase grinned. “Eat first, play later.”
“I should’ve known. How about we make our way through all the food booths and try a little of each?”
“Sounds awesome.”
Chase followed Izzy as she walked over to a wooden booth with a sign that read Hot Apple Cider. Underneath on both sides of the booth lay baskets full of shiny red apples, as well as bales of hay.
He stepped ahead of her in line and offered to buy the drinks. He handed her a cup of cider and took a sip of his own. The hot liquid perked up his taste buds with its sweet and spicy flavor. “This is delicious. Much better than the packets you get from the store.”
She craned her neck as she gave him a look of dismay. “Don’t tell me that’s the cider you’re used to drinking?”
“It’s what my mom made for my brother and me when we were growing up. I didn’t know any better.”
“You poor boy. The processed stuff doesn’t even have real apple juice in it. It’s just sugar with artificial flavors added to it. Now that you’ve tasted this, there’s no going back.”
She was right; he was at a point of no return. But he wasn’t thinking about cider. Spending time with Izzy was showing him that this woman with the giddy smile was the real deal. All the other girls he’d dated—especially the celebrities who’d thrown themselves at him the past year—couldn't compare. Izzy was something else. Beautiful, grounded, and confident. And she made a simple pair of jeans look amazing. There was a maturity to her that he hadn’t found in anyone else. She also had a playfulness about her that he adored.
“You’re right,” he chimed in, “there is no going back. I might just have to start making my own cider and buying some of these cinnamon sticks to go with it.” He held up the brown rolled-up stick that came with his drink. “Can you eat these things? Or are they just for decoration?”
“They are edible and may actually be good for arthritis. Not that you need to worry about that at your age.”
“At my age? You mean our age,” he insisted with a chuckle. “You’re not old enough to be talking about arthritis either.”
She gave him a look that seemed to imply he was missing the punch line to a joke. “Time moves faster the older you get. One day every muscle and bone in your body works the way it’s supposed to, the next day not so much. You’ll understand one day.”
“I—what?” She was complaining like his Aunt Mae, who was in her late fifties. He didn’t know how old Izzy was—and he knew better than to ask—but she couldn’t be more than thirty. “Age is just a number. In my opinion, if you think young, you stay young.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she remarked with a good-natured smile. She gestured for him to follow. “Come on, there’s plenty of other food to try.”
They walked past several booths selling arts and crafts, including one for blown glass pumpkins. The glossy, amber products on display shone in the midday sun. Farther along the road they came to another food booth, this time for German sausages. A smoky and spicy aroma filled the air, mixed with the cloying smell of dessert foods. The booth after offered donuts; the one adjacent to that, caramel apples. At the end of the street, they reached a grassy field lined with benches. They took a seat and watched the festivities from there.
Chase was stuffed. He took a final bite of his apple and swallowed the sticky goodness. With a satisfied grin, he declared, “That was epic. I’ve never had so much good food at once. Sweet, savory, fried, dipped—it was like a four-part harmony.”
“A four-part stomachache is more like it. Heartburn, indigestion and whatever else is going on inside of you that I don’t want to think about. I have no idea where you put it all,” Izzy teased. “Your stomach’s as flat as a washboard.”
He couldn’t hide his grin. He might’ve grown an inch or two if it were possible, his confidence level was so high. “You’ve been checking me out, have you?”
Izzy’s cheeks flushed a bright pink to match her sweater. She laughed off her discomfort and hit him playfully on the arm. “It was just a comment. Don’t flatter yourself, kid.”
He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away. Holding her palm over his heart, he made sure she felt its pounding pulse. He needed to make something clear because she obviously had some misconceptions about him. “If you can't tell, this is a man’s body. I’d appreciate it if you’d refer to me as one. No more of this kid or boy talk. You”—he pointed to Izzy—“woman. Me”—he pointed at himself—“man. Are we clear?”
“Are you serious? Who talks like that?” She rolled her eyes. “You should at least use proper grammar. You’re a songwriter, not a caveman.”
“Actually, I don’t write my own songs. I have people who do it for me. They do a much better job at it than I ever could.”
She shook her head. “I disagree.”
“You disagree? With what?”
“With—can I have my hand back?” she spluttered. Her cheeks reddened again as she scanned the area. “People are starting to stare.”
Were they? He spotted a group of teenage girls standing off to the side, whispering to each other. He assumed they were waiting for the hay ride, but they didn’t budge when the line moved forward. It was possible they recognized him, even with a baseball cap and sunglasses on. No big deal though. He was used to being swarmed by fans and the paparazzi; a couple of onlookers didn’t bother him. But Izzy didn’t like being in the spotlight. He squeezed her hand, relishing the warmth of her skin, and let it go. “There you are.”
“Thank you.”
“You were saying,” he resumed their conversation, “you disagreed?”
Crossing her arms as if to guard herself against him, she gave a firm nod. “You are definitely a songwriter. Your early stuff was phenomenal. You wrote all the songs on your first EP. I remember listening to it in my car and just bawling. I ran a red light because I was crying so hard.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but that may have had more to do with your driving than my songs,” he teased. “I seem to remember you almost missing a stop sign yesterday.”
“If anyone’s to blame,” she scoffed, “it’s you. You were the common denominator in both of those situations.”
He couldn’t have set up the situation better if he tried. She just tipped the odds in his favor, whether she realized it or not. “I’ll gladly take the blame then. I like the fact that you find my presence distracting.”
“That is not something to be proud of.”
He adored the way she wrinkled her nose in annoyance. Her tone remained light however, a sure sign she was more at ease. “Either way, I really appreciate you buying that first record. It means a lot to me that you liked it.”
“How could anyone not? There was so much honesty and pure emotion in the words and how you sang them.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Why didn’t you write more songs for your second album?”
That was a good question, one he had stopped asking himself for a while now. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m used to complicated. Try me. I’m listening.”
This was rare. Most of the time he was the one having to listen to everyone else: his manager, the music producers, even the fans. But someone was interested in what he had to say? “When I wrote my first album, I’d just turned twenty-one. I was young and eager and inexperienced. My YouTube channel had just taken off, and I couldn’t believe there were people who not only wanted to hear me sing, but wanted to hear me sing my songs. It’s an amazing feeling to have people appreciate your art. It’s like giving them access to your soul.”
Izzy nodded, prompting him to continue.
“Back then, the words and notes flowed out of me like water. Each day was full of possibilities, and I lived and breathed music. I wrote that whole EP in a week and a half. Five songs”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that. Half a year later, I got a full record deal. That’s when everything changed. My manager, the label, everyone had their own idea of who I should be and what I should sing. It became all about the numbers—how many chart toppers I had and how many records I sold. I lost my creative drive and the ability to write. And the song I did write that made it onto the album was the one everyone hated. That hurt.”
“Which one was that?” Her brows furrowed as she thought. “Oh, you mean, ‘Why I Like You’.”
“Please don’t mention it,” he groaned. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote that.”
“But you must remember the inspiration behind the song? Whoever that girl was sounded really … faithful. To be honest, the whole song sounded like an ode to your dog.”
“Um …,” Chase cleared his throat, “that’s because it was.”
Izzy’s jaw dropped. When she recovered from her shock, she burst out laughing. “What? You wrote a song about a dog?”
“Not just any dog,” he insisted with a bittersweet smile. “Sadie had been my closest friend since I was seven. My mom got her for me the day my dad left us. One day I came home from school and my dad’s clothes and car were gone and sitting in his place on the couch was this sweet Pomeranian. She saw me through a lot of hard times. You could say she was my best thing.”
“Your best thing?” Her hazel eyes registered understanding. “You mean like the song. Sadie was the best thing to happen to you.”
“At the time, yes. I’d always wanted a dog, just not under those circumstances. But like the lyrics say, without the gray there wouldn’t be the blue. Something bad happened, but something good came out of it.” He ran his hand down his face, suddenly overcome with emotion. �
��I wish you could’ve met her. As a puppy, she had these amazing dark blue eyes. On the nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d talk to her. When I heard the demo track that Grace Bella sent, I knew there was something special about her song. Everyone has something gray happen in their lives, but there’s hope and a reason to go on if we’re able to see the blue that comes from it. That’s what that song showed me. Now you understand why I think it’s so awesome.”
A single tear fell down Izzy’s cheek, leaving a wet trail to her chin. She quickly wiped it away and squeezed out a smile. “No. Your song is awesome. Now that I know about Sadie, it all makes sense. When did she … when did you lose her?”
“Three years ago. It was hard, but she had a good life.” He reached over and placed a hand on Izzy’s arm. He gave it a quick squeeze, then pulled back. It was such an honest, heartfelt moment, he didn’t want to risk pushing her away. “Thank you for listening. I didn’t mean to unload so much on you.”
“No, I’m glad you did. I feel like I know the real you now.”
“Yeah? What do you mean by that?”
“I mean there’s the charismatic side of you that you show during interviews and performances, but there’s also this other side of you that’s just … human.”
“Human?” he scoffed. “You mean boring?”
“Not boring, relatable. I like seeing the boy—the man,” she corrected herself, “behind the pop star persona. Your life experiences are what make you interesting and more than just a pretty face.”
He could work with that, as well as the smile she was sharing with him. He’d never tire of being on the receiving end of that smile. “So, you like my face?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“But you do find me interesting and relatable?”
“Yes, except for your appetite,” she drawled. “That, I will never be able to relate to. Speaking of, are you ready for more food? There’s still Mrs. Cooper’s pumpkin pie.”
Chase groaned. “I forgot all about that. I’m afraid I’ll have to take a raincheck on the pie. She makes it every year, doesn’t she?”