by Layne, Sandi
“You missed one?” Derek guessed.
“Did we!” A short laugh was punctuated by a universal hand gesture that had Derek snorting. “Yeah. So, we got busted, parents were called in, and we had to do community service. And then the folks sent Mac up to Maryland to go to some girls-only boarding school.” Derek heard a heavy breath. “That sucked, you know. She’s my best friend.”
“I got that impression,” Derek allowed, pulling into a parking lot as directed by the GPS system. “I mean, when she wasn’t threatening physical pain or death when you called her Bambi.”
Mike chuckled. “She hates her name.”
“Mac?”
“Those are the initials, really. Her name,” Mike said, whispering as Derek keyed the engine off, “is Mira Annice. M. A. C. I’m a Mac, too. Micah Anthony. Tradition in Dad’s family to have initials spell a word and a tradition in Mom’s family to use family names that have been around since, oh, Davy Crockett.”
“Ah. And she plays the violin.”
“And the bass guitar,” Mike added with a grin that would not have been misplaced on a leprechaun. “They’re going to be at the CMA Fest in June, you know. You should go see them play. Lipbalm Lawyers.”
Derek shook his head. Surely her own brother knew the name of the band? “Lipstick Outlaws.”
Mike laughed. “Oh, I know. I just like messing with her. The name is what got them their first play on a radio station. A DJ said that he was intrigued by the name Lipstick Outlaws and so he picked their demo from all the others that had been sent to the station.”
Now that, Derek thought, was a cool piece of trivia.
They stepped toward the rental place, Derek noting the variety of people he could see. A couple of food servers across the parking lot there, a man smoking a pipe on a bench, a dog on a leash near a tree, and there was a distinctly pale, thin woman and child with a look of prideful desperation that Derek knew all too well. “Just a sec, Mike,” he murmured. “Go ahead and go on in. I’ll meet you inside.”
Mike saw the young woman and child and made a disgruntled sound in his chest. “I thought you were into my sister.”
Surprised, Derek felt his whole body sort of vibrate in response. Into Mira Annice Cunningham? Had he been that obvious in front of Mike Cunningham? Maybe . . . He suppressed a smile. “Plead the Fifth?”
Mike snorted and stepped away toward the rental place, but he didn’t go inside. Instead, he leaned against the door frame and checked his phone. Derek sighed but continued on his trip to the woman and her son. When he reached them, the woman drew the boy as close to her as she could.
Derek didn’t invade their personal space. Holding up one hand, he smiled reassuringly. “Hey. Y’all all right?”
“We’re fine,” the woman stated, her words flat and fast. After about two seconds, the boy nodded.
“Well, that’s good,” Derek said, though he knew in his heart that they certainly didn’t appear to be fine. “I don’t want to take up your time or anything,” he went on to say, reaching for his wallet.
“I don’t want charity,” the woman spat, her blue eyes narrow.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Derek lied. Charity was a regular thing for him, but it wouldn’t best serve the people before him, he knew. “It’s a card for a place. A place where you and your boy, here, can get a hot meal and a shower, if you want. Take a nap. Be able to sleep safe, if you need a place like that.” Dividing his focus between her eyes and the boy’s, he could see the shock, surprise, and wistfulness that lit them both up with soft affirmation. He passed his business card—already with his signature on the back, so the staff would fast-track them—to the woman. “It’s in Nashville. Ask around. They’re good people.”
She took the square card with the blue scrollwork on the edges and peered at it for a moment. Dirty blond hair fell in wisps around her face as she did so. “The Place? Is this for real?”
“Sure enough is. I know you said you’re fine and all, so if you don’t need it, give it to a friend, yeah?”
“Mom!”
“Hush, now. Sure. I can do that. Thank you.”
“Y’all have a nice evening. Bye.”
Derek smiled at them before nodding and turning away.
“Our appointment is in three minutes, Blakemore,” Mike called out, his voice strangely loud in the parking lot. Must have been the acoustics. “And the rehearsal is in an hour.”
“We’ll be there, Cunningham. Don’t stress.”
“So, who was that?” Mike indicated the woman and her son with a quick jerk of his chin.
“Someone who needs some help. Ever hear of The Place? Family shelter in Nashville?”
Micah’s expression softened thoughtfully. “Yeah. The parents have funds earmarked for annual contributions.”
Derek nodded as opened the door, hearing a soft buzzing sound as he did so. The scent of clean laundry immediately surrounded him, as did the sounds of voices. Many voices.
Mike stiffened for a moment. “What’s with the crowd, man?” Shifting about, he seemed reluctant to take more than a couple of steps into the store. “I don’t suppose we could just ask for Diane to come out here?”
“Diane? Oh, is she the D on the business card?” The name of the shop was corny, perhaps, but they had a great selection of tuxedos and Andy had already reserved a tuxedo style, he’d told Derek. “I can go find her, if you want? What’s wrong?” he asked after a moment watching Mike shift about restlessly.
“Otherpeoplescooties,” the other man muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I design games for a reason. I tinker with the stock market for a reason. People are just... . . .” He gave a dramatic shiver that would not have been out of place coming from a teenaged girl discussing spiders. “Trying on tuxes that other guys have had on their bodies?” He shook his head roughly. “See, Bambi is okay with sharing personal space and personal things with people. When she’s touring? She and the others live on a bus. It’s new, but it’s still with everyone close together, you know? She’s told me they swap hair-stuff and pins and like that when they need to. But I couldn’t live like that.”
Derek didn’t know but found the commentary fascinating as they waited for someone to find out who they were so they could get their tuxes and head to the rehearsal. “I would think that requires a lot of . . . flexibility.”
“Oh yeah, she’s flexible all right.” Mike nodded and scanned the store again, seeking D, or whomever would be helping them that day. “That’s how we got into trouble.” Mike blinked and turned back to Derek. “I’m the stockbroker, but she’s the brains in our exclusive little club, so behave yourself, yeah?”
Derek could only gape at him. He’d never had a warning of any sort from any brother or father or, well, anyone. “What the—”
“Hey, I saw how close you two were when I got there. And Mac isn’t usually so . . .” He paused and rubbed at his jaw and Derek didn’t know if it was a pose or a genuine expression of contemplation for the other man. “So warm. She wasn’t being at all defensive around you, you know.” Hazel eyes that were just like his twin’s regarded him without a touch of humor. “So be careful.”
Irritated but also distracted and pleased to his toes that Mac Cunningham of Lipstick Outlaws might be . . . open to him in some way, Derek blew out a breath just as they were—finally—approached.
“Oh, Micah Cunningham! And Derek Blakemore, right? I remember you. Come on,” the woman said, her voice like brandy over sandpaper. “I’ve got you all set. Big day tomorrow!
Derek: Andrew Cunningham
Andrew: Derek? You OK? Did you and Micah get to the rental place?
Derek: He’s getting his tux now. I’m done. I met your sister. You said she plays VIOLIN, not bass guitar.
Andrew: ?
Derek: ?
Andrew: Oh. Well, she does that, too. It’s just not what she trained in, you know? You met her? Is she with you?
Derek: If I said I should be so lucky, will you d
eck me at rehearsal?
Andrew: LOL. No, seriously
Derek: Just a heads-up. It would have been nice to not have walked into that without warning.
Andrew: What, was she practicing or something?
Derek: She’s . . . Have you ever seen her in concert?
Andrew: She had first chair at Vanderbilt’s—
Derek: I meant with Lipstick Outlaws.
Andrew: Oh. No. Not really my scene. I like Randy Travis, but not newer groups. I think her band will be at that thing at the Nissan Stadium this summer, though.
Derek: Well, fair warning. No stupid stories, OK?
Andrew: You’re serious?
Derek: I meant with Lipstick Outlaws.
Andrew: Open season on the college roommate!
Derek: LOL Fine. But I will get you back.
* * *
Derek had been to Belle Meade Plantation the prior winter for his cousin’s Christmas-themed wedding. As a proactive measure, he had sent the directions to the venue to everyone’s smart phones the night before Andrew’s wedding, during the official bachelor party at Acme Feed & Seed on Broadway. Derek, as the best man, had made reservations for the second floor of that establishment, ensuring that the groom, his male family members and friends had a place set aside to help Andy bid farewell to his protracted status as a single guy.
Well, okay, so Andrew had only been thirty-one on his last birthday, just as Derek had, but the way he’d told it, his parents had been after him for years to settle down and marry Lynda McKee. And so he had, making Lynda McKee, Lynda Cunningham just minutes before.
In the waiting room just before the ceremony, Derek had offered the groom a mint and asked, “So, if you have kids, will you insist on following the family tradition of naming them?”
Andrew had choked on the mint. “What? Who told?”
“Mike. He doesn’t mind so much, but apparently your sister does.”
“Well, you have met Mira.” Andrew had given him The Look and Derek had managed not to admit to knowing he’d understood it. “Yeah, well, every family has that one who bucks the system.” His smile was fond as he continued. “She’s certainly done it with style, hasn’t she?”
Derek had only been able to agree, and he acknowledged that agreement privately to himself as he took the matron of honor’s arm and led her back down the temporary aisle in the Stable House, on their way straight through to the reception in the main hall of the Carriage House of Belle Meade Plantation.
Amanda, the woman on his arm, smiled with exaggerated relief. “Well! They’re set, now, aren’t they? About time, too.”
After sharing a laugh, Derek agreed. “So, see you up at the head table over there in a few, yeah?”
“After I find my husband. Oh, that man!” She strode off, the navy blue of her strapless gown melting into the dimly lit hall.
For himself, Derek loosened the gray tie of his own tuxedo. His vest matched Amanda’s dress, but with the ceremony over and all the official wedding photos having been taken before, there was no need for him to continue to be quite so picture-perfect. He really just wanted to stretch his legs a bit and look for someone he knew.
Actually, he was looking for her.
He heard Mac before he saw her. Mac. Mira Annice. Mira. I like her name, he mused as he sought the source of the sound. There she is. Underneath a wreath of small, twinkling lights, warming up with her violin, she stood sheathed in a concert-black gown that draped over one shoulder, leaving the other bare as the gown slid down her body all the way to the floor.
He swallowed. Hard. A bare shoulder was a hopefully secret weakness of his. Her hair was up in something that showed off blond streaks amid the brown that matched her twin’s hair. She looked, well, edible, honestly. Sweet and cool as she moved during her quick warm-up. Blowing out a breath, he tried to move smoothly over to say hello. He didn’t want to mess up her concentration, but he did want her to see him.
“Hey,” he said as the reception room started to fill with happy voices. Chairs slid on the concrete floor, adding to the increasing noise. She smiled at him as he spoke, though she was still running through notes on her violin. “You look amazing,” he said next, which sounded stupid but was nevertheless true.
“Thank you. You look quite dashing, Mr. Best Man.”
“It’s the vest, right?”
She paused in her playing and lowered the violin to her side, appearing to give his ridiculous question her undivided attention. He could see by the light in her eye that she was just having fun, though. “No, upon due reflection, I think it’s the well-coordinated pocket square.” She winked. “I helped Lynda pick the color.”
With a chuckle, he patted the small line of navy blue that was poking out of one tux pocket. “Well, they do make us look all dapper and stuff.”
“It’s a wedding!”
He nodded at the violin. “So, what’re you gonna play?”
She sighed a long sigh, the kind of exaggerated sound that seemed to encompass all the woes of the universe. “Andy and Lynda have a song,” she explained. “Forever and Ever, Amen by Randy Travis. Since I’m the resident musician in the family, he asked me to play it. I did consider asking the girls if they’d join me—”
“It would seem to make sense,” Derek interrupted, seeing that there was indeed a raised dais for a band nearby.
“I thought so, too! But Mom put her pedicured foot down.” As if telling him a big secret, she beckoned him close; he wasn’t about to complain. She was wearing a soft scent that was like vanilla-laced citrus. He hadn’t noticed it the day before, or at the rehearsal the night before, but it was there today. A beckoning scent that he inhaled deeply before feeling his skin heat as he caught her staring. “You all right there, Mr. Blakemore?”
“Derek, Mira. It’s Derek.”
She huffed and waved him away a little. “It’s Mac, remember?”
He winced. “I know. Sorry. Andy never calls you that and—”
She sighed another of those long-suffering sighs. “Forgiven. It’s his wedding day and all. So, yeah. Mom hates that I play bass with a band. Which is why the girls couldn’t come, even though I’m pretty sure they would have.”
“So, you’re playing the first dance for the bride and groom?”
“Yep.” She moved, bringing her violin back to her shoulder in a fluid move that spoke of years and years of practice. “But there’ll be a DJ later—Lynda’s cousin.”
“Good, so you’re not on duty all evening.”
Laughing, she swept the bow in an arc in front of her. “No.”
He didn’t really want to leave her standing there, as if waiting for him to go away. So, he half-turned back to watch the room fill up instead. He had one more job to do that evening and then his stint as Best Man at the McKee-Cunningham Wedding was over.
Mac played a few more bars of . . . whatever it was she was playing . . . and then he heard her ask, “Do you dance?”
“Andrew made sure I could before he let me be in his wedding,” he teased, turning to meet her mischievous smile.
“He did not!”
“Nah, he didn’t. Just messin’ with ya.” She shook her head and transitioned to the opening bars of a song he had heard before—it wasn’t Randy Travis. “Do you dance?” he asked. Hey, if she could ask, so could he, right?
“Have you met my mother? Yes, of course.”
And there was silence again between them as she ceased her warm-up in favor of coming to stand next to him. He half-closed his eyes and breathed her in once more; the vanilla scent was stronger, he thought, and he could feel her body next to his. That bare shoulder was right there, and he was doing his level best not to stare at it. Or at her.
“So . . .” he began at the same moment she said the same syllable. Turning a little, he met her eyes and they shared a smile. A smile that made his heart hop in his chest and his stomach tighten in a form of anticipation. “You first,” he managed to say over the increasing noise that was
filling the large reception hall.
He thought she took a quick breath before she asked, “So . . . are you going to ask me to dance?”
The smile that tugged irrepressibly at the corners of his mouth felt like it launched from his toes. “Uh, of course! I mean, you know, when it’s time.” At her questioning look, he explained. “First, there’s cocktail hour, which is happening right about now, if you look.”
“I saw the mini-bars set up in the straightaway,” Mac said with a nod. They saw different guests—people Derek knew were few, but that was always going to be the case—with drinks in hand, milling about, finding seats at the tables. “Whoever was in charge of organizing this did a great job. Smaller bars mean shorter waits and all.”
“Not drinking?” he asked.
She waved her bow. “Nope. I don’t drink and play.” She flicked her tongue over her lower lip and batted her eyes at him in a way he understood to be playful. “So, when will you ask me?”
Feeling much more at ease with her, he leaned back against the pillar just behind them, avoiding a ribbon of something frothy that wound about it before being bedecked with more tiny lights. “Well, after that, then we’ll go straight to dinner, which Andy was good enough to let me get a sample of with taste testing.” She chuckled and he continued. “And then, there’s the toasts—which I promise to keep short, and as embarrassing as I can get away with—and then—”
“And then I play for Andy and his new wife and they start the dancing and then there’s the DJ and then—”
“And then I’ll ask you to dance.”
“Promise?”
They had managed, during their anticipatory play-by-play, to turn to face one another fully and Derek didn’t even hear the announcement that the bride and groom had entered the hall. All he heard was the husky sound of Mac’s one-word question. All he could see were the lights in her hazel-green eyes. All he could smell was the vanilla in her perfume. He didn’t consider who might see him as he touched her face for the first time, his fingers on her chin, holding her with the lightest of pressures. “Promise.”