by Kait Nolan
No matter how much she wanted to forget him, there was no living back in Eden’s Ridge without having reminders, even without Granddaddy’s memory lapses. She worked with his foster sisters, hung out right next door to where he’d spent his high school years, and saw the house where he’d grown up, a stone’s throw from her own, every time she stepped outside.
At least she’d been living in Atlanta when everything had blown all to hell. She’d been able to hide her devastation. As far as anyone else knew, they’d had some kind of falling out and drifted apart. She’d never breathed a word of the truth about what had happened. Better she be the only one he hurt. But God, she wished she could make him as unimportant to her as she was to him. Wished, too, that she could stop him from starring in her fantasies. But Dream Abbey was as much of a fool as ever.
Talk shifted from the orchard to town gossip, providing a decent distraction from her thoughts.
"I heard they broke ground on the new small business incubator this week,” Mark said.
Relieved to have something to contribute to the conversation, Abbey jumped in. “Oh, yeah, Maggie said things are moving right along with that. They’re hoping to open the doors later this fall.”
“I don’t know how she’s going to juggle that and the Artisan Guild and a baby,” Faye remarked.
“I’m pretty sure she’s looking for someone else to take over management of the Guild.”
They continued to discuss potential candidates for that. By the end of the meal, Granddaddy was back in the now, and he’d eaten the spinach salad without complaint.
“Well, I reckon I’ll turn in. Got an early day tomorrow. Faye, that was delicious. Thank you.” Granddaddy shoved back from the table, and they all braced to see how his balance would be. He took a staggering step or two before leveling out.
“I’ll walk up with you. I need to grab some stuff for the laundry.” Mark trailed him out of the room, ready and waiting to make sure Granddaddy navigated the stairs okay.
Faye began to rise, but Abbey pressed her back into her chair. “I’ve got the dishes, Mom. You take a few.”
Her mother scrubbed both hands over her face, no longer trying to hide the exhaustion. “He was agitated all day until you got home.”
“You know it’s because I look like Grandma Ruth. And because I’m his favorite.”
“You are that.”
Abbey scraped, rinsed, and loaded plates into the dishwasher and started in on the pots and pans. She finished up with the last one as her dad came back into the room.
“He’s settled.” Mark sank into a chair himself and took his wife’s hand.
Draping the dishtowel over the ledge of the sink, Abbey inhaled a bracing breath and turned to face her parents. “I have something I want to talk to you both about.”
Faye paled even more. “What?”
Abbey hated that her mother’s first thought was that it was something bad. “The last couple of years have been really draining. You both need a break. A real one. More than the occasional treatment at the spa.” Crossing the room, she pulled the packet out of her purse. “So, you’re going to take one.”
Her dad frowned. “What are you talking about, baby?”
Extracting the contents of the manilla folder, she slid the slick brochure across the kitchen table. “I’ve arranged for you to take a ten-day cruise to the Caribbean.”
“Don’t be crazy. We can’t up and go off on vacation. Your grandfather—”
“Does well with me. It’s the off-season for the orchard, and Lewis and Ryder have things well-in-hand if anything comes up. It’s your thirty-fifth anniversary. I’ve already bought the tickets and everything. You leave out of Mobile tomorrow afternoon.”
Tears glittered in Faye’s eyes. “You shouldn’t have done this, honey. We can’t go.”
“Yes, you can. I’ve already made arrangements with all my friends to help, and I talked to Farrah Murchison about putting him in programming at the senior center to try it out. We’ve got everything here covered. You already hadn’t been on a vacation in more years than I can count before his dementia hit. Let me do this for you.”
Mark was looking a little watery himself. “I… don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll go and have a good time and know I’ve got everything covered back here. Granddaddy and I will be fine.” She might need a vacation herself when it was through, but it would be worth it to give her parents this gift.
Her mother opened the brochure. “There’s all-you-can-eat buffets and onboard music. And snorkeling! I always wanted to try snorkeling.”
Mark wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, and Abbey knew she had them. “Okay then, we’ll go snorkeling.” He reached out his free hand to take Abbey’s. “Thank you for this. It already means so much that you moved home to help with Dad. This is above and beyond.”
“It’s what you deserve.” Shoving back from the table, she made a shooing motion. “Now, hurry on up. Y’all need to pack.”
Chapter 2
Scraps of melody danced around the edges of Kyle’s brain, as he waited in the green room to go on The Breakfast Club, Nashville’s hottest, syndicated morning show. He itched to discharge this last duty so he could go back to his loft and write. This was the first glimmer of something new he’d had in longer than he cared to admit. If he had to reschedule his dinner plans with Caleb and Emerson to chase it, they’d understand.
He’d stayed up way too late, losing out on hours of precious sleep, coaxing out the lyrics. Like all his biggest hits, the song was a heartbreaker, which meant it was the truest thing he’d written in a long time. Maybe it was time to stop hiding the pain and bleed it out into music. It said a lot that he found that more appealing than contemplating what it meant that his mother had shown up last night.
He rolled the ring across his knuckles like a coin. Would Abbey listen if he poured the whole thing out in a song? Give him the chance to explain, at last? Or had she cut his music as thoroughly out of her life as she had him?
A woman in a headset walked in. “You’re up, Mr. Keenan.”
He rose, pocketing the ring, and followed her to the sound stage in time to catch the tail end of the host’s introduction. “—the most recent recipient of TCN’s Shooting Star Award, and arguably one of the nicest guys in country music, please welcome Kyle Keenan!”
Smile in place, hand lifted to the cameras, he strode on stage to join the host, Jillian Jessop. He gave the expected air kiss on her cheek and dropped into the waiting chair, forcing himself to sit back and relax rather than perching on the edge of the seat.
“Thanks for joining us this morning.”
“Thanks for having me.” Kyle tried not to squint in the glare of the studio lights. It was too damned early for lights this bright. They beat down on him and sweat beaded between his shoulders. Or maybe that was the anxiety. He’d performed in front of hundreds of thousands of people without blinking, but that was with a guitar in his hands. He felt naked and exposed without one.
“Now, you just finished up the Light My Fire tour with Mercy Lee Bradshaw.”
“Yes, ma’am. Just last night at the FedEx Forum in Memphis. After all these months on the road, it’s good to be back in Tennessee.”
“What’s the plan for your down time?”
“Hanging out with my family and working on songs for the next album.”
“Ooo, any hints about the direction that’s taking?”
Instead of rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans, he winked. “It’s a surprise.” Even to me.
Jillian pursed her lips. “Okay, okay. Let’s talk about your most recent album, Bustin’ at the Seams. It’s currently number nine on the Billboard charts. What’s it like breaking into that top ten?”
“I mean, it’s amazing. That’s been one of the things on my bucket list. It’s incredibly humbling to have that many people enjoying my music, and I absolutely couldn’t do it without them. Fans are everything.”
“On that album is your first number one hit, “Hollow”. Can we talk you into playing for us?”
The studio audience cheered. Relieved to have something to do besides just talk, Kyle nodded and accepted the guitar a stagehand brought out. He made a few adjustments to the tuning by ear. It had been ages since he’d done a solo acoustic version of this. Not since he’d cut the track in the studio. As he closed his eyes and began to play, the audience faded and he lost himself in the song, the story. Something about stripping away all the frills, all the polish, made the song more raw and took him back to when he’d written it. It was a song about grief and regret, everything he’d drowned in for the weeks and months after he’d realized Abbey was through with him. There was something karmic about this being his first number one, ensuring he relived all of it over and over, never letting the wound scab over.
The applause brought him back. Jillian clutched a few notecards to her chest, looking half ready to swoon. “I absolutely see why that’s become the latest anthem for the broken-hearted. So easy for people to relate to.”
Kyle kept the guitar in his lap, needing something in his hands to stop himself from reaching for the ring. “I think that’s something the best songs have in common. They’re the ones that connect to the human experience. Everybody’s lost somebody.”
Jillian’s gaze turned shrewd. “Now, you yourself have been notoriously single since you entered the public eye. But you and Mercy Lee looked pretty cozy on the tour. Are your days of singlehood and sad songs coming to an end?”
His fingers clenched on the guitar as he struggled to hold on to his temper. He’d said in advance that this topic was off limits. A quick glance to the side showed Davis flashing an I-know-best smile. This shit needed to stop.
“Rumors of our involvement have been greatly exaggerated. Mercy Lee and I are just friends.” They weren’t even that, but it wasn’t good for his image to air his true opinion of the woman on live national television.
“Come now, there’s no reason to play your cards so close to your vest,” Jillian cajoled.
“The fact is, I can’t be involved with Mercy Lee because I’m already promised to someone else.” And it didn’t much matter to his heart that she’d sent back the ring. He didn’t want anyone else.
The host gaped. “You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen. Kyle Keenan is engaged!”
“Wait—” That wasn’t what he’d meant, wasn’t what he’d said. Was it?
But Jillian was like a shark scenting blood. “Tell us everything. Who is she? How long have y’all been together? How did you meet?”
Kyle scrambled to salvage the situation. Maybe he could make it clear he was off the market without this blowing up in his face. “She’s the only one who’s ever mattered. We’ve known each other forever, but she values her privacy, so we’ve kept everything on the down low. That won’t be changing.”
“That’s all you’re going to give us? Not even the story of your romance?”
Again with the Nice Guy smile. “That’s it.” Let the media chase their tails trying to figure out who he was talking about. There wasn’t enough here for them to connect it to an actual person. It would be okay.
“Fine. I suppose we’ll have to accept that. Let’s wrap up with a lightning round of questions.”
Dodged that bullet. Kyle relaxed. “Alright, let’s do it.”
“Favorite food?”
“Apple pie.”
“Song you sing in the shower?”
“‘The Thunder Rolls.’”
“Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs.”
“Last book you read?”
“Blake Iverson’s latest.”
“Your girl’s name.”
“Abbey.”
“Ah ha!”
Oh shit, what have I done? “That was dirty.”
Jillian just shrugged, unrepentant. “Inquiring minds wanted to know. Thanks for joining us today.” She turned her gaze back to the camera. “After the break, we’ll be back with—”
But Kyle heard nothing else. He was too busy holding in the oh shit, oh shit, oh shit echoing through his skull like a refrain. He’d said her name. Not her last name. But if anybody did any real digging, tracing him back to Eden’s Ridge, they’d find her. She’d be mobbed with media, and they wouldn’t care what the truth was… Whether they were together or not, she’d be the center of a shitstorm.
This was all Davis’s fault. If he hadn’t pressed the Mercy Lee thing, Kyle’s mouth wouldn’t have run away without his brain. As soon as he got the all clear, he strode off the stage, yanking off his mic pack and shoving it at a nearby tech. His manager looked apoplectic.
Before he could even say a word, Kyle was in his face. “You’re fired.”
For a moment, legitimate shock blanked out the anger. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, I sure as hell do. We’re done.” There was satisfaction in saying it. In meaning it.
“About damned time,” Griff muttered.
Color swept the other man’s cheeks. “You’ll regret this. You’d be nothing without me.”
Perhaps that had been true once, but not anymore.
“I’ll take my chances. Don’t forget about the NDA you signed.” Without a backward glance, he left Davis in the wings and headed for the studio exit, his brother right behind.
“Gonna be fallout from that,” Griff observed.
“It’ll be nothing compared to the hell that’ll be unleashed if I don’t get to Abbey before she hears about this interview.” In truth, she was probably gonna kill him either way.
“So, we’re going home?”
The place he hadn’t been able to make himself set foot in since he blew his own world to pieces. Even the idea of it had nausea setting up in his gut. But alongside the queasiness was a kernel of desperate hope because this disaster meant that, like it or not, he’d finally see Abbey again.
Kyle shoved out the door. “We’re going home.”
Mom: On the way! Thanks for everything!
“Okay, my parents are officially on the road,” Abbey announced. “Everybody, pray.” Despite all the friends who’d agreed to help, she had no real backup if something went wrong, so she needed the next ten days to go smoothly.
Taryn Washington leaned one generous hip against the spa’s front desk. “Well, I think it’s just the nicest thing you’re doing for your folks.”
“Seriously,” Nadia Flores agreed. “I wish somebody would send me on a cruise.”
Abbey shrugged. “They’ve been through a lot. If this senior care program works, it will make a big difference to everybody’s quality of life. His dementia isn’t too bad yet, but he can’t stay alone for long stretches anymore. We’re trying to keep things as normal as possible for him, and that’s just taken a lot out of us. We all need a break.”
Pru Reynolds Bohannon, Abbey’s friend and business partner, squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve been hearing good things.”
A timer sounded on Taryn’s watch. “That’s the end of the foot-soak. Anybody got time to help me out with this mother-daughter mani-pedi?”
“I don’t have anybody for another hour, and it’ll give me a chance to sit down. I’m in.” Abbey followed her into the treatment room.
Like the rest of the spa, the shiplap walls were painted a soft, soothing gray. The women in the pedicure chairs were so clearly related, sharing the same hazel eyes and heart-shaped faces. Hailing from somewhere in Kentucky, they’d come in for a girl’s trip yesterday and seemed to be having the time of their lives. Mom’s head was tipped back, eyes closed as she relaxed with her feet in the warm water. Daughter poured over her phone.
As Abbey and Taryn walked in, the girl’s eyes widened with shock, and she reached over blindly to pat at her mother’s arm. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it.”
“What is it?” her mother asked.
“Kyle Keenan is engaged. It’s all over social media.”
Mom laughed. “Well, t
here goes your diabolical plan to meet him after a show and make him fall madly in love with you.”
All the air was promptly sucked from the room.
Kyle was engaged?
In the ensuing moments of shock, Abbey stood rooted to the spot, trying to remember how to breathe.
Taryn stepped into her line of sight, her smooth bronze face set in lines of sympathy and understanding. “Didn’t you need to go prep for your next client?”
Not even able to speak, Abbey just bobbed her head in a nod and did an about-face, her limbs jerking like a marionette. She strode across the building to her own treatment room, pushing the door mostly closed for an iota of privacy. Shutting it all the way would give this too much importance.
Kyle was engaged.
The breath she’d been holding wheezed out. Why should the idea of that upset her? He wasn’t a part of her life anymore. They were less than friends now. Of course he’d moved on. But none of that stopped the mental video of the day he’d proposed with that candy machine ring.
They’d been hanging upside down from the branch of one of the apple trees way out in the west orchard, seeing who could stand the blood rushing to their head the longest. He’d dropped first, landing in a heap of gangly little boy limbs. “You win!”
She’d collapsed beside him, doing a double fist-pump before wrapping her arm around his skinny shoulders. “Hang on to me. I’ll keep you steady.”
They’d flopped back in the grass, his head on her shoulder, staring up at a blue sky studded with cotton-candy clouds as they waited for the world to stop spinning.
“I been thinkin’, you’re my best friend, Abs.”
“Duh.” They’d always been best friends. They always would be.
“Your granddaddy says you should marry your best friend.”