“Still there, Larry?” he asked.
“Who’s this?” Larry replied, a note of irritation in his voice.
“My name’s Jacques. I’m a friend of Rainey’s—”
Larry broke in before he could continue. “A friend?” he asked, his skepticism undisguised.
“Yeah. And I’m trying to help her out, so I need you to tell me how to find this surprise brother of hers.”
It became clear in a matter of minutes that Larry’s information on the subject was less than stellar and more than a little outdated. But everything he said Jacques wrote down in the moleskin he always carried for songwriting.
Ray Charles Reeves had been born to a woman named Gloria Lopez in Louisville, Kentucky. Larry could not recall the kid’s date of birth, but he did give him the last known address, which was a good six years old. Apparently, Lopez had gotten married to a man around that time, and Rainey’s dad and his lackey — Jacques found Ash’s term more than fitting for the tool named Larry — had lost touch with her. Larry gave him the number he used to have for her, but Jacques suspected it was probably old too.
He didn’t linger on the phone long after he wrote down everything Larry had to offer, and after he disconnected the call, Jacques gathered up Rainey’s phone, their glasses, and the wine bottle and went back inside. If Rainey needed something, he didn’t want to be far.
The downstairs was empty, so Jacques sat on a barstool and took a chance on the phone number. It rang through, but a woman named Bridget answered, and she didn’t know a Gloria Lopez. Dead end there.
He started searching for Gloria Lopez on his phone, even though he had little hope he’d find much of anything. Whitepages only turned up three hits in the whole state of Kentucky.
Jacques took screenshots of the pages, knowing that if the woman had married, it was likely none of the three were her. And one was only twenty-seven, too young, Jacques hoped, to be someone Doc Dylan Reeves had knocked up a decade ago. The other two looked to be in their thirties and forties, so either, technically, could have been the right one.
He found three more on Facebook, and one of these bore the hyphenated last name of Lopez-Craine. He snapped pics of these as well and was about to search Instagram when the sound of footfalls on the stairs made him turn.
Rainey’s eyes met his, and she gave him a timid smile. She no longer appeared upset, but she came down the stairs a little slower than he’d like, as though she were uncertain what she’d find when she approached him.
To let her know he had no intention of leaving, he reached for the bottle of wine and tipped it into their glasses, topping them off. Glancing back at her, he saw that her timid smile had grown a little. She met the bottom of the stairs and walked to the kitchen, though she passed up the stools next to him and chose to stand on the opposite side of the counter.
Regretting that she wasn’t closer, Jacques slid her wine glass across the countertop.
“How’s Holi?” he asked gently.
Rainey took the crystal stem between her fingers and gave him a nod of thanks. “Taking everything in stride, as usual,” she said, giving him a tentative glance under her lashes. “When she heard of our new little brother, she actually snorted. Holi’s not easily surprised.”
She took a sip of her wine, set it down, and peered up at him under her lashes again. “And unless you’re a very good actor, you seem to be able to take quite a bit in stride too.”
If she was looking for reassurance, he would gladly give it. “I told you before, family drama doesn’t faze me.” Then he took a sip of his own glass before setting it down near hers. Their fingers were almost close enough to touch. “I’m just glad you let me stay.”
This time, he watched her bite down on her smile. He wished she’d set it free.
“Do I get to feed you now?” he asked, determined to do what he could for her.
Her eyes widened just a fraction, and then her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God. I completely forgot about dinner.” She covered an embarrassed laugh. “You must be starving.”
Jacques shook his head, grinning. “It’s all good. We’ll eat now.” He pushed himself from the stool, giving her little opportunity to refuse. “Where are the plates?”
“I’ll get them,” she said, turning toward the cabinets.
Jacques moved to the oven, grabbed a potholder from the counter, and set the three containers he’d picked up at Magic Wok onto the bar. Rainey darted around him, laying down napkins and serving spoons.
“Chopsticks?” she asked, meeting his eye with only a quick glimpse.
Before he’d arrived that evening, Jacques had anticipated that she’d be nervous — hell, they’d both be nervous — being together again after she’d avoided him for weeks. Her family’s situation had taken the focus off that awkwardness at first, but now it seemed to be back full force.
At least for Rainey. Jacques had only to see her again to know that coming — that insisting on coming — had been the right call. Now he just needed to help her realize it too.
“Sit down,” he said, retrieving two pairs of paper-wrapped chopsticks from the takeout bag. When Rainey, unmoving, blinked up at him, he tilted his head in the direction of the barstools. “Sit. I brought dinner. I get to serve you.”
She stared at him for a second, looked at the chopsticks in his hand, and finally nodded. Moving with what looked like deliberate calm, Rainey walked around the edge of the bar and sat.
“Now…” Jacques began, opening all three of the takeout containers. “…what do you like? We have Sesame Chicken, Kung Pao Shrimp, and Vegetable Fried Rice.”
Steam rose from each carton, and Rainey actually licked her lips, her nerves, it seemed, forgotten for a moment. Jacques kept his mouth tamped down, but the sight pleased him.
“All of it,” Rainey admitted with a shrug. Jacques allowed himself a smile as he heaped her plate with a generous portion of each.
“It’s good to see you,” he confessed, setting the dish in front of her and handing her a pair of chopsticks. What he wanted to tell her was that seeing her brought relief. Relief of the longing that he couldn’t seem to shake for three weeks. But he knew he’d sound mad if he told her that.
She met his eyes. “It’s good to see you, too.” The softness in her voice made him wonder if she found that hard to admit, but she looked down before he could seek the answer in her face. “Thank you for this. Given everything that’s happened tonight, I don’t know what we would have d—”
“It’s my pleasure,” he cut in, serving himself. With a full plate, he moved around the counter and took the stool on her right. Rainey gave him another nervous little glance, and Jacques knew he would need to drive the conversation tonight until he could remind her how good they were together.
Reminding her would be easiest with a kiss, but they were a long way from that now.
But sitting beside her, smelling the sweetness of her skin, the memory of their courtyard kisses rose in him like the tide, drowning everything else.
“Mmm…” Rainey’s sigh of appreciation pulled him from his fugue of longing. “The shrimp is amazing.”
“Yeah, Magic Wok’s the best.” He took a bite of shrimp with peanuts and chili pepper sauce. “Burns so good,” he muttered, making her laugh.
“You’re right about that.” She reached for her wine glass and took a sip. “So, you must really love Asian food.”
Jacques nodded, helping himself to another mouthful. “Nothing better,” he muttered. “You? What’s your favorite?”
A bashful smile claimed her raspberry lips, and Rainey shook her head. “You’ll laugh.”
Jacques almost choked on a piece of sesame chicken. “I’ll laugh? At your favorite food?”
“Yep.”
He fought his grin. “C’mon. Tell me.”
Rainey stalled with a bite of broccoli but rolled her eyes playfully. He set down his chopsticks and folded his arms on the counter, giving her a look of enduring patience.
She giggled and gave in. “Breakfast.”
Teasing her was too much fun. “So, your favorite restaurant is IHOP,” he deadpanned.
Surprise lit her eyes, and she dissolved in laughter, tilting her chin back and leaning into him like she couldn’t help it. She righted herself at once, still laughing, and Jacques immediately regretted not snaking an arm around her to keep her there.
“No,” she insisted, wiping her eyes and catching her breath. “IHOP is only for road trips. Breakfast desperation.”
“Okay,” he said, enjoying the sight of her more than he should. “Where is breakfast heaven?”
With the tips of her chopsticks, she counted off her fingers. “The French Press, Dwyers, and Hub City Diner.” She wrinkled her nose in contemplation. “I’ll take Another Broken Egg, too, even though it’s a chain — but only on weekdays.”
“Why just on weekdays?”
She looked at him like he was daft. “Because on weekends it’s like a forty-five-minute wait! I mean, we’re talking breakfast here. That means a fast is waiting to be broken. That needs to happen in a hurry.”
Lit with mock outrage, Rainey’s eyes snapped as she spoke, making him chuckle. The urge to reach for her was overwhelming. Jacques cleared his throat and forced himself to concentrate, although all he wanted to do now was scoop her off the barstool, carry her over to the couch, and pull her on top of him.
“So you go to those places often? French Press, Dwyer’s, and Hub City?” He took a bite of fried rice and waited for her answer.
He got a shrug. “Not really. I don’t go anywhere often, remember?” she said, half-chiding him and half… something else. As if she used the chiding as a mask, a defense. He wondered what it hid.
Jacques knew that the depth and timbre of his voice could sometimes sound like a command, so he purposefully gentled it before he spoke. “If you like those places, you should go more often.”
Rainey’s lashes lowered, and he knew at once that this was a different mask. She poked at her fried rice with the chopsticks.
“If I go out to eat, it’s usually with Holi and Ash, and Holi thinks restaurant breakfast is overpriced.”
“Let’s go tomorrow,” Jacques blurted. He didn’t bother deliberating or pacing himself now that she’d agreed to see him. He wasn’t interested in testing the waters. He wanted more. Now.
But when he saw the way her eyes widened and the edge of her teeth bit at the flesh of her lip, he wondered if he should have waded in instead of cannonballing.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she said on a whisper.
“Do what? This?” He lifted his hands and gestured between them. “You got this. This is easy.”
He spoke with a tease in his voice, wanting to keep things light. If she was going to try to pull away, Jacques was going to push back.
He watched her try to fight a smile, and she conceded with a nod. “You’re right. It’s too easy. Which means it’s too easy for me to—” She stopped herself, pressed her lips together and looked away.
“Too easy to what?” Jacques asked leaning closer, but he could guess the answer.
She gave a sigh and met his eyes again. “Get in over my head.”
He thought a moment, and then felt his face, his shoulders, his whole body soften because there was only one way to respond.
“What if I get in over my head?” he asked. “I mean, if that happened, I’d sure want some company.”
This time, she couldn’t win against her smile. With Rainey, teasing seemed to work, so he kept at it. He ducked his head and spoke just above a whisper.
“I mean, I’ve written more songs in the last three weeks than I usually do in six months,” he confessed and then winced as though this were grave news. “If anyone’s in over their heads, it’s me.”
Without taking his eyes from hers, so beautiful yet so anxious, he reached for her hand, and she let him take it. Her fingers felt warm and delicate in his, and he resisted the urge to bring them to his lips. But he stroked her hand with his thumb, and then hers came alive and stroked back, making him want to crow with joy. When had the touch of a woman’s thumb ever felt like such a triumph?
Oh, hell yeah, he thought. I’m in way over my head.
“Give me a chance.” His fingers entwined with hers.
“I can’t.” Her thumb traced over his palm.
“You can.” His pinky caressed the heel of her hand.
Her fingers squeezed tightly. So tightly. “I like you… so much—”
“Then just keep letting me see you.” He squeezed right back.
“It’s not that simple.”
He sniffed a laugh and held on tight. “It is, Rainey. It’s that simple.”
As they exchanged these words, their hands spoke an entirely different conversation, and Jacques found his eyes drawn to their joined flesh, liking that dialogue so much better. He felt his own longing matched in her touch. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. Their hands had gone well past dating. They had become lovers. Pledged vows of fidelity. Picked out rings.
He moved his thumb slowly from the base of her palm up to her index finger, straightening its slender length with his touch. The sight of their hands together was so beautiful, so innocently erotic, he could have watched it all night.
Jacques was still bewitched by the sight when she spoke. “For you, it is. For me it’s not. If I let myself get involved with you, and things go south, I have a lot more at stake.”
That was debatable since he guessed she hadn’t been hung up on him, night and day, for the last three weeks, but he let the comment go.
“So,” he said, squeezing her lovely hand, “seeing where this could go isn’t worth the risk?”
A pained expression, one that told of guilt and regret, crossed her face. “Please don’t think it’s easy to say this to you,” she said, her voice low and anguished. “My life right now has to be about helping Holi. I can’t—”
The last word broke in her throat, and now Jacques saw raw fear in her eyes.
“I can’t lose her. And I can’t risk falling for you only to smash to pieces when you and Heroine decide to move to out west or to New York or wherever.”
Jacques couldn’t help it. He let out a chuckle. In part, the thought of living on either coast seemed completely at odds with who he was, but he also felt a jolt of euphoria at her belief in him and his future. And he hadn’t missed the suggestion that she could fall for him.
“It’s not funny,” she said arching a brow at him. When she attempted to pull her hand from his, he gripped tighter and shook his head.
“Rainey, I’m not laughing at you. I’m glad you’re so sure about my success. I haven’t had many cheerleaders when it comes to my music, but you don’t know what I want and what’ll make me happy,” he said, shrugging. “Hell, I don’t even know, but living somewhere that’s not me isn’t it.”
But she was defiant, her hand now refusing to yield in his. “You’re wrong. I do know what will make you happy, and that’s going as far as your music will take you,” she said, both certain and — he hated to admit it — absolutely right.
“Yeah, I want to make music. I want to make a living doing it, and I want it to be a good living,” he said, pulling her hand closer to him so that her knuckles lay inches from his chest. “And yes, I want to be good. I want to be fucking great. But that’s not all I want.”
She’d said she couldn’t risk falling for him. He didn’t dare say it, but Jacques knew without a doubt he wanted her to. He was about to press his lips to her hand when she shook her head. Rainey’s eyelashes were lowered, veiling the fire in her hazel eyes, but she shook her head, and when she tugged her hand away, this time he let her go.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
Disappointment hit him, but it was the wrecking ball of loss on its heels that nearly took him down. Jacques felt its blow, but he didn’t move. He kept his eyes on her, and he stayed rooted to the spot.
He kept silent and still until she looked up at him, both curious and cautious, waiting to see how he’d respond.
“Okay, then,” he said with finality. “We’ll just have to be friends.”
Her chin reared back. “What?”
If Rainey was afraid that he’d build a relationship with her only to turn his back on her when his musical career took off, he just needed to prove her wrong. Give her a chance to trust him. Give her time to get to know him.
“We’ll just be friends. You’re not allowed to fall for me. I’m not allowed to fall for you,” he said with a shrug as though he had total control over how he felt about her. “But we still get to spend time together.”
Her left brow crimped in confusion. It was adorable. But then a steely resolve overcame her face, and she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, I have to focus on Holi—”
“And I’ll help you with that,” he broke in. “That’s what friends do. I already found six potential Gloria Lopezes in Kentucky.”
Her brow crimped again, sharper this time. “What? Gloria Lopez?” she asked, looking completely lost.
“Ray Charles’s mother.”
Rainey’s mouth fell open. “That’s her name? Gloria Lopez?”
Clearly, Larry the Tool hadn’t gotten to that part. “Yeah. Well, it was before she got married, anyway,” Jacques explained. “I’ve got six names, but one of them’s probably too young… at least I hope so anyway.”
Jacques pulled a face that made Rainey smile, and he took it for the triumph that it was.
“And one of them is definitely married,” he continued. “Because her name is Lopez-Craine.”
Rainey bit her lip, her eyes wide with excitement. “But her maiden name is Lopez? Larry was clear on that?”
“Yeah. Gloria Lopez. That was her name when she met your dad.” He studied her for a minute. “Why? Is that good news?”
Rainey chewed on her plump bottom lip, and Jacques wanted to make her stop. For one, it was distracting to a maddening degree, and two, the sumptuous flesh deserved much better treatment.
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