by Lane Martin
"Yes, his name is Brody. His dad was his biggest hero. He was a firefighter." Was? Oh God. No wonder she looked so forlorn. I turned my attention to her. What could I say? Shelby's focus remained on the photo. "He's my reason."
"Your reason for what?" I asked in a voice barely above a whisper as I tried not to cry for Brody and Shelby and the loss they had suffered.
"My reason for everything."
I walked back to the cottage in a fog. Before heading outside to the patio with my basket, I changed into my comfy clothes. I opened the chilled bottle of riesling Shelby had selected for me and drank half the glass before I even noticed how perfect it was.
"My reason for everything." Her words repeated in my head on a loop. What would it be like to have a reason? I didn't want for anything, and I hadn’t suffered anything nearly as devastating as they had, but I could still understand the feeling of loss. The only difference was, I didn't know what was missing.
I savored the pad thai, which paired perfectly with the wine—a little sweet with a twist of heat—as I thought about Shelby and her son. I thought about how the things I wanted in life were available to me, if I’d stand up for myself. They didn't have the same luxury.
The sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pinks and purples. How long had it been since I’d sat and watched the sunset? When was the last time I’d done what I wanted to do? Sadly, I couldn’t recall. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I wanted to play my violin—not because someone expected it of me, but for the sheer pleasure of making music for my own enjoyment. I quickly entered the cottage, not wanting to miss a moment of the beauty surrounding me and retrieved Cap from her case. I thought about what I wanted to play as I rushed through the warm-up exercises my many years of playing wouldn't allow me to skip. A piece by Amy Beach, an American composer I respected, came to mind. Beach’s melodies were haunting yet romantic, full of passion and virtuosity. It wasn't a well-known sonata, and I hadn’t played it in a long time, but it had always been one of my favorites. Maybe the reason I appreciated it so much was because it wasn't a piece anyone ever asked me to play.
As the sun slowly dipped behind the hill, I felt a bit like one of the musicians portrayed in the movie Titanic, who were said to have played to calm the panicked crowd as the ship sank. Maybe I was trying to calm myself. It was a good thing my parents couldn’t ground me. They were not going to be happy with me. I chortled at the thought of the trouble I was going to be in as the sonata came to an end. Next, I broke into the “Propior Deo” version of “Nearer My God to Thee.” I was going to need a lot of prayers. Maybe I should have booked more than one night.
It startled me when someone began to clap, which caused me to lose my hold on my bow. It was a mistake I hadn't made in... I tried to recall the last time I’d played like a beginner. I chuckled out loud at the answer: never. Sometimes it felt as if I had been born with an instrument in my hand. I had been called a musical prodigy, but I wasn't so sure it was true. To me, it had simply been natural.
A flush of embarrassment hit me. While the patio was rather private, it wasn't as if it was soundproof. I should have been more mindful of other guests. At least whoever I disturbed seemed to appreciate my performance. I turned to find a delighted Grandma Esther, with a small basket looped over her arm as she applauded me. She was in a new matching outfit; she now wore purple from head to toe. I was an acclaimed musician, yet I found myself blushing at her praise.
"I'm so sorry to disturb you. Your playing was nothing but beautiful and I couldn't help myself! And well, these are fresh out of the oven, so I thought I would use them as an excuse to come over so I could get a better listen." She extended the basket in offering as I blushed at her compliment. It was a habit I couldn't seem to break no matter how many times I performed. Accepting praise would never come easy to me, maybe as a result of not having received much of it from the people who should have given it to me freely. My family.
Once the sun had set, fairy lights I hadn't noticed before turned on automatically. The lighting made the patio someplace I never wanted to leave. I was quickly learning to love everything about Sunnyville.
"I have to ask…." Esther stepped farther into the space and placed the cookies down on the table before stepping just beyond the patio’s cover to light the glass fire pit, which was flanked by two inviting chairs. I followed her to the spot and sank into one as I watched the blue flames dance. Yes, this place was quickly becoming my new favorite spot.
"Ask what?" I wasn't shy as much as I was slow to warm up to new people, but that woman made me feel like I had known her for years. Maybe it was because she seemed so kind and willing to listen. In addition to her colorful outfits and oversized jewelry, she baked cookies too. If that didn't scream grandma, I didn't know what would.
"Are you here for the teaching position?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "I'm surprised Betsy didn't call Donna. Donna owns Better Buzz. No, Donna would have told me. Are you single? I didn't see a ring on your finger. Maybe Betsy wants to keep you to herself for now. Grayson needs a wife. You two would make a beautiful couple. Well, who am I kidding? He's a Malone. He would look good with just about anyone. Not that you're not pretty. Dylan and Emerson are both sweethearts. Luke needs a mother. Do you know Cathy Clementine?"
I couldn't keep up with anything she was saying. I didn't know any of the people she was talking about. I was still on her first question. Are you here for the teaching position? I honestly didn't know what had brought me there, but having found myself there, I knew one thing: one day wouldn't be enough.
"Well, shoot, that's the couple up in the Lavender Room in the main house." Esther looked down at the phone she’d pulled out from her bra. Good gravy, it's not a purse. "I need to go. Enjoy the cookies. I'll see you at breakfast in the morning." Before I could get even one question out, she was gone.
A couple hours later, the empty wine bottle still sat beside the firepit as I fell into the luxurious bed, my belly full of the best cookies I'd ever eaten.
But even as well as I had slept, it was much too early when I woke up. I could have easily made coffee in my room, but I wanted to explore more. Sunnyville was a sleepy little town, but the coffee bar on Main Street was buzzing with activity. I walked up to the counter to place my order.
"I'm Donna. Welcome to Better Buzz. Can I take your order?" The woman wore her purple hair in braids and was so cheery I wondered how much caffeine she had running through her veins. I almost giggled at the thought, but I needed coffee first.
"Oh, Esther mentioned you last night. I'll take a large, sugar-free hot almond milk latte, please." I swore I heard the man behind me grumble something under his breath about "another one" as I paid and stepped aside to wait for my order.
"Good morning, Grady. Your usual?" Donna asked her next customer with a big smile on her face. Goodness, I imagined living in a small town must be like having a big family. Either that or he came here a lot since she greeted him by name and knew his order.
"You better add another scone to the order. Dylan's eating us out of house and home these days."
The barista called out when my order was ready and I took it from her as a woman with edgy black hair approached the giant man who was paying Donna for his order. I couldn't help but smile as she playfully slapped his arm and told him to "watch it" as I walked away to find a seat.
As soon as I was in my seat, the woman joined me at my table. "I'm sorry to bother you, but are you by chance staying at the bed and breakfast?" As she inched closer, I realized she was familiar looking to me, but I couldn't place her. As far as I knew, I didn't know anyone in Sunnyville except Esther. She extended her hand to me from across the booth and said, "I'm Dylan McCoy." I set down my cup and shook her hand.
"Malone," the man corrected as he joined her and gave her a kiss that was far from sweet. Wow. When the two finally came up for air, I didn’t know who blushed brighter, Dylan or me.
"Sorry. Newlyweds," she of
fered as an apology. She held up her left hand and it suddenly dawned on me how I knew her. She was Grammy award-winning singer and songwriter Dylan McCoy—make that Malone. I was a big fan of hers. There I was in a town so small all the stoplights could be counted on two hands, and I was sitting across from one of Billboards' most prominent names. Her freshman album had gone triple platinum, not to mention the songs she wrote for her ex, Jett Kroger. She was incredibly talented.
"Congratulations." I smiled at the blushing bride as Donna brought the large order out to the table. Dylan dug into one of the pastries. I guess she was hungry.
"We've got a bun in the oven," her husband explained, his voice filled with triumph. If I remembered correctly what I’d read about him online, he was a firefighter. It made me wonder if he knew Shelby and her husband who had died.
After swallowing, Dylan raised her brow and asked, "We've?"
"Okay, you have a bun in your oven. But I put it there, so doesn't that make me the head baker or something?" He looked hopeful until she shook her head no., I instantly loved the way Dylan messed with the giant man. He was easily twice her size, but it was evident she could bring him to his knees without even trying.
"Since it's my oven, I'm the head baker. You're merely the batter maker." I nearly spat my coffee all over them. Did she just call his sperm batter?
"Seems to me you like the taste of my—" She put her hand over his mouth, and he nipped at it playfully. Dylan returned her attention to me. "Donna told me you were in town for the music teacher job." Jeez. I never said that. Maybe being in a small town was more like playing a giant game of telephone. Esther had assumed that was why I was here, and I had never gotten the chance to correct her. Maybe you didn't want to.
"Oh." What else could I say? She frowned and I instantly wanted to see her smile again.
"I'm Grady. I didn't catch your name," Dylan's big teddy bear of a guy with messy brown hair and aqua eyes said as he put his arm protectively around his wife.
"I'm Penelope Anderson." As I provided my name, Dylan sat up straighter, a flash of recognition on her face.
"Oh my god, the violinist. I thought that was you. I heard you play with the Los Angeles Symphony." She was clearly impressed, but why? She’d performed live in Times Square on New Year's Eve, for Pete’s sake. Surely Dylan couldn't go anywhere without being recognized. But as I looked around the bustling coffee shop, not one person was looking at her like she was a superstar. People weren't sneaking pictures of her or approaching her to ask for her autograph. "You want the job I'm sponsoring for the local elementary school? This is crazy. Brody is going to flip when he realizes how talented his teacher is." For as slow-paced as this town was, this was all moving very fast. I wasn’t sure which direction I was going.
"Brody is my partner's son. Was. Is. Shit." Grady scrubbed his face with his hand in frustration.
"It's okay, babe." Dylan tenderly kissed Grady before returning her attention to me.
"Grady is a firefighter. He was involved in an accident a few years ago, and his best friend, Drew, didn't make it out. Drew’s son, Brody, is the reason we're looking for a music teacher." Dylan gripped Grady's hand. "He's having a tough time. Shelby—that’s Brody’s mom—talked to a counselor and she suggested music might help him express himself. But lessons and instruments are expensive, and she doesn't like accepting help from others. We can’t convince her they aren’t handouts."
"Shelby is as stubborn as Drew was," Grady added with a fist to the table, making us all jump in surprise.
"So, you're hiring a teacher for the school so Brody will have music available to him at school," I filled in for the table. The pieces were coming together.
"Yes," Dylan confirmed. "I would do it, but I don't have the educational background needed. Plus, I need to finish up a few projects before this one arrives." She patted her belly, and Grady placed his giant hand over hers. "Obviously, you aren’t here about the job. I'm sorry we interrupted your coffee, but I'm glad I got the chance to meet you, Penelope." My heart already ached for Shelby and the little boy who was her everything. Considering all I’d recently learned, the hurt grew into something bigger. It was something I couldn't ignore.
"What if I was?" I asked as I swallowed down the lump in my throat.
"What?" Dylan and Grady asked in unison.
"I have some time available." I didn't, but I'd make it for the chance to help Brody. "My degree is in music education." I had never taught, but I did have a diploma that said I could. "When do you want me to start?” I might not get the chance, considering my father, who was also my manager, was going to kill me.
"School starts back up next week," Dylan replied with tears in her eyes. I fished my card out of my purse and wrote down my private phone number and personal email address on it before getting up from the table.
"Send me all the details. I'll be back next week," I promised before I left Better Buzz and walked straight into a brick wall.
Chapter Two
CARSON
I t had been a week and I still couldn't stop thinking about the girl—no, the woman—I’d run into outside of Better Buzz. Okay, I hadn’t run into her, not exactly. It was more like I had been dragged into her.
Rascal hadn't moved so quickly in a long time. It caught me off guard. We had been on our morning run. About a block away from the coffee joint he took off like a rocket in her direction. I hadn’t even seen her until it was too late. We collided with an oomph, and I was forced to wrap my arms around her or else she would have sailed through the air from the force of me hitting her. Rascal finally stopped running, but the little jerk hadn’t been satisfied with simply causing a collision. Nope, he circled us until we’d been tangled together with his leash before he sat and watched the scene before him play out.
I swore I’d seen him smile as he wagged his tail in delight as the stunning brunette wiggled against me, trying to free herself, which hadn’t helped the situation I was in. And by situation, I meant my hard-on, which had been growing by the second. Admittedly, I had been somewhat relieved by the problem, since I had started to worry something was wrong with me. Other than morning wood, no one had gotten a "rise" out of me since my ex, Kara, and she had been gone for six months. It had been a relief to know nothing was wrong with me in that department. Rascal's other victim looked at me with narrowed eyes while swatting at me like I was a bug she was trying to shoo away. I couldn't help but chuckle as I grinned down at her. The slight height advantage I had over her gave me a clean shot of her heaving cleavage. I'm a guy. Of course I looked. What could I say? She had great tits. Rascal barked his approval.
"Oh my god, would you stop looking at my breasts and get off of me?" Her cheeks pinkened. Breasts? Such a lady. It would be fun to get little Miss Prim and Proper to say other naughty things. My cock twitched its agreement. She’d looked down between us and her nose wrinkled in disdain as she’d tried again to create some distance between us. Yeah, it would be highly entertaining.
"Need some help?" Grady stood next to Rascal and rubbed him on the top of his head. I wanted to wipe the stupid grin right off his face.
"No," I countered louder than necessary at the same time Miss Snooty Pants answered with a hopeful, "Yes."
"If you would stop squirming for half a second, princess, we would be fine," I barked.
Her lip jutted out and she turned her head away from me. I immediately felt awful for both the tone of my voice and the condescending nickname I had used. All women deserved to be treated like queens. If my mom had heard me, she would have smacked me upside the back of my head, and it would have been well-earned.
The woman lost her footing as she tried again to get away from me, and I tightened my hold on her. God, she smelled good. Her scent hadn’t been overpowering, by any means; rather it had been subtle and sweet—soft and delicate, yet thought-provoking. She inhaled deeply with our new position before I realized why. She had been pressed against every inch of me, and thanks to my run I was dre
nched with sweat. I probably smelled like my dog.
"Sorry. Hold still a minute." I dropped the leash, hoping it would untangle us. It worked, but Rascal took advantage of the fact that I no longer had a hold on him and took off on me again. I had been tempted to stay and offer the damsel a coffee as a way of apology, but I had to go after Rascal. I couldn't lose him again. It had nearly broken me the last time. Once I caught up to him, we returned to Better Buzz, but the leggy brunette was long gone.
Grady approached and said, "Hey, Rascal. Good morning, Saint." I was sitting with my dog on the patio at Grady and Dylan’s house, enjoying my coffee in the quiet early morning when Grady joined me. The trailer I called home was parked in the side yard. They had repeatedly told me they didn't mind having me, but since the project we had been working on since I arrived in town was finished, I was going to need to find a new place to park my rig. Rascal wasn't going to be thrilled with the move. I swear he was in love with Petunia, Grady's pet pig.
"Hey, asshole, are you ever going to stop saying my name like that?" I shot back. I’d met Grady Malone back when we had been training to be firefighters. No one in the department called me Carson; thanks to my buddy, they all called me Saint. As nicknames went, it was fine, but that wasn't Grady's style, he had to take it up a notch. No, he had to say it like he was a fight announcer every single time, which was annoying as hell and he knew it. Still, as often as I called him names, I liked the guy. I couldn't ask for a better friend or co-worker. Grady and a crew from Sunnyville had been sent to my hometown after it had been destroyed by fire six months ago to help and I’d gotten to know them well while we worked together. It had been a no-brainer when I had been offered a temporary position with them. I needed a change of scenery, so I had taken it.