by Ava Miles
There was a chorus of yeahs from everyone save Quinn, who just stood there with his arms crossed. God, he really did need a hug, but she wasn’t going to force the issue. She handed Flynn the handkerchief first.
“I like it,” he said after inhaling it. “Bold yet spicy and earthy. Fun yet complex. I know a few models who are going to love wearing this.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Only a few? Here, let me smell it.”
“You don’t need to sound so touchy,” she told him as Flynn passed the handkerchief.
He sniffed. “It’s pleasant.”
“Pleasant?” She wasn’t surprised at his bland answer, but she still wanted to slap him silly. “You’re a Neanderthal. Even the Perfume Jedi couldn’t help you.”
“What?” he asked.
“Oh, never mind,” she said, grabbing it from him and passing it to her father.
He pressed the handkerchief to his nose, and her heart was too deeply lodged in her throat for her to tell him he didn’t need to work that hard. He sniffed again. It was almost painful to watch.
“It’s beautiful, honey,” he said at last. “The most beautiful perfume I’ve ever smelled.”
And with it, her heart took flight. Yes, she was ready to soar.
“What are you going to call it?” her dad asked.
She looked at the men who’d helped build her foundation and thought of Beau. Then she took the handkerchief and inhaled again, focusing on the grapefruit and cinnamon notes. Her. All women.
“Cherish,” she said. “Every woman wants to feel cherished. By the ones she loves, but mostly by herself.”
“I think we have a winner,” Flynn said, lifting her up in the air like she was a champion.
With the scent of Cherish swirling around her, she felt like a champion. She felt like champagne bubbles rising in a glass.
Now it was time to share that feeling with the world.
Chapter 28
When Beau landed in Nashville, he had a new song and a handle on Ibrahim’s first question.
Still, he opened the man’s final question to him with trepidation:
At the end of your life, what is the one thing you’ll wish you’d done?
He reread the question. How was he supposed to answer that? He wasn’t dying.
Not even close. Then it hit him. He wouldn’t want there to be one thing. He’d want to go to his Maker with no regrets.
Caitlyn. He couldn’t let her be a regret. She was supposed to be his present and future and everything in between. Somehow he had to win her back. He was hoping the new song he’d written would help, but he had other action items, the first of which was calling Arthur Hale via Michaela, who’d given him her phone number when she’d first arrived.
She picked up her phone at once, and he realized he hadn’t thought to calculate the time. Clearly she was up. “I don’t think I should be talking to you,” she said without ceremony.
“I can understand that, and I’m not asking you to. Would you put Arthur on, please? I need to ask him something.”
“Everyone is packing up, getting ready to head off to our respective homes, except for me. I’m going to New York with Flynn and Caitlyn. I’m only telling you that in case you’re not the douchebag my brothers think you are.”
Her voice was a mixture of ire and hope—a relief. He’d have work to do with her brothers, but Michaela would forgive him if he proved himself. “Thanks for telling me. I’m working on turning this around.”
“Work fast,” she said. “Here’s Uncle Arthur.”
“You ready to talk turkey?” The older man huffed. “I can’t imagine why else you’d be talking to me.”
“Answer this question for me. I think I have it myself, but somehow I knew you would confirm it for me. What would you do if someone you loved lied to you or made you a party to their lie?”
“That’s easy. I’d tell them to get their head out of their ass. Then I would hold them accountable. Untangle myself from their bullshit.”
He got to his feet as the flight attendant took his bags off the plane. “That’s what I thought.” Difficult, but not impossible. “Michaela mentioned she’s heading to New York. You might go as well. I’m going to send you some tickets to The Morning Show.”
“Why would I want to go to a morning show? Takes me an hour to crawl out of bed these days. Oh, be quiet, Clara. That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m performing, and you might be interested in hearing it. Tell Hargreaves I’d like him there too if he would be willing.” When he stepped outside, the humid air enveloped him in its stickiness. He welcomed it. It was good to be on familiar ground for what he needed to do next.
“Are you planning on making things right with Caitlyn? I won’t lie and say it’ll be easy. We’re talking a serious magic act here.”
“I know it,” he said, stepping into the back of the car he’d arranged to meet him. “Lucky for me I know some pretty magical performers to back me up. See you soon, Arthur.”
“Bah!” was all he heard before the call ended.
He headed straight to Rye’s house like his friend had suggested via text. Jake, Clayton, and Georgia would join them for a powwow. Tory opened the door, a laughing Boone on her hip.
“Beau! Welcome. Rye thought it best for you to come here since you wouldn’t have any food in your house. I made some smoked brisket and chocolate cake. Rye seems to think he has food cravings even though I’m the pregnant one.”
“Baby!” Boone cried, poking his mama’s still-flat belly.
“Yes, congratulations! Rye told me the great news.”
“We’re so excited. Aren’t we, Boone? Maybe a baby sister to balance out all this tough-guy energy in the house. Come on, everyone is out back. Georgia can’t wait to meet you. By the way, I like the new look personally. We can’t all wear leather vests without shirts like Rye used to.”
That remark got him laughing. “I actually have one of those now.”
She blinked. “Really? I expect a lot of women are going to want to see that.”
When he let himself out on the back patio, Rye let out a war cry. The rest of the group turned, Clayton looking like a country badass next to a petite woman with fiery red hair. Jake lifted his hand in greeting, his low-key persona the complete opposite of Rye, who came barreling toward him.
His friend bear-hugged him. “The man of the hour! Thank God you gained seven hours in all that time zone craziness. We’re going to need it all, Bubba.” He looked him straight in the eye. “You still doing okay?”
He nodded. “Getting more grounded by the minute. Hey, Clayton. Jake. And you must be the famous Georgia Belle. Thanks for stepping in and helping out.”
The woman with the fiery red hair was eyeing him like Colette did, looking for angles only she could see. “I don’t like anyone getting knocked down when it ain’t his fault. Plus, I like your new look. I sure as hell love the new songs. Your old record label is going to be missing you something fierce. Bet your ass on that.”
“We’re booked on The Morning Show the day after tomorrow,” Clayton said, shaking his hand. “I got you time for two songs and a joint interview. They want to talk to you, Rye, and Jake together, but they understand the focus is you.”
“Jake is a man of few words anyway,” Rye said, nudging the former soldier.
Beau shook his hand. “Thanks for volunteering to help turn things around.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “Besides, my wife, Susannah, is a big fan and so are her sisters.”
“My wife too,” Clayton said. “Now let’s—”
“Before we get going on music, I want to talk about the Ryan Williams thing.” He took a long, deep breath. He’d told Rye about his conversation with his mama, but not about the decision he’d made later. “I know I told my mama I would do it in exchange for the name of my father, but I just can’t keep my word on this. I won’t lose the woman I love over my mother’s lie.”
Thank God Ibrahim had phrased h
is moral dilemma clearly. He owed him a debt of gratitude for that and so much more.
“I told you that you’d better marry the woman you wrote the sunshine song for,” Rye said, clapping him on the back. “I’m glad you found your way even though it’s dicey.”
He rubbed the back of his head, which was throbbing after the hours he’d spent agonizing over this decision. “It’s never easy to say bad things about your mama, but she was wrong to make me a party to her actions. The truth is: I don’t want to do the Williams’ cologne. I want to do Caitlyn’s perfume. Even if I wasn’t in love with her, I’d want to do it. I believe in it. Clayton, I know I might get dinged for breaking a contract, and I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”
“I’d recommend hiring John Parker McGuiness as your lawyer to talk to the Williams people,” Clayton said. “He’s got a way about him. He’ll find a way to settle this with minimal damage to your word or pocketbook.”
“I don’t care about the pocketbook none,” he said. “But my word matters. People need to know it still does.”
Georgia strolled toward him. “Your mama will get dinged too, you know.”
Guilt wrapped iron bands around his belly, but he couldn’t let this one slide. Mama might never understand why he’d broken his word to her, but she’d been wrong to ask him to uphold her lie to the Williams people in exchange for something she should have freely given him. “I know it. I can’t help that. Since I plan on finding my real father and hope to get to know him, the truth of our split is probably going to come out anyway.”
“Perhaps on The Morning Show?” Georgia’s eyes were shrewd. “That would certainly help turn the tide.”
He’d thought of that. “I want to meet my real father as soon as I can. When I learned he used to work at the school I went to…” He still couldn’t put words to the way it made him feel.
“We’ll ask Vander Montgomery to find him,” Clayton said. “He’s the best P.I. in town. Plus, he’s basically family.”
His heart seemed to lift, even though the winds were shaky. Mr. Garcia—Dad—had wanted to know him when he was seven. Did he still? Beau had agonized over that question, but deep down, he believed his daddy would want to be in his life. He planned to find out either way.
Georgia ran her blood-red nails over his velvet jacket. “Personally, I’m glad you’re making your own decisions, Beau. It’s hard for young singers, especially ones managed by family. I’ve seen it more times than I can count. Plus, it’s high time for you to step out of that one-dimensional good ol’ boy persona. I’m always skeptical of boys who are too good.”
Beau choked out a laugh. “Glad you’re on board.”
“Never had that problem with me, did you, Georgia?” Rye said, putting his arm around her.
“True, but I never believed you were as bad as you said you were either. And I was right.” She gave him a pointed look and glanced at the house. “You’ve got another baby on the way, honey. Makes my heart happy since my own son and daughter-in-law are still so focused on their careers.”
Clayton sighed. “We’re going to give you plenty of grandbabies, Mama. Don’t worry. All right. Mama and I need to run with a few things. I’ll call John Parker and get things moving with the Williams people. Jake here can talk to Vander. Mama, you’re up on the social media front and putting out feelers to other record companies.”
“That last part is a piece of cake,” Georgia said, giving Beau a pat on the chest. “Especially after they hear you perform live in New York. I’m going to make sure every Nashville heavy has their TV turned on. The calls will start rolling in. Expect the biggest deal of your life, kid.”
He hoped so, but he’d looked at the media coverage. They were making Caitlyn out to be both a temptress and a scorned woman. They had some major shoveling to do, but he was ready.
“I only want to sing what I want,” he said. “My songs are my truth, and no one is gonna squelch that.” His mama had tried to make him do that, and he wasn’t sure he could forgive her. He still hadn’t decided if he was going to keep paying her full salary or not. It wasn’t about the money, which he could afford. It was about rewarding bad behavior. He wanted to come to the right decision free of all guilt or obligation to her.
“Speaking of,” Clayton said, “y’all should start working on the music. Three country singers showing up together is news, but two of them backing up another headliner? They’re already salivating in The Big Apple.”
“Let’s head to my studio,” Rye said, pushing Beau toward the house. “I haven’t seen Georgia and Clayton on a tear like this since my own media debacle. See how that turned out, Bubba? I got me the best wife and family a man could hope for out of that.”
He thought about Caitlyn. He was hoping she’d keep her heart open to him and everything he planned to say and do in the next thirty-six hours. Either way, he would speak his truth. She deserved nothing less. “I hope you’re ready to learn a new song. I’m swapping out ‘Sunshine in Her Eyes.’”
Rye stopped short and looked over at Jake, who frowned. “Are you insane, Bubba?” Rye burst out. “That song is for your woman. It’s perfect!”
Beau planted his feet, calling to mind the soft earth in the lavender fields. His gut was certain of this change. “She knows that song. I even performed it in front of her family. I wrote her another, one I hope and pray is going to turn the tide for good.”
“What’s it called?” Jake said.
He smiled, his heart quivering with uncertainty and hope. “‘Love Among Lavender.’”
Chapter 29
Matchmaking had never been this difficult in the old days.
Certainly, it shouldn’t involve subterfuge, and yet Arthur had joined Clara in insisting the entire family go out for breakfast at a restaurant right across the street of The Morning Show. Caution was part of matchmaking too, Clara had pointed out. Although Beau had followed through and sent them tickets, they didn’t want to ambush Caitlyn without knowing what he planned on saying. If it was good—and it had better be prime—they wouldn’t need to push the girl to cross the street.
Flynn had begrudgingly helped choose a restaurant with plenty of TVs, and Michaela had sweet-talked the manager into tuning it to the show Beau was headlining and cranking up the volume for her elderly uncle, God help him.
Sacrifices to his ego were also a part of matchmaking, it seemed. He’d have to keep those to a minimum going forward.
Hargreaves had even joined them, a silent vote of faith in whatever his flamenco student had planned. Clara kept giving Arthur knowing looks as he pushed around the worst oatmeal he’d ever tasted. If this was what New Yorkers ate, no wonder they looked so stiff as they wove their way through the throng of people on the sidewalk outside the restaurant’s windows. He didn’t remember people being this rude, but then again, he hadn’t lived here for some sixty years.
“Looks like The Morning Show is just starting,” Michaela said, her hair damp from her shower.
Arthur glanced back at the TV. “Hold on to your butts,” he muttered.
Michaela let out a nervous laugh. “You’re quoting Samuel L. Jackson? Oh, that’s so cool! Isn’t it cool, Caitlyn?”
“Yep.” Her monosyllabic answer was as clipped as her attitude. The poor girl looked like she’d cried her eyes out after showing them to their rooms.
Clara’s elbow startled Arthur into dropping his spoon on the floor. It clattered as he heard a booming voice from the TV set announce: “Beau Masters is here with friends this morning. Grab your coffee. You don’t want to miss this.”
Caitlyn gasped, her gaze flying to the TV. Michaela had made sure her sister sat facing the TVs.
Sure enough, Beau filled the large-screen TV over the bar. The black velvet jacket, paired with a white shirt, jeans, and boots made him look like a country boy going to the Oscars, if you asked Arthur, but he knew some people liked the style.
“That’s—”
“Beau,” Clara finished, putting
a hand on her niece’s arm. “Yes, dear. Appears so."
“He doesn’t look jet-lagged,” Flynn growled. He was facing away from the TV, but he’d darted a look over his shoulder.
“He’s a performer,” Michaela said, resting her elbows on the table. “And my God! Is that Rye Crenshaw and Jake Lassiter too? I saw the show was advertising two other surprise guests.”
The girl may have a Ph.D. in food stuffs, but she’d never earn one in subterfuge.
“I believe it is,” Arthur said, following this insane script.
“Did you know about this?” Caitlyn stood and looked pointedly at all of them.
Arthur sighed. “The jig is up.”
Clara patted his hand. “Shush. Caitlyn, he’s making some important announcement.”
Arthur rose and pushed her into his chair. “If he says something that makes you angry, you can throw red hots at the TV.” He withdrew a few from his pocket and scattered the ammunition onto the table, making Hargreaves frown at him, likely because eating them now wouldn’t be sanitary. “But maybe you’ll like what he says.”
The female host came on, beaming a smile as fake as her shiny white teeth, saying, “We’re here with a man who’s been making a lot of waves with his new look and a recent trip to France. Beau Masters is on our show this morning, and he’s brought along two of his friends, Rye Crenshaw and Jake Lassiter. Welcome, gentlemen.”
“This had better be good,” Flynn ground out.
“Be quiet,” Michaela said with a hiss.
The camera panned out to show the entire group. Rye and Jake were both wearing T-shirts under jackets, but Beau’s velvet look stood out. They’d also positioned him in the center of the couch, which was no accident, Arthur knew. He was glad to see Caitlyn was riveted to the screen, just like the rest of them.
“This is quite a new look for you, Beau,” the female commentator said, motioning to his attire. “Tell us what’s prompted this change in your image.”