But Hannah hadn’t mentioned dating in Paris. Then again, he hadn’t asked, either. Honestly, he hadn’t wanted to know. He’d spent half their friendship protecting her from assholes, and the other dreading the day she met someone who wasn’t an asshole.
With a woman as kind and giving as Hannah, it was only a matter of time until she met the one, which was why her coming on tour with him was so important. This was his chance to make things right between them. To store up more memories, to laugh and play music, and get back to being Superman and Cherry.
Deacon traced the familiar, reassuring features of her face with his eyes and asked, “What would I do without you?”
Hannah slid him her patented look that said he was being ridiculous. “Well, first off, you’ll never find out because I’m never leaving you.” She shoved his shoulder with a grin, but a quiet voice reminded him, she already did. “And secondly, you’d be just fine. Look what happened when I was four thousand miles away and you nailed your Blue audition. You certainly didn’t need me around for that, now, did you?”
Her eyebrows tugged downward, as if she honestly believed that were true, and he bent low so he could look into her eyes. “If you hadn’t taught me to play ‘Chopsticks’ in high school, there’d be no Blue.”
“Right,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Because it was totally my mad teaching skills that made that happen, and nothing at all to do with you being a natural musician. When are you finally going to see what everyone else sees, huh? You’re talented, Deacon. I knew you were gifted the moment your fingers first touched the keys.”
The way her eyes lit up at the memory of them sitting together in front of her mama’s old piano made something in his chest ache. Hannah looked at him like he was special, like he meant something… He never knew what to do with that.
“You also made your granddaddy’s fiddle sing the first day you picked it up. I, on the other hand, make it sound like two cats fighting to the death.” She scrunched her nose, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
He took her hand and told her honestly, “You’re the one who brought music into my life, Cherry. If it weren’t for you, I’d just be some loser playing basketball alone.”
She shook her head with a tender smile, playing off her goodness like she always did. Refusing to admit she saw him through rose-colored glasses. Since the day they’d met, Hannah had seen him for what he could be, rather than what he was—a screwup whose own parents didn’t want him. Even back then, he’d known he didn’t deserve her kindness, but he’d taken it anyway. Hannah Fisher had been his angel then, and now she was saving him again.
“But what I meant was, what would I do without you for the tour? If you hadn’t stepped up when the other nanny fell through, I wouldn’t be headed off to play rock star tomorrow. It’s because of you I get to live my dream.”
The reality was, without childcare, Deacon wouldn’t have been able to go on the road and likely wouldn’t have a career. As it was, his contract was only good until the end of their current tour—a headache he’d make sure to solve over the next few months. But even if he had family who would’ve volunteered to watch his rambunctious two-year-old, Deacon wouldn’t have left him. That boy was all he had.
No doubt reading his mind, Hannah linked their fingers together and squeezed. “We’re family, Deacon. I’m here for you anytime you need me. Always. You know that.”
He did know. Hannah was everything honest and pure in his world. Her goodness fought back the demons of his past. It was wrong, how much he relied on her, but he couldn’t help it. She made him better.
Brushing a wayward curl behind her ear, Deacon told her, “And you can count on me.” His fingertips skimmed across the soft skin of her cheek as he cupped her face in his hand, the same way he always did when he comforted her, and their eyes locked. “No matter what.”
Hannah closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, and the strange sensation that stole over him when he first walked into her bedroom swirled under his skin. He swallowed hard, and for some reason, found his gaze falling to her parted lips. A wayward thought floated through his head, wondering what they tasted like.
It was enough to have him instantly draw back his hand.
What in the hell was happening? Apparently, Hannah wasn’t the only one acting differently, because his own brain had gone rogue, forgetting that this wasn’t a woman to lust after. This was Hannah, his Hannah. Even if he was attracted to her—which he wasn’t, because she was his friend…his best friend—he’d never act on it.
Love and romance weren’t in the cards for him. In his world, the people he loved either rejected, forgot, or gave up on him. The one and only exception to that rule seemed to be Hannah and her parents, because he’d yet to chase them away. He planned on keeping it that way for as long as he could.
“I should go.” Clearing his throat, Deacon wiped his palm against the rough denim on his thigh. “When I came up here, Max was playing cowboy with your dad. Knowing him, I better make sure the living room’s safe.”
On cue, a crash sounded below. Luckily, it was followed by his son’s high-pitched giggles and Bill’s deep chuckle, which meant the damage couldn’t be all that bad, but Deacon pushed to his feet anyway. “See you down there?”
Hannah grazed her hand along her gingham bedspread, eyes down and her shoulders rounded. “Yup. Just, uh…need to finish packing.” Slowly, she raised her head and gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
He hesitated at the door. Somehow, over the last few minutes, an uncomfortable distance had sprung up between them. They were finally back in the same space, the same damn zip code, and things were suddenly getting screwed up. He blamed himself.
Rubbing a hand over the scruff at his jaw, Deacon searched for something…anything…that could make things right again. Put that easy smile back on her face and their friendship back on track. Strangely enough, his gaze fell on the lingerie still visible in her suitcase.
“You know, I’m no Cosmo or anything,” he told her, taking a small step toward the hallway, “but I find flannel underwear very sexy.” He rapped his knuckles on the wall with a solid nod. “Thermal’s pretty hot, too.”
Hannah tilted her head, completely baffled. “Thermal?”
It’d been a long shot. A definite Hail Mary. But as he watched her mouth form the word “thermal” with such a look of confusion, his lips twitched…and when the soft skin between her eyebrows scrunched, and those sweet, innocent eyes met his again, he couldn’t hold back the smile. He chuckled devilishly, and Hannah’s face pinched in a fierce scowl before she twisted around and grabbed a pillow from the bed.
“It gets cold in Maine,” he teased, ducking into the hall seconds before the pillow hit the wall where his head had been. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t want you freezing on tour!”
“You’re not funny!” she hollered, but the laughter in her voice gave her away.
Deacon smiled to himself and hollered back, “Of course I’m funny. Everybody thinks so!”
No one thought so, which explained the second round of giggles coming from the bedroom. If anything, people complained he was too serious, which was why he and Hannah made such a good team. She made him lighten up, gave him a reason to smile, and he watched out for her. Always.
Headed for the stairs, he took them two at a time as Hannah’s colorful commentary on his lack of humor and thermal’s rustic appeal trailed behind him. There was a definite bounce in his step. Things almost felt normal again. Once they got on the bus, and they got used to being around each other after so long apart, they’d find their way back. They had too much history between them not to.
“Now if I can never again picture her naked,” he muttered to himself, “we’ll be all set.”
Chapter Two
Breathe, girl. Just remember to breathe.
Spellbound, Hannah stood frozen, arms extended in the air to tighten her ponytail, as a long lin
e of cars, trucks, and buses pulled into the empty Food Lion parking lot. Seconds earlier, the area had been sleepy, the only noise being a few chirping birds and the lovable sounds of Max pretending to be a horse. Now, a cacophony of muffled music, muted voices, and idling engines shattered the relative silence, and the butterflies in Hannah’s stomach responded in dance.
This was really happening.
Sure, she’d met the entire band back when she visited Magnolia Springs. They’d attended a Fourth of July party together, shared a few laughs, and even gone out to dinner one night, but she’d been so completely fixated on kicking off Operation Joie de Vivre and being near Deacon again that she’d sort of bypassed the whole freaked-out fangirling stage. That so wasn’t the case now. No, starstruck was hitting with a vengeance, right along with its good friends, struck mute and basket case. A trifecta of awesomeness.
Could anyone blame her? These men were country royalty. Their songs were on her iPhone. “Rain Dance” used to be her ringtone. And now, she was going to be their nanny? What if she screwed everything up? Deacon had faith in her and vouched for her way with kids, and Blue’s manager, Arabella, had followed up that endorsement with a thorough background check and phone interview, but still.
Whose life was this?
“Yours, silly.”
Hannah peered up in wonder, and Deacon tapped her on the nose. “You asked whose life this was. It’s yours, Cherry. Actually, no, it’s ours.” The enormous smile that spread across his face stole the breath straight from her lungs. “Crazy, right?”
All she could do was nod. Oh, it was crazy, all right, but the truly bizarre thing was how much hope that one simple word had given her. Ours. If only Deacon knew how badly she wanted things to be theirs—a future, a family, and someday, when the tour was over and they got settled, even a home. She wanted to share a last name and help him raise Max. Not as an honorary aunt, but as a real mother. The kind he deserved to have.
Glancing at the little boy currently perched on her father’s shoulders, Hannah smiled wistfully. Living a life filled with ours had been her dream for as long as she could remember, and with any luck, by the time they circled back around to Charlotte in a couple months, she and Deacon would finally be on their way to making it a reality.
A slamming door snapped Hannah out of her love daze. Blinking her eyes, she focused back on the amassing crowd and felt the butterflies twitch again. Goodness, she’d really had no clue how many people—and the sheer amount of equipment—a tour required. The parking lot was filled with bodies and activity. A quick glance at her parents showed they were every bit as awed. Her daddy’s eyes shone with pride, and her mama couldn’t seem to stop squeezing Deacon’s hand.
If the stubborn man would only open his eyes, he’d see how much he was loved. By all of them.
As the assorted crew began hauling gear, shifting things from one place to another, Hannah chomped on her thumbnail. Sherry Blue, Tyler’s wife, smiled and held up a hand, signaling she would soon be coming over, and potential openings flitted through Hannah’s mind. Of course, there were the old standbys that always worked: hi, nice to see you again; love that shirt. Occasionally, a joke would even work. It was all about finding the right approach for the person. Unfortunately, she didn’t know enough about Sherry to guess.
Hannah blew out a breath. She was overthinking things, as usual, but planning what she wanted to say was a technique she’d learned in high school. Nowadays, Hannah’s stutter rarely made an appearance. She’d all but nipped it in the bud. But it was possible, in moments of high stress, for it to creep up…and rubbing elbows with world-famous celebrities and their uber-cool, edgy brides definitely registered as stressful. But at least if the worst should happen, Hannah had another trick in her arsenal.
“Bloody ’ell.”
Hannah winced. Ouch. Out of all the accents Deacon could’ve used, British was by far his worst.
“No needs to be nervous, luv,” he continued, smirking at her grimace. “These blokes are me friends. They’ll love ya every bit as much as I do. I guarantees it.”
Despite the verbal assault, it was tempting—so very, very tempting—for Hannah to ask, and just how much do you love me? yet somehow she bit her tongue. Instead, she replied in the Queen’s proper English, “Bugger-all, my ears are bleeding!”
Deacon grinned down at her, and Hannah rested her chin on his arm, gazing up as she teased, “That, sir, was a horrid, muddled mix of a dozen different dialects—including pirate. As always, your skill with language leaves me amazed.”
Deacon laughed, and her belly flipped again, this time for a whole new reason.
Strange accents were like their secret friendship code. They were another tool she’d learned to help control her stutter, and while she’d originally thought her teacher was insane to suggest it, it worked. Using voices and playing with different accents got Hannah out of her own head. It let her be someone else for a short while. Deacon, of course, added his own twist, purposefully murdering whatever accent he attempted in an effort to distract and make Hannah laugh, but the result was still the same: nervousness obliterated.
“You’re right.” She breathed out, watching as Tyler, Nate, Miles, and Charlie joined up and began heading their way. “Everyone was wonderful when I met them last month. But, Deke, these people are famous! I’m a goofball who watches Wonder Pets and sings made-up songs about inanimate objects. What if they hate me?”
Deacon cupped her face between his hands and pressed a soft kiss against Hannah’s forehead. The scruff on his chin tickled her skin and she closed her eyes, unable to help the sigh that escaped her lips. Tingles danced from the crown of her head to the base of her spine, and all she wanted to do was curl up in his safe, comfortable arms and stay there forever.
Leaning back with an amused smirk, he mused, “Last time I checked, I was in Blue, too, which by your definition, also makes me sort of famous. In that case, I guess my opinion should count for something, and I happen to love those silly songs. And Turtle Tuck is my spirit animal. If that makes you a goofball, sweetheart, then that means I’m one, too.”
Deacon wrapped his arms around her shoulders, jostling her from side to side, and Hannah sighed. He didn’t get it. Deacon was already in. He’d auditioned, wowed the band with his incredible talent, and Blue was lucky to have him. She, on the other hand, was simply the nanny and tagalong friend.
“Besides, you’re impossible to hate, Cherry. Your heart’s too pure. If anyone takes the time to genuinely get to know you, I promise you, they fall in love with you every time.”
Hannah’s heart stuttered in her chest. Deacon pressed another swift kiss to her forehead, winked, then stepped away to welcome the band. “Hey, man!”
Hannah hung back, watching the reunion from a few steps away as hope swirled in her chest. Every time? Did that mean he had fallen in love with her, too?
Slow your horses, girl, her brain whispered. Don’t put words into his mouth.
The truth of the matter was, Deacon most likely meant “love” in the sweet, innocent, sisterly affection sort of way…not the mushy, romantic, I-want-to-father-your-future-children way that Hannah so desperately craved. But, still, it was a start.
With a decided bounce in her step and optimism in her lungs, Hannah took a few steps nearer the group that now included her parents. As she walked, Hannah scanned the eager, happy faces, then stopped when she noticed beads of sweat dotting her best friend’s hairline. Deacon shifted his feet, then shoved his hands deep into his pockets. It took a moment to register, and when it did, Hannah’s heart clenched. Deacon was nervous.
Even before championship basketball games in high school, Deacon never broke a sweat. In fact, he thrived on adrenaline. That he was sweating now revealed just how much this moment meant to him. How much he cared what her parents thought about his new life, how much he needed their approval. It made Hannah fall for him that much deeper.
“Lois, Bill,” Deacon said, meeting each of
their eyes before nodding toward his front man. “This is Tyler Blue, our fearless leader. Ty, these are Hannah’s parents. They’re like my family.”
Daddy reached out to shake his hand. “We are his family,” he corrected, “and it’s a pleasure to meet you, son.”
With a glance at Deacon, Tyler said, “The pleasure’s mine, Bill. Deke tells me you’re a Tar Heels man. I’m a big fan myself—as long as they’re not playing LSU.” The men exchanged chuckles, and Tyler looked to her mama. “And Lois, I’m still dreaming about the box of cookies you sent our way earlier this year. Deacon shared a few before hiding the rest from us. Best cookies I ever ate. Just don’t tell my chef sister-in-law.” He grinned. “It’s an honor to meet you both.”
Charlie stepped forward next, followed by Miles and Nate, each shaking her daddy’s hand and accepting hugs from her mama. They all seemed a little taken aback by Mama’s open affection, but being true southern gentlemen, they went right along with it.
Nate, the obvious flirt of the group, even took it a step further, kissing the back of her hand (charming a blush out of her) before slapping Deacon on the back. “Did Deke here ever tell you about his fumbled audition?”
As the tips of her best friend’s ears turned bright red, almost rivaling her mama’s cheeks, the band members took turns razzing him about forgotten lyrics, clearly all in good fun, and Hannah shook her head in amazement.
Deacon truly belonged here. Standing toe-to-toe with international celebrities, swapping stories and laughs, he fit. This was his world now. As much as that thrilled her…and it genuinely did…it also threw a monkey wrench into her mission.
Deacon had been right earlier; the entire band was famous. Tyler was the lead singer, and obviously the band shared his last name, but each member was as well known as the next. The guys did publicity together, they graced magazine covers as a group, and each one had their own harem of fangirls. As the newest member, Deacon’s star was still rising, having only replaced the former fiddle player/keyboardist a year ago, but with a new album and tour to promote, his entire world was about to change.
The Nanny Arrangement (Country Blues) Page 3