“I promised you beer.” Taft grabbed a couple from the fridge. “Let’s go outside.”
Jake sank into a heavy wooden chair the house had come with, and gave a happy-sounding sigh. He opened the white plastic bag and dug out the plates of tacos from Dario’s. “This is insane. If I were you, I’d never be inside. I’ve always wanted to get in here and see what it looked like on the other side. Man, you bought a hell of a house.”
Taft nodded. He’d bought a house.
A house.
In Darling Bay.
Taft wondered again how long it took to stop being the newcomer here. “Did you know the people who lived here before?”
“The Adelaides. Yeah. The old guy was a music teacher, and his wife was disabled. Had a stroke in her thirties, lost most of her sight and some speech. He took care of her until they both died, in their eighties.”
“Damn.”
“Right? Think about that. Getting married young to someone healthy and strong, then you taking care of them for the rest of your life. The worst.” Jake bit into a taco.
Yeah. The worst.
But what if they’d really loved each other? What if Mr. Adelaide’s whole life was made better by his wife; what if she meant everything to him? Lana’s mop of dark hair flashed into his mind.
Surely that was what true love was. Taking care of the one you loved.
What if that person didn’t want to be helped?
Taft dug out a chicken taco on a soft corn tortilla. Piled with cheese and salsa, it dripped onto his work pants before it made it halfway to his mouth. “What do you think of –” he broke off, embarrassed. “Never mind.”
“What do I think of the state of politics? Religion?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.”
“Or are you wondering what I think about the way Lana Darling has looked at you every night for the last month when you ask her those two questions?”
The top of Taft’s head went hot. “It’s that obvious?”
“Dude.”
Every night, when the hotel crew knocked off work, they went downstairs for a beer at the bar. Every night, Taft asked Lana to come down with them.
She said no, every time.
Then, without fail, he said, “You want to write a song later? I’d shower first.”
Every night, she said no to that, too.
Each time, he wasn’t surprised. Being in show business his whole life, he knew that no one got anywhere without asking, without pushing, without trying.
But he also knew who he was: a washed-up writer with a pretty good singing career that he hadn’t earned honestly. How was that supposed to impress someone like Lana Darling, who was gifted and gorgeous and amazing and – “I think I’m in falling in love with her.”
“Dude,” Jake said again. He clinked his beer against Taft’s. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s awful.”
“I’ve gotta say, it does look painful.”
Taft kicked his boots onto the deck railing. A seagull swooped by at eye level and flew away screaming with injustice. The air smelled of brine and seaweed and Tapatío hot sauce.
“So I look like as much of a loser as I am.”
Jake nodded. “Yeah. You’re such a fucking loser. International superstar, enough money to buy a house on a whim –”
“A cottage, your brother called it.” A million had been a steal, to be honest. Three hours down the coast, and these kinds of houses started at two.
“– the kind of life where you can pitch in on a construction crew just for fun.”
“Well. It’s not just for fun.”
“We know.”
“You think I have any chance with her?” Taft tried not to sound too pathetic.
Still chewing, Jake scrutinized Taft. “Sure.”
“Is that your honest opinion?”
Jake squinted. “No.”
“Come on, man.”
Jake lowered his bottle. “She’s closed off. If any guy can get her attention, it seems like you’d be the one.”
“But.”
“She’s the lone wolf of the group. She’s always been like that.”
Taft leaned forward eagerly, dropping half a taco on the deck as he did. “You knew her back then?”
“Sure. She always seemed like the one who wasn’t part of anything else. They used to come here every summer, but I only remember Adele and Molly with us for the beach bonfires or drinking behind the library, not Lana. The rest of us all got stoned and stupid every summer, but Lana was always off with her notebook or her guitar. She’d come by sometimes and watch us skate. Then she’d take off again.”
“So she’s naturally solitary.” Taft could barely imagine what that would feel like. He actively liked to collect people. No one stayed a stranger long. He’d gotten that from Palmer.
He thought he had, at least.
Jake went on, “Lone wolf, you know?”
“What if she’s just shy? Or nervous about being in a crowd?”
“Would she be a musician, then?”
Heck, yeah. Taft knew plenty of musicians who preferred their own company to that of a group. It wasn’t that Lana didn’t like people. It was something else.
Jake kicked out his legs. “There goes the sun.”
Taft barely glanced at it. “So you think I’m doomed to fail.”
“Yep. Unless you need me to say you’re on the right track, in which case I will, because I want backstage tickets to your next show in San Francisco.”
“Maybe it’s just me she doesn’t like.”
“Could be. Seems like she gets along okay with everyone else.”
“You are not helping me out.”
“But I’m truthful. I did buy the tacos, so I call that helpful as shit.”
“No ideas?”
Jake shrugged. “Just keep asking. It’s not like she’s mad you’re doing it. She doesn’t snap at you or anything when you ask. I swear, every night she’s thinking about it, but every night she says no. You know the rest of us have a pool on it, right?”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Who has ‘never?’”
“Um.”
“You do!”
“Sorry, pal. I could use the cash.”
Taft watched the last sliver of sun slip behind the back of the world. He liked having Jake on the porch with him. It was good to have friends, and he was lucky that he made them quickly. Jake was a good guy.
Damn, though, he couldn’t help wishing the person next to him was a black-haired country-singing grumpy-pants-wearing country girl named Lana Darling.
He’d just keep asking, then.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lana said yes.
It had been a crappy day, during which she’d had no intention of saying yes. None at all. She’d spent the day going back and forth to the hardware store, trying to find the right goddamn adaptor for the sink in room seven. The new faucet’s supply line used three-eighths-inch female compression, and she needed to hook it to an old half-inch main-water valve. It seemed like every one she brought back was almost but not quite right. Jake kept offering to look at it for her. Sure, he’d probably have the answer. She didn’t want the answer given to her, though.
She wanted to fix it herself. The more her crew offered assistance, the grumpier she got. Even Taft, who generally didn’t follow her around the site, asked if he could help. She snapped at him and felt instantly guilty about it.
But she fixed the damn thing, and the feeling of accomplishment when the water ran fresh and clear through the brand-new taps made her so giddy that when he said, as usual, “Come have a drink with us,” she answered with yes.
Jake coughed.
Socal pumped a fist.
The fish boys just nodded.
Taft broke out into a grin so big it warmed her to the center of her chest, and she started rethinking her answer almost immediately.
“Great. I’m buying,” said Taft.
“That’s for everyone, ri
ght?” Socal didn’t wait for an answer, heading toward the saloon.
“Hang on. I don’t know.” Lana was disgusting, covered in old-sink sludge and sweat. “I need a shower.”
“Grab one, then. We’ll wait.” Taft’s face was happy, his eyes clear. What would that be like, to be so obviously cheerful all the time?
She looked down at her clothes. When she’d turned on the water to the room, she’d washed her hands and arms all the way up to her armpits. She’d washed her face and neck at the same time. “The rest of you are just going as is.”
“Darlin’, nothing tastes better than a cold drink when you’re as dirty as you are.”
Was that an entendre in his deep voice? She couldn’t honestly tell.
Lana just smiled tightly and followed him. Maybe she’d sit outside in the arbor and have her drink quickly. Then she’d escape back to her room and the mystery novel she was reading to try to keep her mind off Taft.
Alone. A drink alone would be nice.
Taft held the door open for her. As she ducked under his arm, she could smell him: woodchips, grease and his own sweat. She wanted to inhale forever, to memorize the way he smelled so she could conjure it up at will, when she was lonely in the future.
She wanted to memorize the way he was looking at her, too, with those warm eyes.
Like she was someone special. “Thanks.”
God help her, this yes-to-a-drink was not going to lead to anything else. She didn’t need it, didn’t want it. This was just to show she didn’t mind going out with the team. It was the right thing to do, as head of the project. She probably should have done it before.
“Anytime.” His voice held more.
The noise and bustle of the bar slapped her right in the face. This was the part that had always been hard for her. The coming in. Once she was in, once she’d gotten on stage, she’d always been all right. As soon as the spotlight hit her and the crowd was invisible, she was alone again.
Honestly, she thought as she pushed past a clump of women wearing high heels and short skirts, if she could live the rest of her life in a sound booth with nothing but writing material, a guitar and a microphone, she’d be happy. For sure. Probably.
At least the bartender knew her at this place.
“Hey.” She slid into a barstool.
“Oh, my God. You’re here.” Adele looked at the whole group of them. “With the crew.”
Please don’t make a big deal out of this. “Yep.”
“You always have an excuse not to come with them! This is great!”
“An excuse?” Lana shot daggers at the group, who had suddenly found the drinks menu incredibly interesting. “I just like to rest after we work. I go to the café and eat with Molly. Then I go to sleep.” Which Adele would have known if she ever came down to the café for dinner instead of eating whatever perfect thing it was Nate and she ate behind the bar, the two of them sharing a fork and kisses.
“I’m just so glad you’re here. What can I get for my favorite baby sister?”
Lana barely resisted rolling her eyes. “A Salty Dog.”
“Are you sure? Salt will dehydrate you, and I bet you were sweating all day.”
This was a bad idea. “He’s buying, so make it a double.” She pointed at Taft, who nodded back amiably.
Why couldn’t Taft be an asshole? Why was he not only the hottest person she’d ever met but also a seemingly good, kind person? She’d given a ten to the young homeless guy who’d been hanging out on Main and First with a small cardboard sign, and she’d felt pretty good about it. Later, when she’d been getting coffee from the caboose, she’d seen Taft sitting on the curb, chatting with the man. She’d watched as the guy started rubbing his face, and she’d realized he was crying. Taft had slung his arm around him. He’d just sat there next to him, looking across the street. Just being with him.
He was a good man.
And her…what if she was just too broken?
Lana waited until the work crew were all talking about the kinds of beer that were okay to drink warm (her opinion: none), before she sneaked away through the back into the arbor. It still counted, after all. She was at the bar, having a drink Taft had bought her.
She was just alone while doing it, that was all. Her traitorous heart wished for a second that Taft would follow her out. Sit next to her. Lean into her …
No. Alone was best. Alone was the way Lana operated. It was safe. If you put your trust in anyone else, they always let you down. She was a solo artist for a reason.
Lana tasted salt at the back of her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was from the drink or not.
The back door opened with a creak, and she busied herself looking at her phone. A pair of feet stopped in front of her, bright-green cowboy boots stitched with gold thread. The person inside the boots was a purple-haired girl who couldn’t be much older than the fish boys, maybe twenty-two or three. She flapped her hands. “Are you …?”
Lana waited for a moment, but the girl didn’t seem capable of more. “A Darling? I’m Lana.” The baby.
“No, I meant … do you know him?”
“Oh.” Of course a woman this age wouldn’t know her music. “Who?”
“I saw you talking to Taft Hill. Inside.” The woman looked over her shoulder. “Do you actually know him?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Can I sit down? I’m Amber. You said your name is Darling? Like the town?”
Friendly, personable people. They were everywhere. “Long story.”
Amber sat. “We’re just in town for a couple of days. My friends and I. We’re celebrating, staying in a condo up the road. Oh, my God,” she said again. “I can’t believe he’s in there. How do you know him?”
“Nashville.”
“You’re a singer? Like backup?”
It was something Lana used to protest. Now she merely nodded. “Yeah.”
“He changed my life.”
“Mmmm.” Lana took a deeper sip of her drink. Had she ever been so young? She didn’t think she had. Life had gotten hard so early.
“That song. Do you know his latest single?”
Oh please, no. “I don’t actually know much by him,” she lied. “Nothing new.”
“‘Blame Me.’ You have to hear it. Like, seriously, when you get home tonight, pull it up on YouTube. The video is the best thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve never once managed to listen to it without crying.”
“Sure thing.” Luckily, she usually had no service at all in room one.
“No.” Amber pulled out her cell. “I’ll play it for you.”
Lana shook her head. “Even if you have reception here, it won’t be fast enough to stream a song.”
“I have it downloaded to my phone. It’s my theme song.” Amber put one hand on her chest as if she were about to pledge allegiance to the flag. “Just watch.”
“I don’t want to –” Oh, it was too late. The phone was hovering twelve inches in front of her face, and there was Taft Hill, sitting on a bed in a country farm house.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As the camera panned, the view turned to the exterior of the house, brand new with bright-yellow paint, as if it had just been built. In time-lapse photography, the whole place aged around Taft as he sat on the bed, singing. Only he remained unchanged. Just one pillow rested on the bed behind him, and just one side of the covers was pulled back. He sang “Blame Me” as the sun rose and set a thousand times out the window behind him. Dust grew up on the nightstands. The glass shattered silently in the mirror on the wall. The video was as haunting as the look in his eyes.
As he sang, “Blame me, for looking away,” Amber sniffled. Even Lana, who didn’t think it was possible for her to be moved by the song anymore, felt something scratchy tingle the tip of her nose.
At the end, Amber set down her phone and looked at Lana expectantly. “You’re not sobbing. Are you made of stone or something?”
“Granite. To the
core.”
Amber clasped her hands in front of her. “But you love it. You have to love it.”
“I love it.” Lana did. He’d done more with it than she ever could have. The words – his voice – told the story, all of it. The look on his face in the video was added emotion. No wonder it was a hit.
The saloon door creaked open again.
“Oh, holy sweet everything,” whispered Amber.
“Ladies,” said Taft. “Am I interrupting?” He’d left his tool belt upstairs, but he walked like he still had it on. His stubble looked three days old, even though he’d been clean-shaven that morning.
He was all man, solid as stone, broad as a tree.
“We do not mind.” Amber stood. Then she sat again. She looked desperately at Lana.
“Taft, this is Amber. She was just showing me your new video. Amber, Taft Hill.”
Amber lost it then. She burst into wild tears, and when Taft shook her hand, she didn’t let go of it. She took it with both of hers and held on as if she were drowning. She said words but apart from “you” and “mean it,” Lana couldn’t understand a single one.
Taft was perfect with her. Some stars pulled away quickly and had a genuine-sounding but very scripted, “That means so much. I can’t thank you enough for saying so.” Others went in for the hug and proposed a quick selfie, thereby giving the fan a chance to do something, to get out of the panic zone.
Taft, though, was different. He appeared perfectly happy to keep holding Amber’s hand, forever if need be. His smile didn’t falter. He nodded as she tried to get her words out. “Take your time. It’s okay. It’s really okay.”
Lana pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. If a man like Taft had ever looked at her and said those words, she might have believed them.
Amber took a shuddering breath. She was understandable now. “I’m so sorry. I just – that song. It’s my anthem. My theme song.”
“Yeah?” Taft’s gaze never flickered, even for a second. “How so?”
“It’s like you were singing to me. I know you weren’t, I’m not naive, but it’s like you wrote those words so I could hear them. And –” she gasped “– I didn’t know. I thought I was the one to blame.”
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