by Terri Osburn
“If I’m needed down there, then to hell with the hay.”
Her family may not have been as big as some, but Charley was loved more by this one man than anyone could ever ask to be.
“I love you, Grandpa. But I’m fine. I promise. I just needed to hear your voice.”
Charley heard the screen door slam on the other end and knew that he’d stepped onto the porch. “You sure?”
Forcing confidence into her voice, she nodded, despite knowing he couldn’t see her. “I’m positive. And I’ll find time to come soon, okay?”
“You better. I’ve got a mess of okra with your name on it.”
“Sounds good. Tell Fanny I said hi, and I’ll call again soon.”
“Love you, baby girl.”
“Love you, too, Grandpa.”
Charley ended the call feeling better than she had before. The talk with Grandpa had put everything in perspective. So she was in love. This was not the end of the world. In fact, nothing had really changed. She still had the job she always wanted, lived in her dream city, and was loved fiercely by the best grandfather a girl could have.
That she also had Dylan was a bonus, not a cause for alarm.
A rumbling in her stomach reminded Charley that she had yet to eat breakfast. The queasiness that had plagued her the night before no longer lingered, so she headed for the kitchen in search of food.
Chapter 20
Getting through her shift had been a nightmare. How was Charley supposed to concentrate when Dylan would be home in a matter of hours? John had attempted to coerce her into a last-minute remote, but there was no way she was working tonight.
Though the stomach bug had returned on Monday, Charley had felt fabulous the last couple of days and was happy to be cured just in time for Dylan’s return. She slipped on the new sundress she’d bought over the weekend, grabbed a light sweater, and waited impatiently for him to arrive. At six o’clock on the dot, a knock sounded at the door and Charley leaped to answer it, bolting into Dylan’s arms the moment she saw his face.
“Someone is happy to see me,” he chimed, spinning her as he had not two weeks before. “God, you smell so good. One more day in that van and I’d have cut my damn nose off.”
Charley laughed as he set her down. “Men are nasty, aren’t they?”
“Disgusting,” he agreed. “Are you ready to see my surprise?”
He’d been smart not to share news of a surprise until earlier in the day. Patience was definitely not one of Charley’s virtues, proven by the last ten agonizing days.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You’ll see.” Tipping up her chin, eyes like a coming storm stared into hers. “First, I need a proper hello.”
Warm lips descended to hers as Charley rose up to meet him. This. This was what she’d missed. His kiss. His hands. His scent. They lingered there in the doorway with twilight darkening the sky, lovers getting reacquainted after too long apart.
Ending the kiss, he said, “I missed you.”
Light-headed, she allowed Dylan to hold her steady. “I missed you, too.”
“Now it’s surprise time. Let’s go.”
After another kiss at the truck, they were on their way, though Charley had no idea where. Dylan regaled her with road stories, editing out the less appetizing elements of four men alone in a minivan, living on fast food and little sleep. She was so distracted that she’d failed to follow their course until a familiar building came into view.
“We’re going back to the Hall of Fame?” she asked.
“Not quite.”
A block down from where they’d made their last public appearance, Dylan turned right into a narrow thoroughfare, and then into the entrance of a parking garage in the middle of a tall contemporary building. Charley had noticed the word “Encore” over the entrance on Demonbreun Street and assumed they would be eating at a restaurant inside.
“Am I dressed okay for this surprise?”
Appreciative eyes scanned her body. “You look gorgeous.”
That wasn’t what she’d asked, but Charley didn’t push. Once they were parked, Dylan played the gentleman, as always, opening her door and helping her down. In silence, they crossed to an elevator that carried them up one floor to what could have been a swanky hotel lobby in New York City. As if he owned the place, Dylan crossed to a friendly-looking man sitting behind a reception desk.
“How you doing tonight, Marvin?”
“I’m doing fine, Mr. Monroe. It’s good to see you again.”
“Marvin, this is my friend Charley. She doesn’t know yet why we’re here.”
Light glistening off his bald, espresso-colored head, the man behind the counter grinned her way. “Then I won’t spoil it for you.” As if to share a dark secret, Marvin leaned forward. “You’re much too pretty for this boy, Miss Charley. What are you doing with an ugly old thing like this?”
Putting a hand beside her mouth, she whispered loud enough for Dylan to hear, “He pays me in food. Don’t tell anyone.”
Marvin threw his head back with a loud guffaw and waved them on. At the elevator, Dylan squeezed her hand, waited for the doors to open, and then gestured for her to go first. At the fourteenth floor, he led her to a door down the hall to their left and pulled a key from his pocket.
Still silent, he pushed the door open, again gesturing for her to go first. Following the dark hardwoods down a narrow hallway, Charley stepped into the most opulent room she’d ever seen. Contemporary furniture in brown and cream rested beneath a one-of-a-kind light fixture, with bare bulbs hanging from cords draped at varying lengths. A luxurious gray shag rug set off the living space, but the real draw was the view beyond the giant sliding glass doors that served as the back wall.
In the distance was the Nashville skyline, glistening in the setting sun. The L&C Tower. The AT&T skyscraper, often called the Batman Building. And in the foreground—the Hall of Fame and Music City Center with its guitar-shaped outline, glowing red and orange in the late-summer sun.
“Is this a hotel room?” she asked, though he’d used a real key to get in. Not a key card. “I don’t understand, Dylan. What are we doing here?”
Arms spread, he said, “This is my new place.”
Certain she’d misheard, Charley shook her head. “Your what? You bought this place?” They’d never talked money, but there was no way an artist with only one song on the radio could afford . . . this.
“I did not,” he replied, confusing her further. “A buddy of mine owns it. He’s moving to LA for a year to work in a studio out there, and I’m renting it from him.”
Okay. Maybe he hadn’t lost his mind. “What about your roommates?”
“Casey and Pamela can handle it. Besides, I think they’d rather live alone now that they’ve made up.” Crossing to the balcony, Dylan opened the door and extended a hand her way. “You have to come see this.”
She could see fine from where she was standing. “I’m good,” Charley snapped.
Waving his hand, he tried again. “It’s gorgeous, babe. Come have a look.”
Two steps forward revealed a surprise she hadn’t spotted before. “The bedroom doesn’t have a door.”
The wall that should have separated the two rooms was open on both sides, affording little privacy for either space.
“Cool, isn’t it?”
“Um, no,” she said. “There’s an entire wall of windows. How do you get dressed in here?”
Dylan laughed and dragged her to the open door. “We’re fourteen floors up. No one can see in this window.”
“People over there can,” Charley argued, refusing to step over the threshold.
“I doubt anyone in the L&C Tower is looking through binoculars to see inside this condo.”
“But they could.” Dylan pulled her onto the cement balcony, and Charley’s stomach did a flip. “Oh God,” she said, covering her mouth.
Voice heavy with concern, he grasped her shoulders. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you
sick?”
“Heights,” she mumbled around her hand. “I don’t like heights.”
The contents of her stomach churned into her throat, and, in a panic, Charley ran inside in search of a bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time. To her utter mortification, once the retching stopped she realized Dylan was holding her hair. With as much dignity as she could muster, she reached for some toilet paper to wipe her mouth before dropping back on her knees.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ve never reacted like that before.”
“No. Honey.” Dylan squatted next to her, brushing stray locks out of her eyes. “I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have made you go out there.”
Tears stinging the back of her eyes, Charley fell apart right there on the bathroom floor. “I feel like an idiot. I was so excited to see you, and now I’ve ruined the whole night.”
Lifting her to her feet, he cradled her against his chest. “Nothing is ruined, honey. I might not kiss you for a while, but nothing is ruined.”
Snorting through her waterworks, she wrapped her arms around his torso. “Maybe Marvin has some gum.”
“I’ll bet he does. Will you be okay if I run down and get it?”
Charley nodded. “So long as I stay away from that balcony.”
“That’s fine,” he cooed, escorting her to a stool in the kitchen. “No more balcony for you.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dylan asked, leaning back on the couch with Charley’s head resting on his chest.
“I’m fine,” she replied, sounding much more like herself. The tears had really thrown him off. Charley had never seemed like the emotional type. “I’ve had a little stomach bug lately, but I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Entwining his fingers with hers, he said, “I don’t like the idea of you being sick.”
“I don’t like it, either, but I’ve been better this week.” Charley leaned up, the color back in her cheeks. “So you’re really going to live here?”
He traced the outline of her delicate jaw. “After the tour, yeah.”
“Is it going to sit empty until then? Seems a shame for a place this nice not to be used.”
“Well,” Dylan hedged, “I thought maybe you could stay here. Live here,” he corrected.
Charley jerked to a sitting position. “You thought I’d live here?”
Not the reaction he expected. “Sure. It’s a secure building. It’s right downtown, so you’d be closer to work. And I’ll be back before Christmas.” Pointing to the sliding glass doors, he said, “Since we won’t be opening those anymore, we can put the tree right in front of them.”
Shifting farther away, Charley scrambled off the couch. “Dylan, I live with Matty.”
“Not forever.”
“No, but until the lease I signed runs out.”
“When will that be?”
“That doesn’t matter.” Her cheeks flamed from pink to red. “You thought I would just drop everything and move in with you? After less than a month? That’s a little fast, don’t you think?”
Baffled by the anger, Dylan tracked her around the room. “Charley, no one is asking you to drop anything. I just want to take care of you.”
“What is this need you have to take care of me?”
“Because I love you,” he blurted, stunned by the admission, but certain in its truth. “Because I love you, Charley Layton. I think I’ve loved you since the night I met you. Since you kissed me under that streetlight and smiled at me over a ham, bacon, and egg burger. You stole my heart the same night you stole my shirt. That’s why I want to take care of you.”
The tears returned again. “Do you really mean that?” she asked.
“Of course I mean it, baby. I’m not asking you to give up a damn thing for me. And if you want to stay where you are, that’s okay, too. But know that if you change your mind, my door is always open.” Cracking a grin, he added, “Well, the door will be locked, but Marvin can let you in.”
Charley flew into his arms to plant kisses on his neck. “I love you, too, Dylan Monroe. And I think we’re both totally insane for saying it, but I don’t care. Because I love you.”
“Thank God,” he murmured into her hair. “Thank you, God.”
After a whirlwind day and a half, Charley was still reeling from Dylan’s declaration Wednesday night. She’d also added vertigo to her stomach bug symptoms, which had returned for a brief time on Friday. At Dylan’s insistence, she’d made a doctor’s appointment, but since she hadn’t seen a physician since moving to town, the earliest Charley could get in was mid-October.
She wasn’t likely to need the appointment by then, but she booked it anyway, knowing she could easily cancel. Of course, Charley had assured Dylan that she’d keep the appointment, and that she’d visit an urgent-care office before then if things got worse.
“I’ll call every day,” he said, holding her close as they said goodbye next to her Bronco.
This time, they hadn’t bothered to keep a safe distance from the others. Not parading their relationship in front of the press didn’t mean they had to slink around like criminals when the cameras weren’t around.
“No, you won’t,” Charley refuted. “We agreed. A couple check-ins a week. I’ll follow the tour online, and you’ll be busy with shows and live appearances. When you get back, the eligible bachelor article will be on the stands, and we’ll be able to get on with our lives like normal people.”
“That’s all I want.” Dylan kissed her for the third time, stealing her breath until someone whistled from the bus.
“Monroe, come on! We’re pulling out.”
With his forehead pressed to hers, he whispered, “I hate this.”
Charley pushed him away. “Don’t say that. This is going to be the most amazing three months of your life.” Determined not to cry, she dug her hands into her jeans pockets. “I have to go anyway. I’m on the air in an hour.”
Cupping her face, he said, “I love you, Charley.”
She cleared her throat. “I love you, too. Now go get on that bus.”
“One more kiss.” His lips touched hers for three seconds too short before he jogged off toward the tour bus.
With one final wave, he disappeared inside and the door closed, a puff of exhaust choking the air as the lumbering machine pulled away.
“Sucks every time,” said a woman behind her.
Charley spun to find Pamela Shepherd a few feet away. Since the morning they’d awkwardly met at Dylan’s apartment, the two women hadn’t crossed paths much, and they’d never exchanged more than a friendly greeting. According to Dylan, Pam and Casey were two stubborn people who’d finally come around in the last week. What they were stubborn about, Charley didn’t know.
“How many times have you watched them drive away?” she asked.
Pam pursed her lips. “More times than I can count. But this is what you deal with when you date a working musician.”
Though it was none of her business, Charley asked anyway. “Are you dating a working musician?”
The low-key blonde offered a sheepish grin. “Let me guess,” she said. “Dylan is taking credit for Casey and me getting back together.”
An odd statement. “Why would Dylan take credit?”
Eyes dropping to the ground, she said, “No reason. You know you’ve got a good one there, right?”
“I do,” Charley replied without hesitation. “Doesn’t stop the worry, though.”
“What worry?”
Something told Charley that Pamela would understand her feelings. “There’s a lot of temptation, isn’t there? Out on the road?”
The other woman sighed. “Sure. Alcohol. Women.” She didn’t have to go into detail. “But they can find those same things here.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Look,” Pam said. “I made the mistake one time of not trusting Casey, and I nearly lost him. They’re good men, Charley. Have a little faith.”
Sound advice from a knowing so
urce. “Thanks for the reminder.”
With a smile, she said, “Anytime.”
Chapter 21
On the day of Charley’s doctor’s appointment, Dylan had been gone for four and a half weeks. And after three weeks of feeling normal, her mysterious stomach bug had returned with a vengeance. Out of sheer annoyance, she kept the appointment, determined to take whatever the doc would prescribe to shake the crud for good.
Thanks to social media, Charley often felt as if she were on the tour with Dylan. There were constant radio visits, which she could stream online, and lots of pictures popped up on various social media sites. Her favorites were the ones of Dylan onstage. The sheer joy on his face made their time apart worthwhile.
Two quick raps on the exam room door had Charley tucking her phone back into her pocket.
“Good morning,” greeted a chipper doc with a pair of reading glasses hovering on the tip of her nose. “I’m Dr. Robenzie, and you must be Miss Layton?”
“I am.”
The doctor flipped through the chart in her hand with pursed lips. “Stomach bug, huh? Vomiting?”
“A couple times,” Charley confessed. Since the unpleasant experience always seemed to follow greasy meals, she added, “I think it was something I ate.”
With bright-blue eyes and a caring smile, the gray-haired woman said, “That’s one option.” She settled onto the round rolling stool. “Have you had this problem in the past?”
“No.”
“Do you have any food allergies that might have slipped through?”
“I don’t have any allergies that I know of.”
The doc removed her glasses. “How long have the symptoms been happening? Is there shooting pain?”
Charley crossed her ankles. “It’s been more than a month, and I haven’t experienced any shooting pains. There’s been a little heartburn in the last week, but I’m sure the wrong food is to blame for that, too.”
As if contemplating her patient’s response, Dr. Robenzie tapped her top lip. “Miss Layton, could you be pregnant?”
“I . . . What?”
“According to your information, your last menstrual cycle was the end of July.”