“I owe you an ice cream.” He nudged her shoulder when they were finished, then helped her on with her quilted jacket. “May I remind you the race to the church was unfair?”
“May I remind you I won?”
“You left me to dash after you carrying two hot coffees and two heavy bags stuffed with music.” He checked his wristwatch. “If you can spare the time, let’s stop at Whitney’s Ice Cream on our way back to the inn.”
She laughed impenitently. “Are you sure you’re able to squeeze me in? Your life seems full of important appointments these days.”
“Nothing is as important as spending time with you.” It was the easy, gentlemanly thing to say, and he said the words aloud. Because it was true. It had always been true. Spending time with her had been one of the most cherished aspects of his life.
She smiled with shy hesitation. “Ryan Edwards, are you trying to charm me?”
He had to fight down the impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her again.
Grabbing their music bags, he placed his fingers beneath the elbow of her jacket and guided her down the choir loft stairs. “I’ve wanted an ice cream and coke at Whitney’s Ice Cream ever since I arrived in Cherish.”
In the spirit of relaxed camaraderie, they retraced their path toward the inn, then stood in line behind a steady stream of customers at Whitney’s before finding two chairs at an outdoor wrought iron table.
After Dorothy was seated, and she’d slung her purse over her chair, he handed her the ice cream cone and a napkin.
“Strawberry is the only ice cream flavor you’ve ever chosen.” He occupied a chair across from her and bent his head to whisper in her ear. “And you’ve always shared a bite with me.”
“Go ahead.” A tantalizing smile curved her lips as she extended her cone and he took a lick. “And you’ve always ordered peppermint chocolate chip.”
“I know you, you know me,” he said softly.
She pulled in a sharp breath and cut away her gaze.
They ate in silence, interrupted only by the chittering of two squirrels and the jumbled conversations of chattering customers.
“The pain your brother mentioned last night at the restaurant? How often he’d worried and prayed for you?” Ryan set his napkin down. “You asked me earlier and now I’ll ask you. What was that about?”
She concentrated on the last licks of her ice cream cone, dabbed her lips with a napkin, and placed it on her lap. “Typical musician injuries. Carpal tunnel problems … you know.” She glanced up at him. “What about you? Have you experienced any injuries from all that singing?”
Good deflection, he thought. Going along with her, he finished his cone and downed a swig of coke. “I’ve had my share. When I was at Juilliard, I attempted a repertoire well beyond me, and my voice wasn’t ready.”
“You? The master singer?”
“My voice was maturing. Still is, as I mentioned earlier. That’s why the opera in Italy is important, because it’s a tipping point for my career. I know I’m ready for the challenge.”
“You need not prove yourself, Ryan. Not to anyone.”
“Perhaps I need to prove something to myself.” Meticulously, he squeezed his napkin into a small ball. “Perhaps I’m impatient for my dreams to become a reality.”
The familiar prod of guilt prompted him to lean back in his chair and reflect. Perhaps his father wouldn’t have committed suicide if Ryan had been a good son. Perhaps Ryan should have sought help from a mental health professional when he’d first sensed his father was ill.
Instead, he’d acted out. Even at an early age, Ryan had gotten into trouble at school. Nothing major, just childhood pranks. Still … was he the reason his father had ended his own life?
“I’m impatient, too,” she said. “And I’ve always been a bit headstrong.”
“A bit?” He sent her a teasing wink. “You possess an uncanny ability to fit into any social situation.”
“Thanks to my mother.”
“Thanks to you. You’re fun to be around and your outlook is always positive. However, I’ve watched you these past two days and I know you’re in constant pain. Please, Dorothy. I want to know why.”
Chapter Seven
Dorothy wrung the napkin in her lap.
Ryan sat across from her. Her Ryan. Her good friend. Her confidante.
Not anymore, she reminded herself. Once upon a time, and only then in her daydreams.
They’d had a silent communication when they were childhood comrades sitting for hours on her back porch on sultry summer nights, watching the sun set into a giant red ball, listening to the cicadas chirp their familiar chorus.
“Dorothy?” Ryan’s astute brown eyes assessed her. “We used to tell each other everything.”
“Sure, when I was fifteen and the world’s ultimate chatterbox. ‘Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak.’” She recited the Bible verse from James 1:19.
“So you have no interest in talking the legs off a chair anymore?” he teased.
She smiled, then drew her jacket tighter around her.
Around them, the loud drone of customers’ conversations seemed to grow unnaturally quiet. Drop by precious drop, she felt her confidence draining away.
Ryan was curious and concerned. He wouldn’t rest until he knew the truth, and there was no point in evading his questions any longer.
He was from South Carolina, she assured herself. He had a big heart.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and met his steady gaze.
“Ryan, you should know ...” Her voice shook and there was nothing she could do to control her trembling. “I’m a drug addict, or rather, the appropriate term is ‘opiate use disorder.’”
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His features remained calm and neutral. He clasped her chilly hands in his sturdy ones. “Are you all right?”
“I’m under a doctor’s care.”
“What happened?”
“I should have told you sooner … I know I should have.” She glanced at him, but there was no judgment, only concern.
“What happened?” he repeated.
“I was over-practicing and sprained my wrist. The doctor advised rest. I argued there wasn’t time because I was preparing for a piano recital at a small college in New York. I begged her for something to get me through the performance.” Dorothy pulled from his hold and fiddled with the tassel on her purse. “She prescribed opiates for my chronic pain. I felt light-headed after I took them, but I was so grateful for the relief that side effects didn’t matter. I could perform without a glitch.”
“You’re describing opiates as a miracle drug.”
“For me they were, until I became addicted to them.” She shifted in the cold chair and brushed at her eyes, wet with tears, then quickly looked away.
“Sounds like the opiates were a nightmare instead of a miracle.”
She corrected him with a shake of her head. “In fairness, the drugs weren’t the problem. I was. I became addicted because I’m weak. I was never the successful girl you admired … I’m a sham … and I’ve failed as a competent musician.”
He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He grabbed hold of her fidgeting hands and gently brushed a kiss on each palm. He’d given her strength when they were younger by his compliments and encouragement. He was doing the same now.
She licked her lips, and her fingers tightened around his. “I tried to stop several times and felt sick and depressed. Somewhere in my mixed-up thoughts I knew I couldn’t quit on my own. That’s when I reached out to my brother, and his faith in God guided me on the right path. God spoke, and I listened.”
“I’d like to share your faith, Dorothy. I really would.” Ryan’s lips pressed together. “The God you describe is silent for me.”
Shaken by the desolate tone in his voice, her gaze fixed on his prominent cheekbones the slight dark stubble on his jaw, the stubborn turn of his mouth.
�
��Nicholas reminded me I was too busy and preoccupied in myself to hear God.” She lifted her face to the late morning sunlight, then met Ryan’s unfaltering gaze. “If you listen, God is everywhere. He was there for me.”
“I’ve sung piano, I’ve sung forte.” Ryan hesitated, deliberating. “I thought if I searched hard enough I’d find God in Europe while I performed in world-renowned concert halls. I believed I’d found my purpose on century-old stages.”
“And did you find your purpose?”
Carefully, he studied her. “People say opera is an emotional, expressive art form about what matters most.”
What matters most.
She gazed at this strikingly handsome man whom she’d had a mad crush on as a young girl. Her love for him had never died. He was a part of her life. He mattered.
And he hadn’t answered her question about finding his purpose. This was obviously a subject he didn’t plan to pursue.
“I see,” she replied.
“This conversation is about you, not me.” He flicked a dark eyebrow upward. “How are you being treated for your addiction?”
“My doctor, Dr. Gantori, and a nurse case manager are providing medication and check-in phone calls. My cravings for the drug are better now.”
“Good. You’re on the right road.” His smile was slow, his fingers still around hers. “When will you be heading back to New York City?”
“Sunday. You?”
“Me too. I’ve booked a flight from Atlanta to Italy. The audition in Palermo is slated for early next week.”
They had less than a few days together left, and the thought filled her with despondency. She turned, withdrew her hands from his, and feigned interest in the stone pavers lining the patio so he wouldn’t know her sadness.
“We should head back.” He glanced at his wristwatch and pushed back his chair. As they stood, he took her bag as well as his, then slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Another practice at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, then?”
“Let’s rehearse a while longer because Nicholas changed the recessional song to ‘Signed, Sealed and Delivered’ by Stevie Wonder.” She buttoned her jacket and indicated that Ryan follow her around the outdoor tables. “Nicholas’ music choices are a perfect balance between classical and contemporary.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Ryan gave a bark of laughter. “Signed and Sealed and I’m Yours—a meaningful ending after Nicholas and his elusive fiancée sign the wedding registry.”
Dorothy laughed and started for the sidewalk. “I’d like to take a peek in the window of Musically Yours, or rather, what used to be Musically Yours. I understand if you want to go ahead because of your appointment.”
He hesitated. “The music store on the corner of Myrtle and Magnolia? Has the store been renamed?”
“Musically Yours went out of business.” Her voice grew quiet. “And somehow I can’t bear the thought.”
“Neither can I.” Ryan greeted the news by placing his palm against his heart, then claimed her hand.
When they rounded the corner to the abandoned store front, his face blanched. Although the bushes were trimmed, and the lawn mowed, the store didn’t blend in with the other tidy businesses lining the street. The display window, which in the past had showcased popular sheet music as well as guitars, ukuleles, and violins, appeared sadly desolate.
He stared through the grimy window. “There’s nothing left?”
“Everything was sold at an auction. The owners are asking $100,000 for the abandoned building.”
“Renovations on a place this size will run into thousands of dollars. Then there’s music inventory, lots of it, which is only the beginning.”
“Don’t forget shelving and monthly heat and electricity bills.” She shaded her eyes and peered inside. “The listing stated the space is one thousand square feet. For the customer who would patronize this type of store, the square footage seems adequate.”
Ryan set down the music bags and tried the doorjamb. It swung open. Dust and months of disuse spilled out at them.
With a roguish grin, he stood back to survey the badly fractured door frame. “Shall we look inside?”
She perused the empty sidewalks. “We can’t enter a property without a realtor. Suppose someone sees us and accuses us of stealing.”
He added a wink to his grin. “There’s nothing in here except an old ukulele missing all its strings.” He nodded toward the broken instrument sitting sideways in the corner. “If anyone asks, we’re prospective buyers.”
“That excuse wouldn’t float for a minute. I can’t afford this property and you’re not looking. You live in Europe.”
He nudged their bags inside. “I used to live in Cherish. This is my hometown as well as yours.”
She stepped over the store’s threshold with him, fingering the well-loved brick on the interior of one wall while studying the numerous nail holes on the others.
“The music was arranged in rows alphabetically by composers,” she said. “Remember?”
He indicated the front window. “The gigantic composer of the month statue always made me pause.”
Her gaze automatically surveyed every inch of the space she had once spent so much time in. “And the composer’s music was piped as background throughout the store.”
“When I used to walk by and hear Mozart, it drew me in like a siren.”
She nodded and continued toward the rear. “I always thought the owners should offer music lessons. There’s a separate entrance so students wouldnt be traipsing in and out, especially if lessons were held after store hours.”
“The owners were elderly. They didn’t want the hassle.”
“There should be more cultural opportunities in Cherish.” An unexpected elation built inside her along with a conviction taking root. “There’s Memorial Street Church choir and the high school band. However, a music conservatory would fit perfectly into this community and it could begin right here.” She gestured toward the back room which the previous owners had used for storage.
“This is a small community,” Ryan reminded. “A conservatory and retail store is a large undertaking, and don’t forget there’s another music store over in Stanley.”
“That store is in the next town.”
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his jacket, glanced at the message and frowned before pocketing it.
“Anything important?”
He smiled into her eyes. “It can wait.”
She drank in the mustiness of the air along with the remembrances. “A music store and lessons would feed off of each other, and monthly recitals and concerts could be scheduled.” She wiggled her shoulders and faced him. “I’d have an excuse to get all dressed up again.”
“The sight of you in a fancy dress would make me want to fly back to Cherish every weekend.” He laughed. The deep throaty sound had always made her heart beat double time. Then he sobered, and the amusement was replaced by a languid gaze, keeping her rooted where she stood.
He moved forward. Bending his head, he brushed his lips against hers, the bristle of his well-trimmed beard sweeping against her cheeks. “You would light up any concert hall,” he whispered.
“Me? Hardly.” She waved a hand dismissively, stepped back, and kept her voice steady. “Ryan, I know our community would support a music store and conservatory.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Our community?”
“Yes. You just said this was your hometown as well as mine.” She felt her spine get straighter. “You spent your entire childhood here.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose if one thousand square feet was a good enough space for Musically Yours, then it’s good enough for us.”
Somewhere in the empty space, she allowed herself a small intake of breath. Swallowing, she stared up at him. “Us?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached for her, and his lips parted hers for a deep kiss. “Are you looking for a silent partner, my love?”
Chapter Eight
Dorothy rubbed her eyes and blinked at the early morning sunlight streaming through her window. Lying in the Cherish Hill Inn’s luxurious king-sized bed, she flicked a glance at the time on her cell phone, grateful she could rest another half hour.
She rolled over onto her side and faced the window. Although she courted sleep, her mind was active, and she lifted a prayer to God.
“Christ is with me. His plan for me will come to pass. I believe it will happen because You are in complete control and whatever comes my way, I can handle it. Amen.”
As she watched the sun rise, her thoughts turned to Ryan—his recklessly rugged face, his arresting gaze, his admiring smile. A cosmopolitan aura surrounded him, his long strides strong with authority. She’d watched videos of his performances on the internet, and it was clear the audiences loved him. During interviews he’d offered a firm handshake, laughing while he’d accepted lavish compliments from his fans with humility and grace.
A star. A talent to be reckoned with.
She could hardly believe this sophisticated man was the same man who’d raced her to church and shared an ice cream cone with her. Or the young boy who’d held back tears after his father’s funeral. He’d tried to push the grief away, push her away. He’d been in crisis and had attempted to close himself off from her.
She knew the feeling well. She hadn’t wanted to open up to him because she’d felt inept and unworthy, as if she’d just fallen off a turnip truck whereas he was all bland urbaneness. She was a far cry from the popular girl he’d once admired.
Yet she’d ended up telling him everything about her addiction, including her defeat.
Despite his easy smiles, she sensed he was in crisis too, an internal one which couldn’t be assuaged by recognition and wealth. He wasn’t being honest with himself. More important, he wasn’t being honest with God.
She sighed, knowing that in a few days he would be leaving. On the other hand, she’d decided to begin a new chapter in Cherish where life felt safe and friendly and comfortable.
A Love Song To Cherish: A Sweet and Wholesome Christian Novella (Cherish Series Book 1) Page 4