“Hey, CeCe,” Adrienne says. “Hey, Hank.” She bends down to rub him under the chin, and the look in her eyes tells me she’s a dog-lover. I can’t help but instantly like her.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“You, too,” she says, standing again. “Where’s Holden?”
“He got a little detained this morning,” Thomas says by way of explanation.
“Oh, I was hoping he would be here,” Adrienne says, and I can see she’s a verified member of Holden’s ever-increasing female fan club.
A tall, dark-haired guy walks up behind her and hands her a coffee. “Tall, medium roast, sis.”
“Thanks,” she says, smiling at him. “Thomas, this is my brother J.B. J.B, Thomas and his friend CeCe.”
J.B. shakes Thomas’s hand and then settles his gaze on me. “Nice to meet you both.”
He’s about as good-looking as any guy I’ve ever met. If he were trying out for a movie role, he’d probably get it just because he’s got that kind of longish, wavy hair that says box office instant success. I can’t stop myself from blushing under his assessment. “You, too,” I say.
“This table okay?” We pull out chairs, while Hank Junior settles himself in a slice of shade from a nearby tree, then stretches out like he’s got sleep to catch up on.
“What’s your pleasure, CeCe?” Thomas asks. “I’ll go in and get us a cup.”
“Tall blonde,” I say.
“We are talking about coffee, right?” J.B. says with a grin.
“We are,” Thomas says, giving him a look. “Be right back.”
Adrienne pulls out a chair, and J. B. steps around to take the one between the two of us. He waits for us each to sit before sitting down.
“Where are you from, CeCe?” Adrienne looks at me and then takes a sip of her coffee.
“Virginia.”
“All right,” J.B. says.
“How ‘bout y’all?” I ask, attempting to ignore the suggestive edge in his voice.
“North Carolina,” Adrienne answers.
“How long have you been here?”
“Six months.”
“And three days,” J.B. adds.
“Made any headway?” I ask.
“Some, I think,” Adrienne says. “We’re playing out most nights. Audiences are getting bigger. Youtube hits for our videos are increasing. And we’re getting ready to record a song that we’re releasing under our own label.”
“Cool,” I say, feeling more than a little like the new guppy in the pond. “What’s the song like?”
“It’s actually one we wrote with Thomas’s buddy Holden the last time they were in town. I’m so in love with it.”
My stomach does an automatic dip at the sound of Holden’s name, and my head is filled with an instant vision of Sarah stretched out alongside him in bed, their legs entwined–
“You know him?” J.B. asks, jerking my attention back to the present.
“He and Thomas kind of rescued me from the side of the Interstate a few days ago.”
“Lucky them,” J.B. says, flirtation at the edges of the comment.
“I’m not so sure they saw it that way.”
“They’re good guys,” Adrienne says. “If you need rescuing, they’re the ones you want riding up on the white horse.”
J.B. rolls his eyes and slides down in his chair, crossing his arms across his nicely muscled chest. “That white hat thing can get kind of boring, don’tcha think?”
Adrienne looks at me and shakes her head. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He likes bad girls.”
“Hey now. Dissing your brother like that.”
Adrienne pins him with a look. “You know it’s true.”
Before J.B. can answer, Thomas returns with the coffee, setting mine down in front of me.
“Thanks,” I say, pulling out the chair beside me so he can sit down.
“I got Hank Junior a little cup of whipped cream,” he says, and puts the cup down in front of him. Hank starts to lick, tentatively at first, and then with total enthusiasm. Thomas grins. “Thought you’d like that.”
“He’s going to be totally ruined,” I say, even as I can’t deny loving Thomas a little more each time he does something like this.
“He’s yours?” J.B. directs the question to me.
“Yes,” I say.
“Which one of you sings?” J.B. teases.
“He’s got a good howl,” I answer. “Sometimes, I’d say he’s the better of the two of us.”
“She’s being modest,” Thomas throws in. “She sings like an angel.”
“Really?” Adrienne asks, and despite her smile, I hear the competitive lilt in the question.
“As you know you do, too, Adrienne,” Thomas says, tipping his coffee cup at her in mock salute.
“Why, thank you, sir,” she says, perking back up.
“So what is it you two wanted to talk about this morning?” Thomas asks, stretching his legs out in front of his chair.
“I was hoping Holden would be with you so we could all talk,” Adrienne says, “but what we wanted to discuss was pitching both our acts to venues, kind of as a double header thing. J.B. and I think we draw a similar crowd and that we might make more of an impact that way.”
“And we were hoping to write some more songs together,” J.B. throws in.
“How far out are y’all booked?” Thomas asks.
“A week,” Adrienne and J.B. say in unison.
“Nothing like job security, is there?” Thomas asks, and we all smile.
“We’re booked over at the Cocky Cow tonight. If y’all want to play before us, we’ve already cleared it with the manager.”
“Cool,” Thomas says. “I’ll check with Holden. Text you in a bit?”
“Sure,” Adrienne says. “We’ve got an appointment with a publisher in an hour. And I need to go spiff up.”
“All right, then,” Thomas says. “Check you later.”
Adrienne and J.B. push back their chairs and stand. Thomas and I do the same, and I wake up Hank Junior who yawns and then follows me through the maze of tables.
Adrienne and Thomas step aside to say something to one another, and J.B. turns to me with a smile. “Would you be free for a drink after our gig tonight?”
Given my no doubt accurate impression of J.B. as a player, I start to say no. But then I get an instant visual of Sarah with Holden and wonder how I can possibly stay in the apartment with them. “Maybe,” I hedge.
“How do I get that changed to a yes?” he asks, looking down at me with a grin that I am sure rarely fails him.
“Do you like dogs?” I ask.
He laughs then. “Not as much as girls. But yeah, I like dogs. Is that a prerequisite?”
“Definitely,” I say.
“Not a problem,” he says, still grinning. “So I’ll see you tonight then?”
“Sure,” I answer.
“Good.” He waves and gets in the convertible VW Adrienne is driving.
During our walk back to the apartment, Thomas looks at me and says, “You gotta watch that guy.”
“How so?” I ask.
“His own sister won’t let her friends date him.”
“Ouch.”
“Did he ask you out?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I said I’d have a drink with him.”
“He’s not your type, CeCe.”
“I don’t know if I have a type yet,” I say.
“And if you’re doing this to get back at Holden–”
“Holden has a girl friend,” I interrupt.
“I can’t deny that,” he says. “But don’t let that make you do something you’ll regret.”
“It’s just a drink,” I say.
“Most mistakes start out that way,” he says. “Let me ask you this. Would you go out with him if Sarah hadn’t shown up?”
I’d like to prove him wrong by answering with an immediate yes, but we both know I’d be lying. So I do
n’t say anything. What would be the point?
♪
17
Holden
We get to the Cocky Cow at just before eight. Thomas had woken me up around four so we could practice before our set. Sarah’s upset with me because she wanted to have dinner alone and talk, but talking is about the last thing I want to do with Sarah since I have no idea what to say.
She’s sitting at a corner table now, nursing a diet Coke and looking as if she’s sorry the idea of coming to Nashville ever occurred to her.
CeCe is helping us get set up, and we’re avoiding each other as if both our lives depend on it. I’m trying not to notice the way J.B. is openly flirting with her, or the way she’s smiling back at him as if she likes it.
Adrienne comes over and gives me a hug, telling me how much she loves the song we wrote together. “I can’t wait to hear you sing it,” I say.
“Be happy to give you a private show,” she says with just enough teasing in her voice to call the offer a joke if pride needs saving.
I stop short of an answer when Thomas walks over and shakes his head. “I ain’t envying your position, man.”
I don’t bother to ask him what he means. “I had no idea she was coming,” I say.
“Yeah, but didn’t she have the right to?”
“I’m not saying she didn’t,” I admit.
“You just weren’t expecting CeCe,” Thomas says.
“No. I wasn’t expecting CeCe.”
Thunder claps outside the building, loud enough to make itself heard above the pre-show music playing in the bar.
“Whoa,” Thomas says. “They’re calling for some serious storms.”
Thomas taps his phone screen, looks at it for a moment and then says, “Weather.com shows a tornado watch for this area.”
CeCe walks up, deliberately not looking at me. “Tornado watch?” she repeats.
“That ain’t no good,” Thomas says.
“It’s just a watch,” I say. “Probably nothing.”
I meet eyes with CeCe then for the first time since this morning when Sarah had greeted us at the front door. Our gazes snag for a moment, and it feels like both of us have trouble glancing away.
“You got a song in you tonight, CeCe?” Thomas asks.
She looks at him and starts to shake her head.
“Aw, come on. Just one.” He names a couple her uncle wrote.
“What about Sarah?” CeCe says. “She might want to sing with you tonight.”
“We’ll ask her,” Thomas says, “but I’m not sure she’s in a singing mood.”
I give him a look that makes him duck and throw an air punch at me. CeCe looks uncomfortable and says, “You should ask her.”
“This a private meeting, or can I sit in?”
J.B. strolls over, one thumb hooked through the belt loop of his jeans, his gaze focused solely on CeCe.
“We’re just trying to talk her into singing a song with us tonight.”
“I’d sure like to hear you sing, CeCe,” J.B. says, standing closer to her than seems necessary. “We still on for that drink tonight?”
“Yeah,” she replies. “If we don’t get hit by a tornado.”
“Whhhhaat?” J.B. says.
“There’s a watch,” Thomas throws out.
“This place got a cellar?” J.B. asks, and from the look on his face, I’m thinking he’s really worried about it.
“Shouldn’t we be hitting the stage?” I say to Thomas.
“Eight o’clock. I reckon so,” Thomas says.
“CeCe, you wanna hang out until Adrienne and I go on?” J.B. says.
“Sure,” she answers, and if you ask me, her voice is a little too bright to be believable. Even so, her answer leaves me wishing I could remove the satisfied grin from J.B. Langley’s mouth.
♪
18
CeCe
I know Holden and Sarah aren’t talking. She’s sitting at the back of the room, alternating staring at me with staring at him.
I’d like to go on and decide that I just plain don’t like her, but then I think what it must be like to come all this way to see your boyfriend only to get here and realize that something’s changed in the few days you’ve been apart.
I’m not saying that I think I’m responsible for that change. Maybe I’m just the bump in the road that’s making Holden question whether he and Sarah are right for one another. But even I can see that he’s questioning it.
I’m alternating between feeling like a rotten, relationship-wrecker and a hopeful, crush-stricken adolescent.
I sit at a table near the front of the room with J.B., nursing a Coke while Holden and Thomas bring the crowd of people in the room to life. Just about every person there is listening with the kind of intensity you only get when people really like what you’re doing.
Without doubt, Thomas was born to be on stage. There’s a natural ease to the way he tells something funny or revealing about himself and then segues into a song Holden has written about that exact thing. I could listen to them all night. Not just Thomas’s voice but the way Holden plays the guitar as if it is the only thing he was ever meant to do. As if he feels every note. Every word. I find myself waiting for the moments when he comes in with a background vocal, his voice the perfect accompaniment to Thomas’s thick, country twang.
I try not to meet eyes with them throughout the performance, but it’s like there’s a magnet between us. Every time I feel him looking at me, I can’t help myself from letting my gaze bump his.
J.B. is apparently aware of this because every time it happens, he leans forward and says something in my ear. I get the impression that he’s doing it as much to rile Holden as he is to sweet talk me.
Thomas is talking to the crowd again. I pull my thoughts back to his voice, telling myself I’m not going to look at Holden again.
“This next number, folks,” Thomas says, “is a song Holden wrote one night when we both decided we didn’t really care what we had to do to support our love for this business, singing and writing songs. Short of armed robbery, of course.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
“Aside from that, anything we did, whether it’s building a house or waiting tables would just be the means to the freedom to do what we love. This here’s called A Hammer and a Song.”
I listen to the words, and I hear Holden in each and every one of them. He has a real gift, and it’s clear that this life means everything to him. I can only imagine how hard that must have been for Sarah to accept. If she has.
When the song is over, a few beats of silence follow the moment when Thomas lays down his microphone. The applause erupts all at once, punctuated by whistles and whoops. I glance at J.B. whose clapping is tentative to say the least, his voice a little clipped when he says, “That’s good stuff.”
“It is,” I say, and then before I know it, Thomas is taking my hand and pulling me up on the stage. My heart is beating a thousand miles an hour and my hands are suddenly clammy. Thomas tells the audience about my Uncle Dobie and the great songs he had written.
“We’re gonna do one of those for you, folks,” he says, nodding at me.
I close my eyes and wait for Holden’s intro, and then Thomas and I dip into the song together. For the next three minutes, I’m in that other place where all that matters is the music. It’s a place I sometimes wish I could stay in, that sweet spot where the notes and the words all come together to create something wonderful, magical.
When it’s over, the crowd gives us their approval with gratifying applause. My heart is no longer racing, and I just feel grateful to Thomas for his generosity. I hug him. He hugs me back while the audience claps harder, and I force myself not to look at Holden.
We’re about to leave the stage when a sudden noise rises above the clapping. Everyone goes silent, and the sudden wail of an alarm fills the room, the noise clogging our ears like smoke in the lungs.
A man in a white shirt and black pants runs over t
o the stage and takes the microphone from Thomas. “Folks, I’m the manager here. A tornado has just been spotted in the downtown area. We have been advised by public safety officials to immediately take cover in the downstairs part of the building. Let’s all keep our cool. Single file if you would, and follow me to the stairwell.”
His voice is even and reassuring as if this is something he does every night. He steps off the stage then and heads for the main entrance to the bar.
“Seriously?” Thomas says, looking at me and then Holden.
Holden glances at the back of the room and says, “I’ll get Sarah. Meet you two downstairs.”
He steps down from the stage and begins winding his way through the crowd to the back of the room where Sarah stands waiting, with a panicked look on her face.
I remember then that Hank Junior and Patsy are at the apartment alone.
“The dogs, Thomas,” I say, feeling a well of panic. “I need to get home.”
“CeCe, that siren means we need to do what they say. I’ll drive you myself as soon as we get the all clear.” Thomas takes my hand, and I follow him through the lobby to the stairwell where people are hurrying downstairs.
“They’ll be all right,” he says over his shoulder. “And look at it this way. This will probably give us something to write about.”
“Then I hope it’s a song with a happy ending,” I say, tears welling up.
The alarm is loud, and I’d like to cover my ears as we head down, but I’m afraid to let go of Thomas’s hand. My heart is throbbing in time with the siren’s wail, and I say a silent prayer that this will be over soon.
The room we’re filing into is large and dimly lit. The alarm has lost its knife edge blare, and I feel like I can again think a little more clearly. We find a spot in a far corner and sit on the floor against the wall.
I see Holden come through the door, Sarah holding onto his arm. I wish for a moment that they would sit at the opposite end of the room from us, but Thomas waves them over.
Holden looks at me and says, “Think the dogs will be all right?”
“I hope so,” I say, not quite able to meet his concerned gaze.
Nashville - Boxed Set Series - Part One, Two, Three and Four (A New Adult Contemporary Romance) Page 10