Don't Let the Music Die (The Storyhill Musicians Book 2)

by Annmarie Boyle

  “Smooth,” she said with a chuckle.

  He grinned back at her. “I’ll ask again, how is it you knew I joined Storyhill seven years ago?”

  She bit into a chicken wing. “Mouth’s fwull,” she said, pointing at her lips.

  He followed her finger and stared at her full lips for a beat too long. It might have been nine years since he’d felt them pressed against his own, but he could feel their last kiss like it happened minutes ago.

  She must have sensed it because she quickly swallowed and wiped a napkin across her lips. “I told you before, Momma’s kept tabs on you.”

  “Oh, it’s Isabel that’s been following my career, is it?”

  “She’s got mad Googling skills . . . and she’s a bit of a YouTube junkie.”

  “Really?”

  She swatted at his hand with her napkin. “Yes, really, Mr. Ego. She might be a grandmother, but she’s not even fifty yet.”

  He nodded. “I forgot how young she was when she had you.”

  Her smirk flatlined. “Yeah.”

  “I can’t imagine how an unexpected pregnancy changes your life.”

  She cleared her throat. “Do you think you could get the server’s attention?” she said, rattling the ice in her empty cup.

  He’d hit a sore spot. He reached for her hand, and this time she pulled it away. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t always easy for you, and your parents had some issues.”

  “I’m going to go find her.” Amy-Lynn stood from the booth and headed to the bar.

  He watched her go, a little confused. She’d never been comfortable discussing her family life, but this seemed more pronounced. And nine years had passed. Things changed. He was no longer her confidant. But he wanted her to know that she could still tell him anything. Like before.

  But it wasn’t before. It was after.

  She returned to the table with two more glasses. He noticed a little wobble in her step.

  “You okay with a third?”

  “You monitoring my drinking?” she snapped.

  He held his hands up in surrender.

  “You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “I probably shouldn’t have a third. I’m a total lightweight. I never do this. But I’m just so tired of always being the responsible one. It’s been so long since I’ve thought about anything other than what Momma or Jess might need or what Celeste wants.” She laid her head on the table. “I just want to think about me for a while.”

  At least that’s what he thought she said. The table muffled her voice.

  “Avery?” It was so hard to call her that, but if that’s what she wanted, he’d do it. For her. He smoothed a hand over her raspberry-colored hair. “Avery, honey?”

  “What?” she said, her head still down on the table.

  “I’d like to see your pretty face.”

  She looked up, and he brushed her hair back. “How about I don’t drink this one.” He pushed the beer away. “We’ll order some more food and some water, and I’ll make sure you get home safely. Have as many as you want.”

  “But what about my car?”

  “I’ll drive it to your house and Uber back here.”

  “But then you’d see where I live,” she said, a slight slur inching into her voice.

  “I’ll close my eyes.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  He chuckled to himself.

  “And a second idea. Tomorrow night, Storyhill is getting together. It’ll be the guys, our tech team, and their significant others. We do the potluck thing, have a beverage or two, play some games. Come with me.”

  Her chest rose as she drew in an enormous breath. “With you? Like a date?”

  Stop looking at her chest. He forced his eyes to meet hers.

  Yes, he would love to call it a date, but she’d never let that happen. “Not a date. I’ve just never known anyone who needed a night out as much as you.”

  She frowned and waggled a finger in front of his face. “But all your friends will think it’s a date.”

  Would that be so bad? Women were usually clamoring to go out with him. “Grace mentioned in the interview that she’d like to meet you. How about we tell them that’s why you came?”

  “Okay,” she said, downing the dregs of another rum and Coke.

  “You’ll go?” He tried to hide his surprise. He hoped she’d remember this in the morning.

  “Yes. For research.”

  “Playing games with Storyhill is research? For the show?”

  She giggled and nodded, the alcohol exaggerating her motions. “Country music singers in their natural habitat.” She looked side-to-side, placing a finger over her lips. “What will they do? What will they say?” she whispered as if on safari. “There are always new things to learn.”

  “All right, David Attenborough,” he said, laughing. “Now let’s get you a little more food and some water.”

  “And another drink?”

  “If you still want one after the food and water, sure.”

  “You, Matthew Benjamin Taylor, are a stick in the mud,” she pouted.

  Okay, not too drunk. She still knew his full name.

  “Yeah, that’s what people always say about me.”

  She giggled and then snorted. Her eyes flew wide, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Classy,” he said, nearly drunk himself from a few notes of her laughter.

  She stuck out her bottom lip. “At least I know who David Attenborough is.”

  He sucked in his lips, biting back a smile. “Um. I think I brought him up.”

  “Really?” She looked at him, cocked her head, and squeezed one eye shut.

  It was about the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.

  She brushed her hair back from her face. “Don’t tell Celeste about this, okay?”

  He paused. Was he not supposed to tell Celeste she’d invited him out for drinks or that she’d gotten drunk or that she didn’t remember who first brought up David Attenborough? It didn’t matter. He didn’t intend on telling Celeste—or anyone else—about their evening. This was his memory to cherish.

  He pulled into her driveway. A beautiful Craftsman bungalow in East Nashville. The perfect place for a family.

  He turned to her. Her head lolled to the side, and she was softly snoring.

  “Avery,” he said, shaking her shoulder gently.

  Her eyes popped open and focused on his face. She reached out, placed her hand on his face, and rubbed her thumb under his chin. The touch left a trail of warmth, nearly searing his skin. How many times had he dreamed of her touch?

  “Matt,” she breathed out.

  He went still. Was she dreaming?

  “Avery, honey, are you awake?”

  She traced a finger along his jawbone. “Yes, I’m awake. You could kiss me right now. I’d let you.”

  God, how he wanted that. But if—when—he kissed her again, he didn’t want it to be like this. He had to know it was something she really wanted.

  “Probably better not to let Captain Morgan make decisions for you.”

  She frowned, her forehead creasing into deep wrinkles. “I’m sober now.”

  Matt pursed his lips, cocking his head to the side. “I’m not sure that’s entirely true. How about this? I’ll walk you to the door and if you can walk a straight line, I’ll give you a goodnight kiss.”

  She pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. “You don’t think I’m pretty anymore.”

  “No.” His groin tightened at the sight of her lower lip on full display. “You’re more beautiful than ever.” He slipped out the door and opened hers before he said or did something stupid.

  “Out we go.” He offered her his hand and slid her from the car. “I’m putting your keys in your purse.”

  He wrapped an arm around her and guided her to the house. She accidentally kicked one of the solar lights lining the sidewalk and giggled.

  Nope, not sober.

  When he reached the door, he knocked. Isabel opened the
door.

  “Matt?” she said, surprise widening her eyes.

  “Hi Momma!” Amy-Lynn announced.

  “Hi baby,” she said, her eyes flashing between her daughter and Matt.

  Amy-Lynn staggered a step to the left, and he pulled her tighter to his side. “He wouldn’t even kiss me goodnight, Momma. Can you believe that?”

  Matt shrugged. “Think you can take it from here, Mrs. McWilliams?”

  “She’s drunk,” Isabel said, surprise still filling her voice.

  “Yep,” Matt said, laughing.

  Isabel pushed the door open wide. “She’s never drunk.”

  Matt winced. “She had a stressful week. I think she needed to let loose a little.”

  “I’m right here. I can hear you guys. And I’m not drunk. Not anymore.” She slipped out from under Matt’s arm and ducked beside her mother, flopping into the chair nearest the door.

  They both watched as she closed her eyes and let her head fall back.

  “I’ll see she drinks some water and takes some aspirin,” Isabel said, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye.

  He stole a last glance at the woman who’d once been his entire world. “Avery?”

  She opened one eye and looked at him. “Mmm?”

  “Remember. Tomorrow night. I’ll text you the details.”

  She gave him the thumbs up sign before closing her eyes again.

  Isabel gaped at him. “You called her Avery.”

  He shrugged. “It’s what she wants.”

  Isabel narrowed her eyes and scanned him from head to toe. “Huh.”

  Matt held up a single hand. “It was good to see you, Isabel.”

  “You too, Matt,” Isabel said, her eyes still shifting from Matt to Amy-Lynn.

  He turned down the walk and pulled out his phone to order an Uber. Two minutes away.

  Isabel called after him. “Thanks for getting her home safe.”

  He turned and walked backwards. “Of course.”

  “And Matt,” she continued, stepping out onto the porch. “I’ve never seen her drunk.”

  Matt sighed. “I bring out the best in people.”

  “I agree, but not in the way you mean it. She’d never have done this with someone she didn’t trust.”

  A warmth flooded his chest, surrounding his heart. He wanted to sink into the feeling. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he got a few more questions answered.

  The Uber pulled up to the curb. “Good night, Isabel. Take care of our girl.”

  Chapter Ten

  Avery rolled over and groaned. Why was the room spinning? Last night’s events filled in and came to an abrupt stop when the words, “You could kiss me. I’d let you,” crashed through her brain.

  Oh my god.

  Not only had she let her guard down with Matt, but she’d also gotten drunk and propositioned him. Okay, she was being melodramatic. It’s not like she invited him in and threw him down on the bed.

  But still. She threw her arm across her eyes. He’d said no.

  Which was more embarrassing? Asking him or getting turned down?

  The door to her bedroom flew open, and Wyatt jumped on her bed. She had to swallow hard to keep last night’s food down. “Tía! Pancakes and flowers!”

  She tried to shake off the haze and translate toddler-speak. “Abuela made pancakes?”

  “No. Mommy.”

  Was she still dreaming? “Your mom made pancakes?”

  Wyatt nodded in that full-body way that only toddlers managed. “Get up!” He pulled on her arm.

  She rubbed her eyes. Yikes. She’d slept with her contacts in. “Wyatt, baby, go tell your mommy I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Okay,” he said brightly, hopping down from the bed and running down the hallway, screaming, “Mommy!”

  Avery grabbed her head. He really needed to stop that. She sat up and checked in with her stomach. “How about some pancakes?” she asked it. It didn’t send anything spiraling upwards. She took that as a good sign.

  She padded into her ensuite and without looking in the mirror—she didn’t dare—she peeled the contacts out and pulled a brush through her tangle of snarls. Once she’d located her glasses, she walked tentatively into the kitchen, blinking at the bright light, and slipped onto a barstool.

  Jess slid a plate in front of her.

  “Eat!” Wyatt said, grabbing her arm, his sticky fingers leaving a trail of maple syrup behind.

  “Inside voice, baby,” she said to the child, but she couldn’t help smiling at his exuberance. She could use a bit of that energy right now.

  “Momma said you got drunk with Matt Taylor last night.”

  She looked at her sister over the top of her glasses. Good lord. Was nothing sacred in this house?

  “Tía drunk. Tía drunk. Drunk. Dunk. Bunk,” Wyatt sang.

  Avery laughed. “Is that why you made pancakes?”

  “Well, they are good hangover food, but no. I made them to say thank you for taking Momma to her appointment.”

  That’s right, that was just yesterday. Why did it feel like she’d lived a hundred years since then?

  “How’d the interview go?” She prepared herself for her sister’s litany of excuses. Hopefully, she’d gone to the interview.

  Jess ran around the island and circled Avery’s shoulders and squeezed. Her second hug in as many days. “Sissy! I got the job! I start on Monday! And I even have a daycare plan worked out!”

  “Momma?” Avery knew she shouldn’t be so cynical, but all previous data pointed to it.

  “For the first week, yes. But then he’s enrolled at the Montessori on Douglas.”

  Avery looked up, full fork hanging in the air. “That’s great, Jess. I’m very proud of you.” And she realized it was the truth.

  “You are?” her sister asked, a tremble in her voice.

  She grabbed her sister’s arms and squeezed her back. “Very proud.”

  “We can talk about rent,” Jess said, bouncing back to the stove to flip a pancake.

  “How about we wait until my head stops pounding?”

  Jess laughed and shook her head. “I still can’t believe you got drunk. It’s so unlike you. Maybe yesterday was opposite day. I got a job and you got drunk.”

  “Maybe that’s it.” But she thought it had less to do with that and more to do with a tall, super sexy, blond musician.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Jess said, pushing a vase of daisies toward Avery. “These came for you.”

  “You didn’t need to spend your money on flowers, Jess. The pancakes were enough.”

  “I didn’t,” she said, smirking over her shoulder.

  Avery’s brow furrowed. If not Jess, then who? She pulled the card from the floral pick. “Hope you’re not feeling too bad this morning. Not sure if these are still your favorites. Looking forward to seeing you tonight. M.”

  “What’s happening tonight?” Jess asked, slapping another pancake on her plate.

  Avery glared at her sister. “You read the card?”

  Jess shrugged. “Wanted to make sure they weren’t from some crazy fan.”

  “Sure.” Avery rolled her eyes. “And what would you have done if they were?”

  “Left them outside.”

  “It’s only signed ‘M.’”

  “But it mentions your hangover.”

  She stuffed her mouth with pancakes and let it go. “He mentioned some Storyhill thing tonight. I think I said yes.”

  “Damn straight you said yes.”

  “It’s not that easy, Jess.”

  Jess poured more batter onto the griddle. “You overcomplicate everything, Sissy.”

  “And you don’t think things through.”

  “Are you two fighting again?” Isabel asked, emerging from the hallway. “Or should I say ‘still?’”

  “Abuela! Eat pancakes!” Wyatt yelled, making them all laugh.

  “I’m pretty sure we can all agree that the pancakes are delicious. Ri
ght, Sissy?” Jessica asked Avery.

  “Right.”

  “Good,” Isabel said, sliding onto the stool on the opposite side of Wyatt. “You feeling okay?” she asked Avery quietly.

  Avery nodded. “Considering.”

  Isabel slid a fork through her pancake and glanced at Avery from the corner of her eye. “It was nice of Matt to bring you home.”

  Avery let out a low groan, dropping her head to her chest. “Momma, don’t start.”

  “What?” Isabel said, feigning innocence, a small smile dancing at the corners of her lips.

  Avery spun to face her mother. “It was your idea that I thank him for covering yesterday’s show.”

  Isabel shrugged and her smile grew. “I was thinking a text or maybe a phone call. Never imagined you’d end up wrapped in his arms on our front step.”

  Jess turned, her eyes popping wide. “You were ‘wrapped’ in his arms, Sissy? With Momma watching?”

  Avery snorted. “He was holding me up, Jess. Nothing romantic—or sexy—about it.” Though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit it felt good to be in his arms again. Safe. Warm. Protected. And something, she realized, that she’d missed every day for the past nine years.

  “Sure, Sissy,” Jess said, giving Avery an exaggerated wink. “Whatever you say.”

  Avery rolled her eyes. “Look what you started, Momma,” she said, waving her hand at Jess.

  “Nope,” her mother said, shaking her head. “That was all you. You started it—and now you’re going to do the next right thing.”

  Avery choked on a bite of pancake. “Momma,” she hissed through clenched teeth. She was clear on her mother’s meaning, but she didn’t need Jess getting clear on it, too.

  “Yeah,” Jess said, waggling her eyebrows. “The next right step is to get his arms around you again. And see where it leads.”

  A relieved sigh oozed out of Avery. Jess hadn’t read into Momma’s comment. And that’s the way it was going to stay.

  When the time came to get ready for the party, Avery stood in front of her closet, chewing on a bright blue nail. What should she wear? Should she even go?