“Why are you even trying to find a man in this town?” I replied. “They are either married or you know them and know very well why they are single.”
“I don’t know that guy,” Lucy said, her smile growing.
Trisha craned her neck. “Which one?”
“The brooding stranger in the hat sitting at the end of the bar and staring at us.” Lucy took a purposeful sip from her straw as she stared at the mystery man.
“That’s not a stranger, that’s Wyatt Hudson,” Trisha said. “And he’s not looking at us, he’s looking at Brook.”
I groaned. “Wyatt is here?”
“He is.” Trisha smiled sympathetically. “I think you should go talk to him. He’s all alone and he keeps looking over here like a lost puppy.”
“How is that my responsibility?” I asked. After she gave me a stern big-sister look, I slid out of my chair. “Fine, but if I’m not back in ten minutes, come get me.”
“Sure!” Trisha agreed happily.
I headed to the bar, purposefully not looking at Wyatt. Leaning over the wood slab, I flagged down the bartender. “Can I get a whiskey neat and the girliest drink you’ve got for this gentleman here?” I pointed at Wyatt.
The bartender gave me a doubtful look, but he nodded.
“Buying me a drink?” Wyatt said with his deep chuckle. “I think I might be in love.”
I turned to him at last. “You always were an easy target. At least, that what all the girls used to say.”
“You used to talk about me with the girls?” he said, grinning.
“My sister says you were staring at me. Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” I glared at him. “I don’t even know how she could tell with you wearing that stupid hat pulled over your eyes.”
“You don’t like my hat?” Wyatt pretended to be hurt. “Come sit by me.” I opened my mouth to protest just as the bartender returned with our drinks. “I’ll drink this pink monstrosity if you sit here and have a drink with me.”
I smiled. “I can’t say no to an offer like that.”
It was a tight fit at the bar and it was impossible to climb onto the barstool without brushing against Wyatt. I clenched my teeth and shifted until I was seated without touching him. Then I reached for the whiskey and took a healthy sip.
“I wear the hat so people won’t recognize me,” Wyatt said.
“Oh.” I glanced at him. If I hadn’t been intimately familiar with Wyatt’s smile, I probably wouldn’t have recognized him myself. “I guess that makes sense. But how will your groupies find you?”
“Don’t worry about them. They always know how to find me.” He grinned. “Though if they see me sitting next to you, that might scare them away.”
I gestured to his drink. “I don’t think that’s going to help either. Really clashes with Ryder Strong’s bad boy persona.”
“But Wyatt Hudson really loves a pink drink.” He took a sip from the curly straw and then grimaced. “Ugh. That is pure sugar.”
“Wash it down.” I nudged my whiskey glass over to him.
He took a healthy swig. “That’s better.” Wyatt slid the glass back to me. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you in the Eagle’s Nest on a Saturday night.”
“I didn’t expect to see you here either.”
“Fair enough.” He glanced at me. “If you’d known I was going to be here, would you have stayed home?”
I considered his question. “No. It’s actually kind of nice to have you here. It will stop Trish from trying to set me up with some drunk local.”
“So…you’re single?” He smirked when I nodded. “I was trying to think of a smooth way to ask you that.”
“You nailed it,” I joked. “What about you? Got anyone besides the groupies?”
“My lifestyle isn’t conducive to a relationship,” he said. “Surprisingly, women don’t want a boyfriend that spends 300 days a year on the road.”
“Maybe you just need to find a woman that wants to go on the road with you,” I suggested, taking another sip of whiskey.
Wyatt tipped the bill of his cap back, revealing those platinum eyes again. “You tell me, does that sound like the kind of lifestyle you would want?”
“Actually…yes.” I looked away from those eyes before I got sucked into them. “My plan is to spend a couple years traveling and see the world before I get too sucked into a normal life in this town.”
As he shifted in his seat to face me, his leg brushed against mine. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about. It has to do with you and me.”
“You and me?” I took a deep breath and held it.
“We used to be really good together, Brooklyn.” He noticed the expression on my face and added, “As songwriting partners, I mean. I loved writing songs with you.”
“That was a long time ago, Wyatt.” I hated how good it felt to hear him say those words. I’d loved writing songs with him, too.
“Maybe so. All I know is that I haven’t been able to write a single song as good as those songs we wrote together.” He put a hand on my leg and it was like an electric shock running through my body. “What would you say if I asked you to do it again?”
“Do it again?” I repeated numbly.
“Write songs with me,” he said urgently. “I need this, Brooklyn. I’ve been struggling these last few years. My career is about to tank, I’ve lost pretty much all my friends, and I don’t have any family or anyone important in my life. I need to do something like this, something that used to make me happy.”
I looked in his eyes and saw just how desperately he felt what he was saying. I also saw the Wyatt from my past, the one that existed long before Ryder Strong came along. That Wyatt was someone that I could never say no to.
“I haven’t written anything in ten years, Wy. I have no idea if I even remember how to write a song,” I said.
He smiled. “It will come back to you. Does this mean you’ll do it?”
“Yeah. I’ll try. For you.” I tensed as his hand pressed down harder on my thigh. “When do you want to start?”
“Whenever you’re free,” Wyatt said. “I’ll work around your schedule.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that both Trisha and Lucy were nearly passed out at the table. They wouldn’t even miss me if I left.
“How about now?” I asked Wyatt.
“Now?” He gave me a surprised look and then quickly replaced it with a sexy smile. “Now would be perfect, Brooklyn.”
He threw money on the bar to cover the drinks and I led the way to the door. Rather than face Lucy and Trisha in person to tell them I was leaving with Wyatt, I sent a text saying that I was tired and decided to go home. I knew Trisha would have lots of questions and I’d rather deal with them in the morning.
Both of us had been drinking, so driving anywhere was out of the question. I started walking toward the center of town.
“Where are we going?” Wyatt asked.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you trust me?” I teased.
“Not really,” he said with a laugh. “You got me into a lot of trouble in high school, Monroe.”
I scoffed. “Wow. You really don’t remember high school. It was the exact opposite, actually. I never missed a day of school until you and I became friends.”
“What you’re really saying is that I taught you how to have fun.” Wyatt bumped me gently with his arm. “Remember when we used to go down to the lake in the spring?”
“I remember you pushing me off the pier,” I said.
“I remember you laughing and looking at me with those hypnotizing green eyes of yours. You were always a pretty girl, but you looked so beautiful that day in the sunlight.” Wyatt shoved his hands into his pockets and stared straight ahead. “That day was the inspiration for Daylight.”
I froze. Wyatt didn’t notice and kept walking. “You wrote Daylight about the day we spent at the lake?” I asked, dumbfounded. That song had been Wyatt’s first hit as Ryder Strong. I’d listened t
o that song on repeat for an entire year.
Wyatt turned, smiling softly. “I wrote Daylight about you, Brooklyn.”
I continued to stare at him, too shocked to move. It had never once occurred to me during the hundreds of times that I’d listened to that song that I might have been Wyatt’s muse. “Why?” I asked lamely.
“Because you were always my best inspiration,” he said with a shrug. Then, he laughed. “Please don’t tell me you hate that song. I don’t think my pride could handle that.”
I shook my head. “It’s only my favorite song ever.”
“Ever?” He grinned. “Let’s see if we can top it, Monroe.”
I started walking again and nodded. “Challenge accepted, Hudson.”
“I like hearing you say my real name,” Wyatt admitted as he followed me to the door of the café. “No one ever calls me Wyatt or Hudson anymore.”
“Whose fault is that?” I said, unlocking the door.
“Is this really your choice for where we’re going to write my next big hit?” Wyatt said, looking around the dark café. “No offense, Monroe, but it’s not exactly inspirational.”
“Shut up.” I walked around the counter and grabbed some order pads and pens. “Writing materials,” I said, handing them to Wyatt. “I don’t have a guitar here, so we’ll just stick to lyrics tonight.”
Wyatt looked around. “Aren’t you going to turn on a light? It’s going to be hard to write anything in the dark.”
“We’re not writing in here.” I pulled open the door to my office. It was a room I never used, but it also had access to the stairs that would take us upstairs. “Keep up, Hudson. I don’t have all night.”
“Yes, you do,” he said confidently, following me up. “Have you been working out, Monroe? You’ve been keeping things tight.”
“I hate you,” I said, not even bothering to glare at him. It was too dark in the stairwell to fully convey my annoyance in a look.
I opened the door and stepped onto the roof. It was a beautiful night in Starlight. While Wyatt stared out over the town, I turned on the light switch. The strands of lights cast the entire rooftop in a soft glow.
“That should be enough light for us,” I said, joining Wyatt at the edge of the roof. “You’re not thinking of jumping, are you? I suppose I should’ve asked if you were suffering from suicidal tendencies before bringing you up here.”
“Do you remember when this town was our whole world?” Wyatt said, ignoring me.
“Sometimes it feels like it still is for me,” I said.
Wyatt looked at me. “Returning to where you started isn’t the same as never having left in the first place, Brooklyn. You’ve had a life outside of Starlight. I would know. I was a small part of it.”
“That was one night, Wyatt.” I stepped away from him.
“One night that changed everything,” he said quietly.
It was my turn to ignore him. I sank onto the large floor pillows I’d previously brought up to the roof. I usually came up here at lunchtime to get away from work and have some time alone with my thoughts.
“Are we going to write or are you going to keep dredging up the past?” I asked.
“We can’t do both?” Wyatt took a seat across from me, folding in his long legs. “The best songs are based on reality.”
“We’re not writing a song about that night,” I said firmly.
He shrugged. “I think that’s a mistake, but whatever you want.”
“What kind of song do you want to write?” I asked, tapping a pen against the pad of paper in my lap.
“Something epic,” he replied.
“Thanks, that really narrows it down for me,” I said sarcastically.
Wyatt shifted until he was sitting next to me, our arms lightly touching. He watched as I started jotting down some words. “That’s not bad,” he said.
“Just brainstorming.” I chewed on the end of my pen, thinking.
“You still do that?” He laughed lightly. “I thought you’d outgrow that habit.”
“My dentist wishes that I would,” I said, giving him a small smile. “Should we write something about dental hygiene? Could be an untapped market.”
He laughed again. “Nothing sexier than clean teeth. Especially when they are smiling at me the way you are right now.”
“Stop.” I sighed. “This was a bad idea.”
“I think you just wrote the opening line to our song,” Wyatt said, grabbing his pen. He started scribbling furiously.
This was a bad idea
You and me
We shouldn’t be here
But you’ll never make me leave
“That’s not bad,” I said in surprise.
Wyatt glanced at me. “You sound so surprised. I am the author of your favorite song ever. Give me a little credit.”
Somehow, two hours passed in the blink of an eye and Wyatt and I had written a complete song. It wasn’t perfect and we still had to figure out the rhythm and beat, but it was still an impressive accomplishment for two people who hadn’t even talked in the last eight years.
“I need to go home,” I said, yawning. “I have to open the café in six hours.”
“Or we could just keep going for a few more hours and then you’ll already be here,” Wyatt said with an adorable grin that was hard to resist.
“I can’t.” I reluctantly stood up and stretched my sore back muscles. “Tomorrow is Sunday and I’m on pancake duty for the kids on Sunday mornings.”
Wyatt stood, shooting me a surprised look. “You have kids?”
“Five of them on Sunday mornings,” I said, laughing at his shocked expression. “They are my sister’s kids. She and her husband volunteer Sunday mornings at the church giving out free breakfast to the poor. I swing by the café and get it open and then go back to the house to watch the kids while their parents are being upstanding members of the community.”
“You live with your sister?” he asked, following me to the stairwell.
“I rent the carriage house in their backyard. It’s nice. I’m close enough to help out with the kids, but I still have some privacy.” Without even thinking about it, I added, “If you happen to be up early, you can stop by for some of my world-famous pancakes.”
“I’m not usually much of a morning person,” Wyatt said as he followed me outside and waited while I locked the door.
I nodded. “Right. Of course. Don’t worry about it.”
“Can we do this again tomorrow night?” he asked, almost sounding shy.
“Sure. Just bring your guitar, okay? A song isn’t much of a song with the music part.” I hesitated. “Where are you staying?”
“With my Uncle Jeff. He lives just down the street.” Wyatt gestured loosely toward the main street. “Can I walk you home?”
“That’s probably not the best idea,” I said. I was worried that Trisha might arrive home at the same time as me and see us together. “This is Starlight. I’ll be just fine on my own.”
Wyatt looked uncertain. “I’m going to give you my number. Text me when you get home, okay?”
“Whatever.” I smiled at his suggestion and put his number in my phone. “Is this just your really lame way of getting my number?”
“Busted.” He grinned. “The ball is in your court, Monroe. If you don’t text me, I’ll never get your number.”
“I like having this power.” I backed up a few steps. “Good night, Wyatt Hudson.”
“Good night, Brooklyn Monroe.” He grinned. “I look forward to your text.”
CHAPTER THREE
W aking up the next morning was painful. After getting home, I’d lain wide awake thinking about my time with Wyatt. I’d also been inspired with a dozen different ideas for new songs. I jotted down as many as I could while lying in bed before falling asleep on my notebook.
I made it to the café just barely in time to get it opened before Zack would arrive to take over. I thought it was him sitting on the front stoop, but then I saw the hat.<
br />
“I thought you aren’t a morning person,” I said, unable to deny the flip of my heart.
“I said I’m usually not.” Wyatt stood. “I can make an exception for world-famous pancakes.” He stepped aside to allow me to unlock the door.
“In that case, coffee is on the house this morning.” I headed straight to the coffeemaker and got it started. “You could’ve just come to Trish’s house.”
“No, I couldn’t. I don’t know where she lives.” He gave me a pointed look.
“And I never texted you last night so you didn’t have my number to ask me.” I gave him an appropriately chagrined smile. “I promise, I was going to text you this morning. I just got a little distracted last night after I got in bed.”
“Tell me more,” he said happily.
I groaned. “You really can make anything dirty.”
“It’s a gift.” Wyatt leaned over the counter. “Tell me more. What were you wearing?”
“I was writing,” I aside, dodging his question. “It was like writing that one song with you opened this floodgate. I had so many idea and I just had to get them all down before they floated away.”
“I actually had the exact same problem.” Wyatt grinned and my heart did another flip. “I guess you could say we inspired each other.”
I turned away and focused on filling two cups with coffee. “Zack should be here any minute and then we can head over to Trisha’s. The kids usually wake up in about an hour.”
“How many kids again?” Wyatt asked.
“Five.” I turned around and handed him a cup. “Four girls, one boy.”
“Lucky boy,” Wyatt said wryly.
“He’ll never find women mysterious, that’s for sure.” I thought of my nephew Jax and smiled. “He’s the youngest, too.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that if I’d just had some sisters, I wouldn’t be so confused by the female gender?”
“Oh please.” I scoffed. “You know exactly how to manipulate women, Wy. You had every girl in school wrapped around your finger.”
“Not every girl,” he said purposefully.
I shook my head. “No, every girl.”
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