Page 66 of Scent of Home

I exhale happily.

“Nice save, Omega.”

His deep, purred whisper goes straight to my soul and sings there. I could write an entire album about Bray. I do not understand this town at all. He’s incredible. Funny, charming, witty, protective, gorgeous.

When Finn comes back, he’s frowning and ushers us to stand up.

“Holly is freaking out because she doesn't know what happened,” Finn murmurs. “I told her it’s not her fault.”

“What?” Shane growls. He glances at Erin, who has remained silent, her deep brown eyes watching everything that plays out.

“Well, her ticket says four thick shakes. She doesn’t know where the fifth came from, but a couple of people saw a girl working there for a few minutes. It wasn’t Holly’s fault.”

“At some point, Finn, you need to stop excusing the asshole things these people do.”

“They don’t do asshole things, that’s all you, Brayson,” Finn growls back.

I give Finn a long look because I’m starting to think his blindness towards the townspeople is unintentional. “Your town is strange.” And I’m not sure how I feel about all this, especially the way it all appears. I’m not ready yet to get in between this war between the town and Bray, but I already know what side I’m coming down on.

“Yeah, this is a new level of strange. So, let’s go to the diner. We can have dinner and then head back to my place.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Shane says in his deep voice. He glances between the four of us before finally settling his gaze on me.

He reaches up and strokes his beard, and I get a sense that he sees more than he’s letting on.

I get a look at Holly, red-faced, weeping, and peering at him hopefully. Maybe it was an accident.

Sorry, sweetheart, but he’s mine.

I frown and struggle out of Bray’s arms. He doesn’t let me go far, snagging my fingers and gluing himself to my side.

I hate people touching me. I hate it.

Why do I love this man being all up in my space?

When I get confused, all I want to do is get my fingers on strings or keys.

I could play until the world makes sense again. I could sing until all the confusion in my world fades away.

Bray glances at me in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re tapping my hand.”

I look down and jerk my head up, swallowing hard. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Bray murmurs. “When I’m in my head, I need a wrench or a spanner in my hands and an engine in front of me.”

I exhale. Of course, he wouldn’t think I’m weird.

“It's hard not to be all musical. All I know is music. It’s all I do.”

“So, you’re some big shot superstar? Are you famous?”

Is he teasing me? Does he know? No, there’s only open curiosity on his face.

“I do okay,” I say evasively.

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