Page 29 of Redeeming Melodies

The drive to The Watering Hole usually took twelve minutes. I made it in eight, telling myself it was professional concern that had me breaking my own speed limits. The streets were quiet, most of Oakwood Grove already settled in for the night. Only Nina's place showed real signs of life, warm light spilling from its windows onto the sidewalk where her fairy lights created shifting patterns.

I sat in my truck for a moment, watching shadows move behind the frosted glass. What was it about this guy that had me so off balance? Sure, he was attractive - anyone with eyes could see that. But I'd dealt with plenty of good-looking troublemakers before without this strange pull in my chest.

Maybe it was the way he'd looked last night, all sharp edges and hidden pain. Or how he'd softened slightly when I suggestedstaying in town, like someone who'd forgotten kindness existed without agenda.

"Get it together, Thompson," I muttered, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. I'd thrown on a clean henley and jeans after Nina's suggestion about the uniform, and now I felt weirdly self-conscious about it.

The bar's warmth hit me as I pushed through the door, along with the familiar mix of music, conversation, and Nina's signature lavender cleaning spray. My eyes found him immediately - slouched at the far end of the bar, phone pressed to his ear, jacket discarded and sleeve rolled up to show tensed forearms.

"No, Cassidy, you don't understand." His voice carried clearly, anger barely contained. "I'm not doing another fucking interview. Let Vanessa have her spotlight. I'm done performing."

Nina caught my eye from behind the bar, relief clear on her face. She gestured subtly at the nearly empty bottle beside Elliot's glass. Expensive stuff, if I remembered the label right.

Something in my chest tightened watching him - this polished city guy coming apart at the seams in my quiet town. He looked simultaneously more vulnerable and more dangerous than last night, like a storm about to break.

I moved closer, noting how his shoulders tensed as he sensed someone approach. When he turned, those green eyes widened slightly in recognition. Something flashed across his face - surprise? Relief? - before his mask slipped back into place.

"I've got to go," he said into the phone, never breaking eye contact with me. "No, I mean it. I'm hanging up now."

That damned grin spread across his face - the same one from last night that had gotten under my skin. "Well, if it isn't Oakwood Grove's finest. Come to arrest me for disturbing the peace, Sheriff?"

Something about the way he said 'Sheriff' - half mocking, half something else - made my chest tight. I ignored it, settling onto the stool beside him. "Just Jake tonight. I'm off duty."

"Really?" His eyes swept over my casual clothes, lingering longer than necessary. "And here I was hoping for another lecture about proper small-town behavior."

Nina appeared with two glasses of water, giving Elliot a pointed look before retreating. Message received - she wanted him sobering up.

"Seems like you've had enough lectures for one night," I said, nodding toward his phone. "Rough call?"

"Trying to manage my image, apparently." He took a deliberately long sip of whiskey. "Because God forbid anyone see who I really am under all the PR bullshit."

"Must be exhausting."

"What?"

"Keeping up appearances all the time." I met his gaze steadily.

That caught him off guard. The cocky grin faltered, replaced by something more genuine. "Speaking from experience?"

"Small towns have their own kind of pressure." I accepted the beer Nina silently placed before me. "Everyone knows your history, remembers every mistake. You either let it break you or learn to live with it."

"And you chose to live with it?" His tone was challenging, but his eyes were curious. "Couldn't run away to the big city, start fresh?"

"Tried that. Turns out running doesn't fix what's broken." The words came easier than expected.

Elliot studied me, that sharp edge softening slightly. "Sounds suffocating."

"Sometimes," I admitted. "But it's real."

"Right." He snorted, but it lacked his earlier bite. "Because nothing says 'real life' like Mrs. Henderson's gossip network and fairy lights on a bar patio."

"Better than whatever it is you’re going through.”

His head snapped up, green eyes narrowing. "You don't know anything about my life."

"No," I agreed, taking a slow drink. "But I know what running looks like. Done enough of it myself."

Something shifted between us - the air getting thicker, charged with unspoken understanding. Elliot turned toward me fully, his knee brushing mine. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through my leg that I deliberately didn't analyze.

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