Page 2 of Call Back

She practically swooned, and I wondered what he was up to. Colt was a charmer, but he didn’t usually lay it on this thick with other women around me, not that I cared . . . well, mostly. We weren’t together, after all, just friends.

“That will be thirty-six dollars and ninety-seven cents,” I said.

“For two cookbooks?” she asked in dismay.

“They’re Southern Living approved,” I said, picking one up and tapping the seal on the corner.

“Oh, well, I’ll just take one.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care. It’s not like I’ll actually use it. The cheapest one.” She turned to Colt. “Do you have many performances? I’d love to see one.”

He graced her with a lazy grin. “I’m usually a solo artist, but me and Maggie have sung together a couple of times. We have an agent interested in signing us. He thinks we could be big.”

I shot him a look that reminded him that was never going to happen, even though I felt a bit guilty over it, even though the prospect made me a little wistful. Colt had been trying to break into the country music scene for years, and the one night we’d performed together at the Kincaid had brought an agent knocking on his door, but only if we were a package deal, something I wasn’t interested in. I’d spent enough time in the limelight following my Broadway disgrace. I was interested in lying low for a while.

Especially since my own personal stalker had been keeping an eye on me since my return to Franklin. But I’d made the Nashville news after my attack on Saturday night, so it could be argued I wasn’t much good at lying low.

“Eighteen dollars and sixty-three cents,” I said.

The woman dug out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to me as she continued to watch Colt. “Would you sing something for me now?”

He chuckled. “Right now? I’m sure Alvin wouldn’t approve of me disrupting his business.”

Alvin had been standing to the side, taking in everything, but now he moved closer with a beaming smile. “I have a guitar in the back. How about you and Magnolia sing together? I’m sure she’s missing the stage.”

Colt gave me a lackadaisical smile, but I could see the pleading in his eyes.

I was missing the stage, and I had loved singing with Colt, maybe a little too much, but I hated to give him false hope. Still, Alvin had been an amazingly understanding boss in the short time I’d worked for him, so I hated to refuse him. “Sure.”

The woman squealed.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. “Who would you like the cookbook made out to?”

“Trina.”

The cookbook author would probably be less than grateful that a washed-up Broadway star and a wannabe country singer were signing her bible on bread, but at least I was making a sale. I grabbed a pen and wrote in swooping script, Always chase your dreams—something I’d come up with after accepting the role of Scarlett in Fireflies at Dawn, my first starring Broadway role—and then signed my name, Magnolia Steele, and a heart below it.

I lifted the book and handed it to Colt. Our eyes locked and I was surprised by the gratitude I saw there. For agreeing to sing with him? But he looked away before I could get a good read. He scribbled something below my signature, then handed the cookbook back to Trina as Alvin emerged from the back with a guitar.

“Where in the hell did you get this?” Colt asked in awe. “That’s a vintage Gibson.”

I couldn’t help wondering the same. While Alvin’s store had a mixture of new and vintage items, there wasn’t a single musical instrument.

He shrugged as he handed it to Colt. “It was mixed up in a batch of antiques I got last week. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with it.”

Colt took the guitar and strummed a few chords, then tightened the strings to tune the instrument.

Alvin pulled a stool out from behind the counter and dragged it to the front door.

“Alvin?” I asked, starting to feel uneasy. “What are you doing?”

“Setting up.” He disappeared out the front door, reappearing in the front window as he placed the stool front and center.

I smelled a rat.

I narrowed my eyes as I turned to Colt, about to accuse him of being part of this, but it was obvious Alvin had caught him by surprise. Otherwise, he would have brought his own guitar. No, it would seem my enterprising boss had cooked up a unique way to draw attention to his store, not that anyone other than Trina was likely to see the connection between cookbooks and country music.

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