Page 11 of Melody

“Why? Is it working?”

The way he asked it—so earnestly, so innocently—tugged at her heartstrings just a little bit. Enough that she gave him a tiny smile. “Not a bit. But I’ll tell you what. Next time you’re here, I’ll buy you a beer and let you try again.”

She couldn’t read his expression and those cobalt eyes weren’t giving anything away. Finally, he said, “Okay. I’ll take it. But how about I give youmynumber? Just in case you change your mind?”

One thing Scarlett had to give him credit for—his persistence. But it wouldn’t have worked if she hadn’t had a good feeling about him. With a slight smirk, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and Kyle’s eyes lit up. “I don’t have all night.”

“Kyle Horton…”

CHAPTER 5

If Scarlett had thought Kyle was persistent that night in July, by the time November rolled around, she thought of him as a dog with a bone. There would be no changing his mind.

Not that she had tried pushing him away.

Intent to Murder had been playing at Tequilaville once a month ever since that first night in July—and every time they were there, Kyle made sure to come over and flirt with her. Once, in a short break from orders in October, she’d been able to watch the band perform half a song, and she had to admit that he looked really hot on stage. His persona as a guitarist was much like she’d seen up close: confident, assured, and in his element.

His persistence was starting to wear her down.

If he’d been stalker-y, coming to the bar all the time or “accidentally” running into her while she was doing her usual day-to-day, she would have dismissed him outright. Instead, he’d only talked to her during the band’s usual shows. And, although he hadn’t missedthosechances, he hadn’t forced himself upon her. Maybe he’d sensed her hesitancy, because he always made sure his presence was welcome before settling in on a stool.

In fact, over the past week, Scarlett had actually been anticipating the band’s next show. It was the Friday before Thanksgiving and Al had warned her that the bar would be packed. “The weekend before Thanksgiving?” she’d asked.

“Yep. The holidays bring people to us. There’s never a bad time to be a bar, but if there were, the holidays wouldn’t be one of those times.”

Although she’d remained dubious, she knew Al had been doing this long enough to know. He’d since sussed out that she’d exaggerated her credentials before coming to Tequilaville but, as he’d put it, she “had a way with people,” something he had no clue how to train. Everything else he and Denise could teach her.

And teach her they had. By now, she at least felt halfway competent behind the bar. She was no expert and probably never would be, but she no longer had to ask Denise a question every two minutes, and she felt confident enough that Denise could leave for an hour or two without her panicking, her phone at the ready to text a question if needed.

With that increased knowledge and speed came better tips. The first month she’d been there, Scarlett had feared that she wouldn’t be able to live on her earnings, but she now made more than enough to cover her monthly bills. It didn’t hurt that she didn’t drive much and the rent for her apartment was low. It also helped that Al was giving her more shifts as she got better—and, with the loss of one of their servers, there was plenty more work to go around.

Tonight was cold and, before the crowd arrived, the bar didn’t feel warm at all. Every time someone opened the front doors, a frigid blast would rush in, seeming to settle at the floor of the bar area, trapped in that tight space. Now that the building was full of warm bodies, though, the cold air wasn’t as noticeable and, as the demand for drinks increased, being busy made the temperature the farthest thing from her mind.

Kyle hadn’t stopped by the bar or even waved at her tonight, but he hadn’t done that before, so why had she hoped he would? It wasn’t until after his band played that he’d come by to see her. And it wouldn’t have mattered to her now had she not been thinking about him all day.

What was wrong with her?

A guy like Kyle probably had dozens of women in his back pocket. It didn’t matter that he was pursuing her patiently. She’d known other men who planted seeds of romance with almost every woman they met, watering those seeds with liberal flirting whenever they saw those women again. Although they loved simply being lusted after, they knew there was potential with most of those women if they ever decided they needed a little company.

It was disgusting.

She’d seen both her boss and the head chef at Sheldon’s do that—and she probably wouldn’t have noticed had the chef not done it to one of her friends, another server. Neither of them had seen it coming. The guy had seemed genuinely interested in her friend.

Until they’d slept together. Then he quit calling and coming around, as if he were going to catch a deadly illness.

Scarlett knew Kyle might be doing the exact same thing to her and she needed to be cautious. But it was hard, because he seemed so sweet, so sincere.

So real.

But was that just because he was giving the attention to her and not someone else?

Still, she had to admit it was nice being fawned over. It had been a while since a man had given her this kind of attention. Ever since she’d changed her hair color, she’d almost melted into the background—which was exactly what she’d wanted.

Why had Kyle noticed her?

She wasn’t sure, but she knew she’d already had her chance at love—and she’d blown it spectacularly. Lightning wouldn’t strike twice, so she had to stop allowing herself to find that man charming.

It was a little late for that, though. Because her heart had been considering him, she’d worn a little extra makeup tonight, put a few curls in her normally straight hair, worn big hoop earrings, and had slid into her jeans with the rhinestone pockets. She couldn’t run up to her apartment and change now.

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