Page 12 of No More Love Songs

CHAPTER FOUR

SKYLAR

––––––––

I’ve been sitting inthe passenger seat of Kit’s truck for over half an hour when it finally hits me. I’ve done something insane.

“Out of curiosity, what’s your cancelation policy?”

He keeps his eyes on the road, but even from the side I can tell he’s trying not to laugh at me. There’s a whole tightening and twitching of his facial muscles that happens. I’ve seen the process several times already, way too often for my liking given the short amount of time I’ve spent with the man, but whatever. I guess I’d still prefer he finds me amusing over annoying. At least while I’m in making demands mode. Which I seem to be doing a lot this morning.

“Having second thoughts, huh?” He taps his pointer finger against the steering wheel in rhythm to the song playing on the radio. “Not to worry, I can take you back right now if that’s what you want.”

I turn the other way to look out the window. The scenery continues to improve the longer we drive. I’ve never been a city girl, just got stuck living that life by default. “I’m not sure that’s what I want either,” I admit quietly.

“Anything I can do to help you decide?” he offers. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him briefly turn in my direction, the same kind smile resting on his face he seems to walk around with permanently.

“Are you happy?” I ask before I can consider how personal the question is and stop myself. “Alone?”

“I’m not alone.” He also doesn’t seem bothered by the question. “I’ve got my kid. Mavis, my aunt, who helps me run the lodge. Not to mention all the people passing through there.”

I give up the window view to face him again. “You know what I mean. No partner. No person. I’m not saying I feel incomplete in some way. I don’t. I’ve spent enough time with my own company to be content with it and myself. But when you see people like Brice and Grayson, isn’t there any part of you that wishes you had what they have?”

“I think wishing for things we don’t have just opens us up to being unhappy with that we do.” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to meet mine before he goes on. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t turn it away if it showed up on my doorstep, but it’s been my experience what Grayson and your brother have is the exception. Most relationships I’ve seen or been a part of are out of balance. Someone’s always less invested, dishonest, or in it for the wrong reasons. And I guess I just don’t see any point in wasting my energy on something that has such a high rate of failure and a one in a million shot at success.”

I watch him for a minute more after he stops talking. Trying to read Kit is a challenge. In the past, I’d have brushed his attitude off as bitter. Just another jaded man with a broken heart that never mended. But he doesn’t seem bitter or jaded or even hurt. He seems content. And not like he settled and found a way to make peace with things. He seems genuinely complete in his choices.

“What?” he asks when he notices me staring.

“I don’t know.” I bounce my shoulders listlessly and sigh. “I guess I thought I was all enlightened and empowered last week when I decided to cut romance from my life for good. But listening to you kind of makes my big move feel very small potatoes.” I return my gaze to the window. “I felt like I had this huge epiphany and then I hear your thoughts on the whole thing and suddenly my big revelation was barely scratching the surface.” Which reminds me. “I suppose that’s what you meant when you said my song was shallow.”

“Nope.”

Automatically, I turn back toward him.

He’s grinning. “I can see why you’d think that though.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant it was only skin deep. You weren’t in it.” The radio goes to a commercial, and he stops talking to change it until he finds another song he likes. “I’m going to be honest with you, I kind of hate country music.”

“That’s more honesty than I needed, Kit.” I bug my eyes out at him trying not to laugh.

“But,” he says, raising his finger to make a point, “I own every last one of your albums.”

Didn’t see that one coming. “Why? Country is literally all I sing. I don’t even do the occasional cross-over. I’m straight country all the time.”

“Because,” he explains, and I notice this time he doesn’t make the effort to meet me eye to eye every so often, “you transcend music genres in the way you put your raw truth in every song you write. You connect with people’s humanity, with their most intimate emotions. When I listen to your work, I don’t hear country. Hell, I don’t even hear love songs. Not the sort you think you’ve been singing anyway.”

“What do you hear?”

“What I need to.” At last, he turns to smile at me again. “And you always deliver.”

I’m not even sure I know what he means, but I’m suddenly completely certain it’s something I don’t want to give up or stop doing. And if it can’t be love songs, I’ll have to find the next truth hidden so deep within me, even I haven’t discovered it yet.

“You look confused,” he observes after several stretched out moments of silence. “Want to talk about it? Sometimes hearing your own thoughts out loud helps.”

“I think I’m just realizing how much space my infatuation with fairy tales and happily ever after has been taking up inside me. I’ve been dreaming of falling in love for as long as I can remember. Cinderella was my absolute favorite for years. My own parents had this over the top, destined to be together, love story, and I grew up never even considering what my life would look like if I didn’t find what they had. Because, of course I would. How could I not? I knew love was real. I knew what it looked like, felt like and sounded like. The kind gestures. The tender embraces. The sweet words. That was my life from the day I was born, I couldn’t even conceive of a future in which I wouldn’t recreate the same epic soulmate relationship my parents had.” I shake my head and laugh awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I have no idea why I’m even telling you all this.”

---