Page 101 of Goalie Interference

“A little.”

“I have confidence in you.”

I drew in a breath while I considered what to play. My left hand moved into place, and I strummed.

It still needed tuning. The G string was off. But the sound was bold, rich and beautiful.

Diane applauded. “See, nothing to worry about. That’s a beautiful instrument. Can you improve? Definitely. But that happens as you practice.”

“Thanks.” Making this guitar had proved I could do it. But was that what I wanted?

Repairing and building guitars were completely different jobs. They were both part of being a luthier, and absolutely oneperson could do both, but I loved repairing them. Figuring out what the problem was, working out the best way to fix it. That was a challenge, and it kept my mind focused and absorbed.

But making guitars? There were ways to be creative with that, but it didn’t excite me the same way. So why do it?

I set the guitar back down in the stand. “Can I talk to you?”

She sighed. “You don’t want to take over the shop. Damn it, your dad got to you.”

I shook my head. “No, I do. It’s time for me to get out of the carriage house and step forward. But…”

“But?”

“I love repairing guitars. I don’t love building them as much.”

“Oh.” The surprise was apparent in her tone. “Really?”

I shrugged. “Really. I mean, I can, but it’s not as much fun.”

“You want to do the repair side, not the custom builds.”

“Yeah. That’s it. How do you feel about that?”

“Give me a moment. I’d assumed you’d keep on exactly as what I did.”

This shop was Diane’s legacy. If she didn’t want it to continue without the custom work, then I’d have to start searching for a place of my own. I wasn’t hiding in the carriage house anymore.

Her gaze ran over the shop. The tools, the partially finished guitars and repairs in progress. Should I just say I’d keep on doing the builds? It wasn’t like I hated the work.

“If you’re not going to be making new guitars, then I’m not sure I really need to stay on much longer. You know how to fix them already, and your hands are more flexible than mine.”

I set down the guitar. “Seriously? You’re not upset?”

“I don’t want to put you in a box, Soph. Your family did that and I refuse to be like them. I know you’ll do great work here and keep my legacy alive. But the more I think about leaving sooner, the more I like it.”

“Not too soon though, right?”

“No. It’s going to be an adjustment, and you’ll need time to learn the admin side. Compared to that, building guitars is a breeze.” She held out her hand. “We’ll have to work out the details with lawyers but that’s just paperwork. I’m pleased to pass this on to you, Sophie.”

I was giddy for the rest of the day, looking forward to talking to Remy. I wanted to tell him I knew what I was doing. After his practice, I needed to know whathewas doing, and figure out a way we could be together. And mostly I wanted to touch him, feel the proof that we were something.

Once through Cash’s gates, I headed straight to the carriage house. Remy was sitting on the steps, Beast and Goober beside him, one on each side. He stood up as I pulled to a stop beside his truck.

I opened the door and threw myself at him. He wrapped his arms around me and, shocking me, swung me around in a circle. I laughed. He was strong enough to do it, but this was more playful than I’d seen him. He set me down on the ground again and kissed me. For long minutes I forgot about guitars and hockey, thinking of nothing but him. And his kisses, and his hands, which were moving over my body in the most distracting way.

He pulled himself back enough to see my face. “Hey.”

“Hey. You’re in a good mood.”

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