Page 46 of Sing You Home (Nashville Star 1)

“It’s just ...” His throat bobs. “That view.”

“Yeah.” She smiles faintly. “That view.”

Then, noticing her light shiver, he extends an arm. “Should we go inside? There’s coffee.”

The magic words have Sal brightening.

Inside, all Luke can do is watch. The pad of Sal’s soft footsteps around the kitchen—their kitchen—hits him like a shot of whiskey. He can’t get enough, drunk on her mere presence. He should get down on his knees and thank his goddamn lucky stars above.

He never thought he’d get this again. His wife in the kitchen with her coffee. He always loved the messy chaos that filled their mornings. Sal late, always late, running out the door, bagel in her mouth, mismatched socks.

In that instant, Luke knows he’s saved. Sal’s saved him by coming back. Admitting it shames him, won’t make him a better man, but goddamn if it ain’t true.

Cabinets clatter as Sal searches for the mugs. Luke watches as she opens cabinet after cabinet to no avail. Finally, he points at the cabinet above her. “You’re close, darlin’.”

Sal nods, a bit sadly, and joins him at the counter. The mugs in her hands. “Smells good,” she says as he pours them each a steaming cup.

“It should be.” Luke grins. “You picked it out.”

She pauses, the cup to her lips. “How did I take it?”

He’s confused at first, then understands. “Black. Exactly like that.”

This time her smile is bright. A beam. “At least I got something right.” She blows on the surface of the coffee and takes a deep sip.

“You’re in there, Sal,” Luke says, determination coursing through him. “We’ll find you. I promise.”

The grateful smile she gives him has him unsteady on his feet. “You keep saying that, I’ll believe you.”

“That’s the idea.” He sets his coffee down. “Why don’t you have a seat?” When she tilts her head, he says, “Big breakfast, remember?”

Sal laughs softly. She pulls up a seat at the breakfast bar and sits cross-legged in the high-backed chair, wrapping a palm around the coffee mug. “And you’re not gonna forget it.”

“Nope.” Luke tosses a dishtowel over his shoulder and eyes Sal. “You hungry?”

“I could definitely eat.” Sal leans over the counter. She’s so close he can smell her familiar scent, magnolia and honeysuckle. “You want some help?”

“All you gotta do is sit back and relax.”

Luke hunts around for a frying pan, silently saying a word of thanks that Martha and Emmy Lou cleaned up the house and stocked the kitchen. Though he was always the cook at the end of the day, depending on what Sal ended up burning, it’s been so long since things have been normal, he’s forgotten where all the gadgets are stashed.

Finally, he finds the frying pan. He gives it a spin and Sal laughs. “I take my craft very seriously,” he tells her.

Her mouth curves around the coffee cup as he ties an apron around his waist. “Oh, you do, do you?”

“Absolutely. Bacon, eggs and toast?” Luke eyes her with concern. Sal’s angular face, her sharp cheekbones pain him. She’s too damn thin. And he plans to keep her fed and full.

“Sounds great.”

Soon, the air is scented with bacon. Sal’s content to sip her coffee and watch him cook. Luke heats butter in the pan and cracks in three eggs. The bacon splatters in a skillet while he cuts hunks of crusty French bread.

Luke’s so engrossed in whipping up breakfast that Sal’s voice startles him.

“So what did we do? Me and you. On the daily?” Sal has her chin propped in her palm. A teasing smile on her face, a spark of wry humor in her eyes. “Wrangle cows?”

Luke smiles at the small glimpse of his wife. It’s all Sal. Banter that could break balls or break hearts.

Then, looking like she suddenly regrets the question, Sal crinkles her nose. “I’m sorry. This is weird, right?” She holds her elbows in her palms, curling inward. “I mean, I’m your wife, who can’t remember you or our life together. It’s fucking weird.”

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