Page 19 of The Lyrics of Love

“Grant showed me the other day. He and George think it’s time I test the waters again. Have a date or two.”

The last thing she needed was for Jerry to stumble across her profile on Tinder. Strike that dating app from her list.

“Well, good for you, Jerry, though as busy as you are, I don’t see how you would have time to date.”

“What if Nash calls me?” he asked.

“What?”

“Well, I asked him if he wanted to come over and see my shop.”

“Did you give him your number?”

“No, but he could stop by the store and ask me for it.”

Rylie blew out a long stream of air. “Let him get your number if he wants. You can become best buddies, for all I care. Just make sure you leave me out of it.”

She stormed off, thinking she heard Jerry chuckle, but had too much pride to turn around and check. Retreating to her office, she buried herself in work.

* * *

Nash left Antiques and Mystiques with his head high.

And his heart broken.

Of course, no one—least of all Rylie—would ever know by the way he coolly walked past her and toward his truck. He had learned the lesson that life was cruel before he ever started kindergarten. That people rejected you. Washed their hands of you. His mom certainly had, long before she’d walked out the door and out of his life. His dad’s drinking had made him an absent father even when he was physically present in the room. Because of his parents, Nash had learned to hide his feelings and never let anyone have a clue how he felt.

Pops had tried to change that about Nash. He had swept in after his son’s death and taken charge. Legally adopted his grandson and took him to his small farm. He had been gruff, never demonstrating his love. But Pops was always in the moment. When Nash told a story, Pops listened. When Nash played the Big Bad Wolf in the third-grade play, Pops sat on the front row. He had never said the words I love you to Nash. Men like Pops kept those words locked in their hearts.

But he did love Nash—and Nash knew it.

Pops had come to the tiny, out-of-the-way places to hear him play guitar and keyboards. He had signed the papers allowing his grandson to quit school, knowing how sitting in class each day was agony for Nash. He had helped Nash buy a better guitar. Gave him his stash of money after he’d driven Nash to Nashville and rented a tiny efficiency apartment for him for six months. Pops had given Nash those six months to make it—or he would come and pick him up when the half-year ended. Together, they would think of what the next step would be.

It had never boiled down to that, though. Thanks to his fast fingers, which could burn up a guitar or piano, Nash had booked several sessions as a studio musician at one of the mid-level Nashville recording studios. His reputation for being talented and keeping his mouth shut spread, and he got more gigs in the studio. He was able to pay his own rent. Buy a cheap sedan to get around town. Even some new clothes that helped him fit in better. After a couple of years in Nashville, he began writing his own songs.

And he’d never looked back.

Nash knew he had erected a Fortress of Solitude around himself. That no one got close to the real him. He certainly hadn’t given his heart to anyone. Not even Luna. He had married her because of her looks and skill in bed and because it seemed the next step he should take. He thought marriage would keep the women from flinging their panties on stage and help stop them from bribing hotel staff and knocking on his hotel door at four in the morning. Instead, his marriage had only made him more appealing to those kinds of fans.

He unlocked his truck and got in, placing his hands on the wheel to steady himself before he started the engine.

Was he a quitter?

He didn’t think so. He thought of himself as more a go-with-the-flow kind of person, not a stay-the-course kind. But suddenly, the fight erupted in him. Rylie Robinson might have pushed him away hard, but he wasn’t ready to walk away just yet. If he did walk, it would be on his terms. Because he wanted to. Not because she told him to go.

He had true grit. When he truly wanted something, he was as tenacious and full of purpose as a cat stalking a mouse. It was important that he have a second chance with Rylie. Show her what he was made of. Who he truly was.

If only he knew the answer to that himself.

Maybe Rylie would be the key to help Nash unlock what was inside him. And to do that, he would first need her number. He thought a moment and decided where to go to get it.

Exiting his truck again, he strode toward Buttercup Bakery. He entered and inhaled the sweet scent that hung in the air. Two people were in line ahead of him. One clerk, a thin woman in her mid-forties, waited on the first one. He knew this couldn’t be Ainsley because she and Rylie were close in age.

Nash took long, deep, even breaths as the customers ahead of him had their orders filled. Then he stepped up to the counter.

“I need to speak to Ainsley, if I could,” he said politely.

“Oh, is this about a consult? For a wedding cake?”

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