Page 2 of The Lyrics of Love

“I do. My store is Antiques and Mystiques. I sell mostly antiques, but I also have a section for consignment furniture. And I can order furniture. New stuff. I’m a one-stop, shop-all kind of place.” She paused. “But I do need to get what I bought at today’s estate sale back to my store. The boys will be coming by to move it inside. You wouldn’t happen to carry a full gas can with you?”

“Nope. But I can drive you to the next station and bring you back here,” he offered.

“Fred Bell’s got a gas station just as you come into the Cove. It’s about five miles from here.” She offered her hand. “I’m Rylie Robinson.”

He took her hand. An electric current sparked, causing her eyes to widen slightly. As he shook her hand, he looked almost reluctant as he said, “I’m Nash.”

No last name.

But then again, Rylie wouldn’t have needed one. She clamped her jaw to keep it from falling open.

This man was Nash Edwards, one of the biggest names in country music. He owned Grammys for songwriting and performing and had been the Country Music Association’s Entertainer of the Year twice in a row. She wasn’t much for entertainment gossip, but Rylie did recall something about a nasty divorce between this man and his actress wife. Maybe rumors about cheating. She couldn’t remember if it was on his part or the wife’s, though a woman would be a fool to cheat on a man who looked like this and sang so movingly.

She pulled her hand from his without acknowledging she knew exactly who he was.

“I’d appreciate the ride.”

They walked back to his truck. He opened the passenger door for her as she stepped into the cab. As he came around to the driver’s seat, Rylie slipped on her shoes again.

Nash Edwards started up the truck and pulled back onto the highway.

She wondered if she should acknowledge that she recognized him. Then she thought he was a superstar in the middle of nowhere and probably liked his anonymity. She didn’t want to ruin his peace and quiet, simply because he had stopped to help a stranger.

Instead, she said, “Mind if I ask where you’re heading? I hope I’m not taking you out of your way. Of course, they do say no good deed goes unpunished.”

He chuckled low, sending a chill running through her.

“Actually, I’m headed to Maple Cove myself,” he replied. “I need to stop by a Shayla Newton’s office to pick up keys to a place I’m renting.”

Rylie noticed he didn’t say how long he would be in the Cove. “Shayla’s office is a couple of blocks off the square. I can point it out for you so you’ll know where it is when you double back.” She thought a moment. “In fact, you don’t need to take me back to my car. I can call Jerry Ellman. He’s a retired CPA who now is my fulltime clerk.”

“The grandfather of the careless twins?”

Nash Edwards had definitely been listening to her.

“Yes. Jerry’s grandsons are George and Grant. George is an inch taller than his twin and a wide receiver for the football team and a point guard on the basketball team. Grant was second-string quarterback last season, but he’ll start this fall. He also runs cross country. If either boy has a game or meet, Jerry is there, cheering them on.”

“That’s nice they have that kind of support,” he said quietly.

Though Rylie didn’t know a thing about his background, she could hear in Nash’s voice that he never had experienced that type of family support.

“I wish I had had Jerry for my grandfather,” she admitted. “My mom died when I was four, and my dad owned his own business—also an antiques store—and was constantly on the road, hitting estate sales and garage sales, looking for great buys. In fact, I spent all my summers in the Cove with my cousin Ainsley and her family so Dad could travel. I grew up here on a part-time basis.”

He glanced at her and back at the road. “It must have been hard, losing your mom when you were so young.”

“I guess. Frankly, I don’t remember her much at all. But Ainsley’s parents were always like a second mom and dad to me. I loved spending time with them each summer in the Cove.”

“You’ve said that a couple of the times. The Cove.”

Rylie chuckled. “Natives know to call it that. No one who lives here ever calls it Maple Cove. If they do, it screams tourist.”

“Huh.” After a moment, he asked, “Were you close to your dad?”

“Yes and no,” she answered honestly. “Yes, because I grew up learning about furniture and antiques from him. By the time I was seven, I could tell the difference between a Sheraton and Federal chair. I knew the different woods used in various eras. During the school year, I worked at the store when I wasn’t at basketball practice. I helped inventory items Dad bought. Learned how to restore the wood to its former glory. He taught me how to keep a record of what was bought and sold and how important provenance could be for pieces.”

“Provenance?” he asked.

“The history of an item’s ownership. It’s a record of who previously owned it. When they bought it. Whom they bought it from. A great provenance can trace a piece all the way back to its original owner and the craftsman who created it. That’s important for some pieces. You can get top dollar if you have the provenance.”

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