Page 11 of The Lyrics of Love

Nash hadn’t been able to resist. Rylie looked and smelled too good. He told himself one kiss—and that would be it.

For now…

He softly brushed his lips against hers as he inhaled the scent of violets that subtly clung to her. He hadn’t remembered it from before. He pressed his lips against hers and tightened his hands slightly on her waist, making sure she didn’t go anywhere. He wouldn’t take the kiss any further, though he longed to taste her. With temptation calling for him to do that very thing, Nash broke the kiss but rested his forehead against Rylie’s for a long moment. Then he stepped away, releasing her. Their gazes met.

“I needed to get that out of the way,” he told her. “I’ll tell you now that I wanted to kiss you more. Longer. Deeper. But I want to get to know you first.” He hesitated and added, “And I think I need to get to know myself a little better, too.”

He liked the intelligence he saw in her periwinkle eyes, as well as the blush that tinged her cheeks.

“Thank you for being so respectful,” she said almost primly. “I like to get to know a man before I kiss him.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for jumping the gun,” he apologized. “But I would do it again.”

She laughed aloud at his statement, and the sexual tension between them subsided some. He still felt it bubbling just beneath the surface, though, and told himself not to act upon it tonight. He didn’t understand why he had kissed her when he had promised himself he didn’t want to be involved with any woman, especially during this time in the Cove when he needed to find his talent again and harness it. His experiences with women had taught him that they couldn’t be trusted, and Nash had thought he had washed his hands of them, barring an occasional one-night stand to scratch his itch.

But Rylie Robinson seemed different. Genuine. Kind. It was that which had compelled him to call Billy, not only to let his drummer know he had arrived in town, but to ask his friend to come over and help clean him up. By the look in Rylie’s eyes, it had been a good move on his part.

“Can I help you do anything for dinner?” she asked. “Set the table? Toss a salad?”

“I’ve got everything under control, but you can follow me into the kitchen while I plate everything.”

As they entered, he told her, “I’m warning you now that I’m not a fancy or skilled cook. The things I’ve attempted since I’ve tried cooking are pretty basic. In fact, my best dish is spaghetti with Bolognese sauce, but I didn’t have enough time to let that simmer for several hours and let the flavors set like I like them to do. Instead, I mixed up a meatloaf and was able to stash it in the oven.”

“So that you had time to shave and get a haircut,” she said with a straight face.

Nash burst out laughing. “That’s true. While Billy cut away, I sat in a chair and peeled potatoes. I hope you like them mashed.”

“I’ve never met a potato I didn’t want to eat,” she revealed. “Baked. Fried. Au gratin. Scalloped. I love a good carb.”

He slipped on oven mitts and removed the meatloaf from the oven where it had been warming. Taking off the foil, it looked exactly as he’d hoped it would. Using tongs, he lifted the ears of corn which had been boiling and placed them on a paper towel to drain.

“You can get something to drink from the fridge for us,” he told her. “There’s bottled and sparkling waters.”

Nash had noted that Billy had not stocked any kind of liquor. No beer. No wine. Nash hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since his arrest. While he didn’t think he was an alcoholic, he had decided to stay away from drinking after his accident. Just to be on the safe side.

He removed the lid from the mashed potatoes, which had also been warming on the stove. He dished out some for each of them, then placed the ears of corn on the plates, along with slices of the meatloaf.

“We can sit at the little café table here,” he said. “It’s either there or stools along the island.”

She took two cans of sparkling water to the table and set them on the placemats. Nash brought their plates, and they took a seat opposite one another.

“You mentioned your friend Billy,” she said. “How old is he? What’s his last name?”

“Brown,” he told her. “Why?”

“I haven’t met him, but I know who he is. He played summer baseball in a league with Jackson Martin, who’s married to my cousin Ainsley. I told you that I spent summers in the Cove with my cousin’s family. Ainsley would bake cookies and sell them before the games. We usually sold out pretty quickly and were able to go in and watch most of the game. If I remember correctly, Billy played right field.”

“I’ll have to ask him about that,” Nash said. “He’s never mentioned it before. What was life like in the Cove while you were growing up, since you spent more time than most people who visited it?”

As Rylie told him a few stories, Nash not only listened to her words but watched her as she spoke. He guessed she was usually quiet but when one-on-one or with a small group, she would come more alive. She had him laughing throughout the meal.

“Do you want second helpings?” he asked, hoping she had enjoyed the meal enough to do so.

“Normally, I would say yes. You did a wonderful job with dinner,” she praised. “Your potatoes were fluffy and buttery, and the meatloaf was seasoned perfectly.”

“I actually have watched the video of Carter Clark making this exact meal. Several times,” he told her. “I was amazed at what I found online as far as cooking goes,” he explained. “I couldn’t boil water before. I lived on fast food and later bar food when I started playing in a band. After I began touring with a few of the big-name acts, they provided chefs. I never forgot that. How grateful I was to be eating tasty, decent meals. When I’m touring on my bus, I bring a chef on the road. My last tour, though, that wasn’t possible.”

“What is it like, touring for long stretches of time and living on the road?”

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