Page 13 of The Lyrics of Love

She smiled. “It’s one of my favorites that Ainsley makes. It’s called canal. The exterior is thin and caramelized. The interior is a rich custard. You’ll enjoy it,” she promised.

They ate their dessert and Nash couldn’t help a few groans escaping his lips. “Your cousin is talented.”

“She is. Ainsley attended a famous pastry school in Paris.”

“She came back to her small town and opened a bakery when she could have been a top pastry chef anywhere in the world?”

“Ainsley always wanted to run her own business. She loves the Cove. She recently married and told me she and Jackson are already trying for a baby.”

Rylie set her empty plate on the coffee table and rose, Nash following suit.

“Thank you for having me over for dinner, Nash. From not being able to boil water to preparing tonight’s meal, you should be very proud.”

He walked her to door and then out to her car, wanting to fix things between them and not having the words to do so.

She climbed behind the wheel and said, “Stop by my store sometime. You said you carve things. Maybe by seeing some of my stock, you might get an idea for a new project.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, smiling at her, knowing he never would.

Tonight had been a mistake. A big one. Nash told himself he was a loner at heart, and both he and Rylie would be better off if they didn’t have any more contact.

He raised a hand and waved as she left, sadness sweeping through him. Watching her back down the driveway was as if he watched any chance of happiness slipping away.

Nash turned, kicking the gravel, and stormed up the steps. Catching sight of the porch swing, he sat, hoping his anger and frustration would fade.

They didn’t—but a song began to form.

He went inside and retrieved his guitar, returning to the porch and rocking as the song began forming in his mind.

An hour later, he knew he had written a hit.

CHAPTER 5

Rylie lay in bed, angry at herself and Nash Edwards. Which was ridiculous.

She was of an age where she didn’t want to pursue a relationship with a man unless she knew he was all in. That didn’t necessarily mean on a first date she had to establish whether or not the guy was interested in marriage and having kids. But she realized now that kind of thing had been in the back of her mind for longer than she knew. Maybe because she had dated so much in high school and college and then been so selective as an adult as to who she spent her time with. The last couple of years, living in the Cove, she hadn’t gone out much at all. Partly because she worked crazy long hours as she started up Antiques and Mystiques, but also because there was no one to date in town. She had been satisfied with running her own successful business and enjoying time with her friends, but now as those friends were pairing up and marrying and planning for families, Rylie felt as if she were being left behind.

That hadn’t been fair to Nash Edwards. He was coming off a bad divorce and had been completely honest in letting her know he wasn’t interested in marriage. They had only had one dinner together, so why did his statement upset her so?

Because she sensed a connection with him. Unlike any she had experienced before. One she would have liked to explore had he been interested in growing more serious down the line. She knew he wasn’t interested in the same things she was, though, as life goals went. She did want to get married. She definitely wanted a family.

Nash didn’t.

She needed to stop being angry at him for being who he was—and even at herself. There was no sense in beating herself up simply because a man she was attracted to wasn’t on the same life path she walked. She had said she would offer Nash friendship, but Rylie didn’t think that would be wise. If she spent any time around him, she knew she would want more. Much more. He tempted her far too much, and she was not going to invest time in a brief affair which would end when Nash left the Cove. She would not allow her heart to be bruised in such a manner.

Rylie tossed the covers aside and quickly made her bed, as was her habit. As she moved toward the bathroom, she checked the surf report on her phone, a daily habit whether she was surfing or SUP-ing. Usually, she did one of the two during spring, summer, and fall, occasionally throwing in a long walk if she had a lot to think about. She didn’t want to think this morning, though. All the thinking in the world wouldn’t change the circumstances. All she knew was she needed to keep her distance from Nash Edwards and his easy charm. That meant going out on the water. Both surfing and SUP-ing required skill and a high level of concentration. If she were doing either, she wouldn’t have time or inclination to think about a lost cause.

After reading the surf report, she dressed in her wetsuit and pulled her paddleboard from the wall in the garage where it hung. She attached the board to her SUV and grabbed her paddle, personal flotation device, and the safety whistle hanging from a nail. She set out for the Maple Cove public beach, just west of town. It was a short drive from her small house, and she pulled in to the parking lot at five-thirty, recognizing the two vehicles already there. The Jeep belonged to Kyle, a surfer, while the black truck was his brother Ken’s. Ken not only surfed but SUP-ed.

Rylie slipped into her PFD and hung the whistle around her neck. She removed her board and paddle and headed to the beach. She moved into the water with her board, and once she was waist-deep, carefully climbed atop it.

She balanced on the board and eased up to her full height, seeing Kyle in the distance as he caught a wave which crested and began surfing back toward the shore.

Rylie devoted her attention now to her SUP-ing. She liked the board activity because it involved a full-body workout, one in which balance was critical. A SUP-er had once told her the sport required the discipline and balance of yoga and the arm and core strength of kayaking. She had learned to SUP in flat water before taking on the added challenge of trying it in the ocean’s waters. Gage joined her on occasion, and he had told her he was thinking of adding SUP-ing to some of his client’s workout regimens. He was going to take a class which involved doing yoga on a SUP. Once he did, Rylie was going to be his guinea pig, allowing him to teach her and working out the kinks before he offered it to paying customers.

Usually, she paddled about an hour before leaving and checked her watch to see the time. She paddled horizontally with the shoreline, focusing on her balance since the surf was a little rougher than usual. She went in a southerly direction, watching landmarks along the shore to help guide her and let her know where she was. When she reached the end of her usual course, she did a reverse stroke to slow her progress and immediately launched into a sweep stroke, rotating her shoulders so that her right shoulder came forward. Planting her paddle in the water, she submerged the entire blade and swept it away from the board in a big, arcing motion from the nose of her board to its tail, rotating her torso and leveraging her legs and hips to make the one-eighty happen. Now she could return to her starting point.

After several minutes, she heard a shrill whistle. Her head whipped around and she saw Ken, recognizing he had the right-of-way. Her sudden, jerking movement to avoid hitting him knocked her from the paddleboard, and she was glad she had attached her leash to her ankle and the board itself. She lost the paddle, though, and first pulled her board back toward her and threw a leg over it, leaning forward and using both hands to paddle toward where it floated in the water.

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