Page 30 of The Lyrics of Love

He knew how fast the news could spread in a small town, having grown up in one himself. But that was before everyone and their dog owned a cell phone and texted. He supposed news of his quick little set had spread like wildfire. He worried that maybe it hadn’t quite been the best idea to offer to play if he and Rylie could dine in peace. But he wouldn’t have given up that experience for anything. The food had been terrific—and the company even better. The more he got to know Rylie, the more he knew she was the total package.

And the more his mind changed about whether he could learn to trust one woman for life.

“Yes, I’m Nash Edwards. I’d like to speak with your manager if I could.”

The teenager’s face went blank, as if the pistons in her brain had stopped firing for a moment. Then she managed to find her voice and said, “That would be Joe. He’s back in his office. I can take you there.”

He followed her along the perimeter of the brewhouse, conscious of the looks being tossed his way, but focusing on the girl in front of him. She approached a door and knocked, and Nash heard a deep voice call out, “Come in.”

He smiled at her. “I’ll take it from here. Thank you.”

Nash opened the door and slipped into the office, closing the door behind him. The man at the desk looked up expectantly and cursed softly before he said, “I didn’t believe the texts. Nash Edwards in the flesh. Tell me you’ve come to ask if you can play my brewhouse.”

He chuckled. “Not tonight, but I will consider doing so if you can do me a favor, Joe. I committed to playing a couple of songs in the gazebo now. Last I looked, there were about two hundred people gathered. By the time I get out there, it will probably be closer to three. I was wondering if you had any kind of microphone and sound equipment I might be able to borrow.”

“You’re in luck, Nash,” the manager told him. “Some of the little bands which play here don’t have all the equipment they need since they’re just starting out. I can get you set up. Give me a minute.”

Joe rose and left Nash alone in the office for a few minutes. When he returned, he nodded and said, “I have two of my employees carrying over to the gazebo what you’ll need. They’ll set it up for you. Nothing fancy. Just a mic and a couple of speakers.” He paused. “You do know that my brewhouse will clear out the moment you walk out there and across the street, don’t you?”

“I suppose that means you’ll be losing business,” he observed. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give your place a shoutout when I sing, and when I finish playing? I’ll suggest they go wet their whistles here.”

Joe smiled broadly. “I would appreciate that. But I was serious about you playing here. Rumor has it you’ll be in the Cove for a while. Writing new songs.”

He nodded. “Give me a month, and then I’ll come try out some of the new ones I’ve written. You can name the date.”

Nash gave Joe his cell number, and the two men agreed to stay in touch. He left the brewhouse, pausing for a brief selfie with the teenaged hostess, and then headed toward the center of the square. The crowd had swelled as he thought it might. Everyone was facing the gazebo it seemed, except for one man. He wore a uniform and strode toward Nash with purpose.

They met in the center of the street, and Nash offered his hand. “You must be Dylan. I don’t have a last name.”

Dylan shook his hand and said, “Taylor. Dylan Taylor. Sheriff of Maple Cove. I heard through the grapevine that you were going to be playing a few songs and thought you might need a little back-up.” He chuckled. “Not musical. I’ve called in my off-duty deputies, as well as the ones who are on the clock now. They’re scattered throughout the crowd.”

“I appreciate you doing that, Dylan. I thought offering to play would be a good idea so that Rylie and I could have an uninterrupted dinner, but I see now I probably should have thought it through a little better. Even notified you.”

“If you do it again, give me a heads-up. As far as Rylie goes? Treat her right—or you will have a pretty fierce group of friends take you to task.”

“Rylie has said her friends are her family, and I can respect that. Like I do her. I want you to know that my intentions toward her are honorable. It’s hard for me to meet any woman, traveling like I do. It’s even harder to decide if they want to know me—or country superstar Nash Edwards. Rylie has told me she wants to know the man off-stage, and I believe her.”

Dylan glanced over his shoulder and back to Nash. “The crowd’s getting pretty reckless. You better get up there and play. Nice meeting you.”

“I’ll see you and Willow at Game Night,” Nash promised, seeing the satisfied smile appear on the lawman’s face.

The sheriff escorted Nash through the crowd, his authoritative air clearing the path for them to move to the gazebo. When they arrived at it, he saw Rylie sitting with his guitar in her lap and an attractive auburn-haired woman with violet eyes by her side. Both women rose as he went up the steps.

Rylie said, “This is Willow.”

The woman offered him her hand.

Nash shook it and said, “I just met your husband. But I was more eager to meet you.”

Willow looked at him inquisitively. “Why?”

“I’m an artist who paints with words and music. I’ve already seen Ainsley at work. She’s an artist in her own right with what she can do with a cake. Rylie told me that you are a painter, and I would love to see your work. Actually, I would like to see you at work.”

Willow’s smile encouraged him. He had already gotten a good feel from Dylan Taylor and now thought the same about the sheriff’s wife.

“I paint mostly landscapes, especially the rugged beauty of the Oregon coast. I’d be happy to show you a few of my paintings and even let you watch me work.”

Rylie gasped. “You never do that! I’ve never seen you paint.”

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