Page 6 of The Lyrics of Love

And decided to do something about it.

Opening his door, Nash got out of the truck and moved toward her. She turned her head as he approached, questions in her eyes.

“I need to apologize,” he said. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard or read about me in this past year. I married a woman I shouldn’t have, one who married me for my name and fame. I caught her cheating on me with my own manager. Even though we had a prenup that was cut and dried, she used the media to sell some pretty awful lies about me while we divorced.”

Rylie shook her head. “You don’t owe me any kind of explanation, Nash. You as much told me you had come to the Cove to heal. To find yourself and begin writing again. I get that. I’m sure after your experience with your ex that you don’t trust many people, let alone a woman.”

Her insight into him startled Nash.

“I’ll admit that I went off the deep end. Drank constantly for those first couple of months. Even got a DUI charge, which TMZ exploited to the fullest. It was damn embarrassing and a pretty dark time, but it proved to be the wakeup call I needed. I’ve been angry for far too long. I do need to find myself again. Maybe even learn to trust others a little again, too. You trusted me,” he pointed out. “Got in a car with a stranger. Or, practically a stranger. You knew who I was.”

She set down the gas can and reattached the cap to the tank. “No, I didn’t know who you were. Yes, I knew your name because I follow country music. I know your songs. But knowing someone’s work and public persona—especially someone famous—doesn’t mean you know them. I know nothing about Nash Edwards, the man. All I do know is that you are talented. You could be mean and spiteful. You could be the most generous soul on the planet. You could be fun-loving or shy. Moody or sentimental. But I understand the difference between knowing about you in a general way versus knowing who you are as an individual. The man you are when the lights dim and you exit the stage.”

Rylie hesitated a moment and then said quietly, “I think I would like to get to know that man.”

In that moment, Nash wanted to kiss her. He fought the urge to do so, not wanting to like her. Not wanting to let his guard down and trust her. Yet she spoke to him openly and honestly, unlike most others around him. Rylie Robinson had no pretense about her.

And Nash decided to get to know her, as well.

She rose with the empty gas can and screwed on its cap. Their gazes met.

“I would like to start fresh,” he told her. “Hi. My name is Nash Edwards. Would you like to come over to my new place tonight? I can cook dinner for us,” he offered.

She looked at him a long moment, so long that his gut told him she would turn him down. And that hurt. More than he would have thought. He’d only been in her company maybe ninety minutes at most, and yet Nash already felt he knew her essence.

“All right,” she said. “As long as you let me bring the dessert.”

“You’re on. What time?”

“I close Antiques and Mystiques at six, so I could be at your rental by six-fifteen. We could eat then.”

He laughed aloud.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“As a musician, I have always kept odd hours,” he admitted. “Playing in honky-tonks and clubs and then later touring large venues. Getting off the stage at eleven. Returning to the hotel by midnight or hitting up a restaurant, trying to come down from the natural high of the concert while eating. I haven’t exactly kept a normal dinner time in a good long while.”

“I think normal hours might suit you,” she said encouragingly. “You might find you are more productive if you keep to more of a schedule. I’ll tell you this—the Cove is an early town. The residents and even most of the tourists eat around six or seven. Then almost nightly, large groups gather on the beach to watch the sun go down. After that, a few places still stay open. Bearded Barrel Brewery and the Hungry Bear Bar & Grill. The rest of us are working people and go to bed early.”

She studied him. “Would you mind eating dinner about six-thirty? I like to go to bed between nine and ten each night, so that I can get up and SUP or surf early the next morning before I go into the store, usually by eight.”

“What time do you get up?’ he asked, baffled by a lifestyle so different from his own.

“No later than five. That way, I can get in a good workout, get home and shower, dress and eat, and be in my office on the square by eight. The store opens at nine-thirty during tourist season, which we’re in, and ten o’clock the other months of the year.”

“I see I’m going to have to change some of my habits while I’m here. You’re on. Dinner at six-thirty.” He gave her the address of his rental. “I’ll see you after you close shop. With dessert,” he added, grinning at her.

“Bye, Nash,” she said, going to her vehicle and climbing in.

His last glimpse of her were her long legs before they swung inside her SUV.

He returned to his truck and got inside, inputting the address of his destination into his phone, waiting to make certain her car would start. It did and she signaled, pulling back on to the two-lane highway. Nash followed her into Maple Cove. No, the Cove, he mentally corrected.

She turned in the gas station and he kept going straight, heading to the cottage Billy Brown had rented for him. He liked that it was set about a mile outside the heart of the small town. It would afford him the privacy he craved.

Nash pulled into the long drive and drove along it until he reached the cottage, liking the fact that he could no longer see the road from the house. He opened the back door to the cab and removed his two suitcases and guitar case. Moving toward the cottage, he saw the porch swing and could see himself sitting on it with Rylie Robinson. He tried to shrug off the image as he entered the house. Immediately, he stepped into a cozy den with a long sofa, a chair with an ottoman, and a rocker. There was a TV mounted above the fireplace, and he knew from the link Billy had sent him that it had all the cable channels he might want. As long as he could get ESPN and the Food Network, he would be happy. He had given up watching the news, finding it too depressing, and avoided any kind of show that focused on the entertainment industry.

Leaving the guitar case, he moved through the den, then turned to his left. Both bedrooms were down that hallway, one on the left with a small half-bath across from it, and the primary bedroom at the end of the hall. Neither bedroom was large, but he was someone who only used his bedroom for sleeping

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