Matched, p.6
Matched, page 6
Will wasn’t the only man she’d ever been attracted to, but he was the only one she let herself fall for. With the rest, she’d kept her heart out of it, called it quits early, didn’t get vested. She dated to scratch an occasional itch, and she was always brutally honest about what she could and couldn’t offer her dates.
She didn’t kid herself. She’d never have children of her own. She’d go home to an empty house every night of her life. She chose to be satisfied that she had Nat and Noah and Dad. When her time came, she’d look back on her life and know that she’d helped flawed people with good intentions correct their marital mistakes. That a good number of them had gotten the same second chance Nat had. That they’d gotten it right the second time, or that they were at least happier and healthier alone than they’d been while in an unfortunate marriage.
Most days, that was enough.
But tonight, with Will—with Billy—walking into Suckers, into her hometown, into her world, nothing felt right. Her internal match-o-meter had gone haywire. Early morning thunderstorms morphing into ice storms, with sunshine and rainbows bouncing around in there too.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. He shouldn’t have been here.
And the questions and suppositions she had about why he was here weren’t things she could afford to contemplate.
If she were one to run away, she’d be ducking out through the kitchen now instead of standing in the Suckers bathroom, sucking in the chilly air and trying to steady her pulse and her breathing.
He was just one more ex-boyfriend, she told herself. If he chose to be here, she could choose to maintain a distant, platonic relationship with him, as she did with every other man she’d ever dated. Why he was here was nothing for her to stress over. She could go out there and be her normal self—guarded, claustrophobic, and unapologetic—and ignore the fact that she and Billy freaking Brenton had a history.
Liar, the throbbing in her chest said.
A chunk of rocky casing had fallen off Lindsey’s petrified heart, and that little organ was coming back to life with painful thumps.
He was just another man. He shouldn’t have affected her.
The bathroom door swung open, and Kimmie darted in. “My mom’s gonna frost her cookies when she hears this.” She gripped Lindsey’s arm. “I will pay you a million gazillion s’mores cupcakes if you start a rumor that I’m a bad match for Billy.”
Lindsey’s match-o-meter had declared Billy a cool summer breeze with Pepper, a warm spring day with Kimmie, and a bright sunrise over the beach with Mikey. Lindsey didn’t have any not-bad matches, but that was all Will had.
Lindsey’s gift could go toss itself off a cliff.
“I’m sure someone like Billy Brenton has people who can handle your mother,” Lindsey said.
Kimmie dropped her forehead against the gray stone wall. The purple lighting in the bathroom put a blue hue on her curly dishwater blonde hair. “My last fortune cookie said my love life would one day soon be fodder for public judgment.”
Normal. Kimmie talking fortune cookies was normal. Lindsey loved normal. “Are you getting your cookies at Wok’n’Roll? Mine always say Fortune smile on he who smile at life.”
“But you’re not a freak. The cookies know. They pick me.”
Lindsey was a freak in her own right. She leaned a hip against the stainless steel sink. She hated crowds, but hanging with Kimmie had a strangely calming effect, and Lindsey’s pulse was almost steady again. “You’re out in public now, and we’re discussing your love life. Fortune cookie solved.”
“Good. Thanks. I mean, he’s hot and all, but I am so not the celebrity girlfriend type. We’d go to an awards show and someone would ask me what I was wearing and I’d say giraffe bubble skin or something else out of one of my dreams.”
Lindsey found a smile for her friend. “Tell your mother that if she gets any ideas.”
Kimmie suddenly squeaked. “Oh, pumplegunker. Do you think Mikey’s rich too? My mother’s not above suggesting second best if he has the cash. We were a bad match too, right? He’s cute enough, but in a scary way. Like a motorcycle gang, dominant billionaire romance, groupie-loving way. Not like Billy is, like that trusty gentleman country boy way.”
“Trust me, no one in this bar is a good match for Mikey,” Lindsey said.
She couldn’t honestly say the same about Billy.
“Nat’s right, you know,” Kimmie said. “Mom will have a welcome reception planned within the next two hours. And she’ll have my wedding china and silver and crystal picked out by Thursday. If she doesn’t already.”
“Your mom won’t marry you off to Billy Brenton,” Lindsey said. “She can’t afford to. You’d go move to wherever it is he lives and she’d lose you at the bakery.”
“Unless she makes him move here. She could do that, you know. I think she bakes voodoo cakes, I really do. Maybe I shouldn’t put Mikey’s face on a cupcake.”
“Speaking of cupcakes, how did the fruitcake cupcakes go over?”
Kimmie launched into a story about fruitcake cupcake samples, and the two of them returned to the bar. If they hadn’t, Nat would’ve come looking, and Lindsey didn’t feel like offering explanations.
When they emerged, Billy and Mikey had spread out and were signing autographs and taking selfies with the other patrons. CJ had circled the bar and was chatting with Jeremy, his co-owner here at Suckers, while both of them kept an eye on the celebrities. Nat and Pepper were chatting, probably about Knot Fest stuff or the bridal boutique. Pepper had moved to Bliss and bought into the shop as co-owner last summer, and she ran the floor operations while Nat was branching out into designing an original line of wedding gowns.
Lindsey couldn’t have been prouder of Nat for all she’d accomplished. She’d floundered for a while before finding where she truly fit in Bliss.
“You leaving?” Nat asked.
“Have to get my evil overlord sleep so I can eat some babies tomorrow,” Lindsey said.
Nat snorted. “Right.” She reached out and gave Lindsey a hug. “You free Saturday? I’m almost ready for your next fitting.”
“Sure. So long as I can borrow Noah afterward.” The downside of Nat’s launching her own line of bridal gowns was that she’d talked Lindsey into being one of her models for the first photo shoot for her marketing materials. Kimmie was getting a dress too, along with Pepper and some of Nat’s other new sisters-in-law.
“Dad claimed Noah already, but I’m sure he’ll share.” Nat angled her head toward Billy. “Crazy isn’t it?” she whispered.
“How long do you think we can keep my mom from finding out?” Kimmie whispered back.
“Not long enough.” Nat grinned, a spark of the devil flashing in her dark brown eyes. “Although, I can’t deny wanting to see what Marilyn thinks of Mikey.”
Lindsey shot a glance at Mikey. He wasn’t as classically handsome as Will was—too tall, too lanky, too bald under his Billy Brenton ball cap—but he oozed womanizer charm, and he was working it tonight. He had a lady on each arm and was wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at a third. Lindsey’s match-o-meter pegged a tornado, a hurricane, and a sandstorm. None of them were good matches.
No surprise there.
Without her history with Will—with Billy—Lindsey would’ve found Mikey ideal for an itch-scratcher. But he was here with Will, and she didn’t have any itches that needed scratching right now.
None that sex would solve.
And she got the distinct impression Mikey didn’t much care for her anyway.
The door opened behind them, and Dahlia Mallard strolled in. She ran The Milked Duck, Bliss’s charming ice cream shop around the corner from Nat’s bridal boutique. She marched past Mikey without a second glance.
Lindsey smelled roses.
She straightened and looked closer, but Dahlia was past Mikey, waving at CJ and Jeremy with a paper in her hand. While CJ stood, Dahlia glanced around. Her baby blues went wide behind her glasses, and her lips parted.
The ice cream lady had spotted Billy Brenton.
Lindsey turned to Nat. “Saturday at nine, then?” Mikey’s love life wasn’t Lindsey’s business. And she didn’t know Dahlia well, but Dahlia always fussed over Noah when Lindsey took him into The Milked Duck for ice cream and had never been anything but sweet and kind.
She could definitely do better than a womanizing drummer.
“Nine works,” Nat said. “How about you, Kimmie? You free, or are you on wedding cake duty?”
“I’ll be done by nine-thirty or so,” Kimmie said. “We have two weddings next Sunday, though, so I have to be back by two.”
Lindsey’s gaze drifted across the bar. CJ had met Dahlia halfway, and they were talking over the paper. Dahlia’s cheeks matched the red streak in her brunette hair, and she kept shooting glances at Billy. Kimmie and Nat were still talking, something about cupcakes and an ice cream tasting at The Milked Duck. Dahlia gave CJ a quick hug, then turned and paused.
She was watching Will—Billy. Or possibly Mikey. Her shoulders squared, her mouth took on a determined line, and she marched toward Will. But halfway across the bar, Dahlia bumped into Mikey.
Lindsey smelled roses again, and this time, she felt warm sunshine beaming from clear blue skies too.
She blinked once, twice, vaguely aware of Nat, Kimmie, and Pepper giggling beside her. She smiled, because it seemed like the right thing to do.
Mikey helped Dahlia steady herself, still grinning his wicked ladies-love-me smile, still flashing it at the other three women around him too, oblivious to the fact that he was touching a woman who was a not-bad match for him.
Lindsey shook her head. This wasn’t her business. She didn’t play matchmaker. She spotted bad matches, not good ones.
Time to go home. She turned to say her goodbyes—
And Will was watching her.
He’d moved while she was watching Mikey, and now he was behind Nat. His golden brown eyes were trained on her.
There wasn’t a smile, but there wasn’t animosity either. Nor was there curiosity. Or wariness. Or trust.
Simply steady, concentrated focus. As if he could see through her, deep down to the darkest, most secret parts of her.
As if he knew what she’d seen.
“Hey, Billy, these three ladies ain’t had their pictures taken yet,” Mikey said behind Lindsey.
Right behind her. Too close.
“Suppose we better fix that,” Will drawled.
He broke eye contact with Lindsey, shifted his attention to Mikey, then tucked his hands in his pockets and strolled past her without another look.
“Okay, Saturday at nine,” Nat said. She touched Lindsey’s arm. “I’ll start with you first, so you can—hey. You okay?”
Lindsey blinked again. She pulled a big breath in through her nose, then gave Nat a sardonic smile. “As okay as I ever am when I’m thinking of wedding dresses,” she said.
Nat laughed, and Lindsey reached for her coat. “Make lots of brides happy this week. I’ll see you Saturday.”
Because that was normal.
But Lindsey’s life?
Her life was suddenly anything but.
Chapter Five
MIKEY DIDN’T SAY a word about Lindsey on the ride to the rental house.
He could’ve. Probably should’ve, matter of fact. After that spring break trip where Will fell for Lindsey, Mikey had been there, watching Will disappear from his life to make something of himself for a girl who would never care. Then the two of them had gone to Nashville together. Three years later, Mikey got an offer to join another band, an opportunity to go touring with Tim McGraw’s opening act, and he had taken it. Opened for all the big names eventually—Toby Keith, Kenny Chesney, Brooks & Dunn. Will had been happy for him, and put that much more effort into making Billy Brenton a success too, which came not long after. He was happier, though, a few years ago when Mikey came back to play with him. They’d always written songs together, even before Will believed they could go big, so having Mikey with him should’ve been good.
Normal.
Except now, there was a girl between them.
A girl who, unless Will’s imagination was running away with him, had pegged Mikey with a girl tonight.
Not something Will would be mentioning to his buddy.
Ever.
But he’d felt it. He’d felt those shivers he got when Sacha made predictions, but he’d felt them in different places.
Wrong places, deep in his gut, in his chest.
Would be nice if he could be as ignorant as Mikey about it.
When they got back to the house, Mikey left Will and Vera in peace for a while, and Will’s favorite guitar helped him work out a few melodies.
And there were melodies.
New melodies, new lyrics, new beats. Good or not, he couldn’t say. He was too close to it.
But it was more than he’d done anytime since he started work on Hitched.
“Mari Belle hear about you chasing your snow angel yet?” Mikey said from the doorway to the kitchen a while later. Will caught sight of thick, heavy snowflakes lit up by the porch light outside the front window. A space heater glowed in one corner, and a fire popped and crackled in the fireplace, both effectively cutting the chill out of the drafty house.
Good sign, working so hard he hadn’t noticed Mikey in the room. Hadn’t been into the music like that in ages.
Will picked at Vera’s strings. “Ain’t chasing anybody. Using a change in scenery to find the music. That’s it.”
Mikey flung himself onto the other end of the couch with a snort. “You want to lie to yourself, fine. But don’t lie to me. We both know why you’re here.”
And they both knew Mikey was only here because he couldn’t stop Will from coming. “Not my first choice of where to be either.” The skin on Will’s left shoulder twitched. He bent his neck. Concentrated. That melody was drifting away. Had to catch it.
His fingers worked over Vera’s steel strings while his other hand slid down the well-worn wood of her neck.
“But you’re staying. Even after tonight, you’re staying.”
The disgust in Mikey’s voice wasn’t unexpected, but the worry part made Will taste the bitter flavor of guilt. “Starting to sound like an old grandmama.”
“Wish you had a grandmama to kick your sorry ass. Pack your bags. I’m calling Mari Belle, and we’re—”
Will cut him off with a riff on Vera. Raw, new, and good. He went for a few measures, then a few more measures, switched the chords, let his fingers fly, listening to Vera.
He played.
And he played.
And he played.
Until he finally clapped a hand over Vera’s strings, plunging the room into silence, save for the crackling fire and the hum of the house’s ancient and inadequate furnace.
Mikey muttered something his momma would’ve taken as grounds for washing his mouth out with lemon dish soap.
“I’m staying,” Will said.
“Then you need to stay away from her.”
“Got this covered.”
“No. You don’t. You’re here because Sacha sent you here for her.”
“She sent me here to find the music. That’s all.”
“You planning on telling the brass that you’re here because it’s what your psychic told you to do? And Jessie agreeing with her—all y’all are touched in the head,” Mikey said. “Except maybe Mari Belle. That girl lives in the good ol’ United States of Reality.”
“Don’t go bringing Mari Belle into this.” Will strummed a G chord. If Vera could smile, she’d be grinning at him. Giving him a high five for finding his listening ears again. “She doesn’t need to know.”
“You’re a grade-A dumbass sometimes.”
Will scribbled a lyric and a chord in his notepad. “Y’all are fussing over nothing,” he said.
“The way you were looking at her wasn’t nothing.” He pointed at Vera. “And that sound isn’t nothing. You’re playing with fire, Will.”
Will grunted. He’d already written all the songs he ever wanted to about Lindsey. Inspiration striking was coincidence. Nothing more than the influence of a town devoted to love.
If Lindsey was influencing Will’s music, it was because of all that talk of matchmaking. Probably Lindsey hadn’t thought Mikey was a match with the girl in the glasses anyway. Probably she was wondering how much money she could make working his divorces if Mikey got in a mind to start marrying all the girls he flirted with.
Will shut the world out, plucked at Vera’s familiar strings, looked for the right chord. He’d had another melody. It was there a minute ago, something sweet. Sweet and rich. Something bigger than what he could pull out of his fingers tonight.
That was the whole problem he’d had since Hitched came out. The music was beyond reach, way back there, locked in his mind. But this time, it felt bigger than he was. Like he wasn’t enough of a songwriter, enough of an artist, enough of a man to do it right.
Like he’d written all his best songs before he was of drinking age.
“Any music you find here won’t be songs worth recording,” Mikey said.
“You didn’t like ‘Goin’ Creekin’’ either, and look how that turned out,” Will said. That song had launched his career ten years ago.
“You’re a real shithead sometimes.”
“Yeah, but the fans love me. You gonna help, or you gonna sit there and whine?”
Mikey rubbed a hand over his scalp. “Could take a year or two off,” he grumbled. “You work too hard.”
“Sweet of you to worry, Grandmama, but who’s paying the crew and band if I take a year or two off? Like my crew. Like my band. And I’m fixin’ to find my songs again. You in, or you out?”
Mikey grunted and grabbed a notebook. “Let’s do this. So we can go home.”
Sounded good to Will.
WORD SPREAD FAST that Billy Brenton had settled in Bliss for a month. Even in Willow Glen, it was all people were talking about.
Monday, Lindsey ignored it. Or tried to. Should’ve been easy with all the insanity at her office. One client’s soon-to-be ex had gone off the rails and refused to return the kids after his weekend with them. Another client had dropped by with incriminating photographs that would invoke the infidelity clause in her prenup. Lindsey didn’t stumble home until almost nine.
