He had everything he could want...but her

Even winning Country Music Artist of the Year can’t help Sawyer Landry shake his guilt over leaving Rory Callahan behind. All the fame, fortune and fans he’s earned haven’t relieved his regret over the way he ditched her. But all that’s about to change. Because Sawyer has finally realized that everything is empty without Rory. And he’s returning to Findlay Roads to win her back. Hopefully.

But Sawyer has no idea how hard it’ll be. Rory’s not going to welcome him with open arms. And he’s about to discover a family secret that could ruin everything...

He’d become famous. He’d fulfilled his dream.

But he’d also left her, after years of shared joys and tears, when it was most convenient for him. And she’d spent the past twenty-three months trying to come to terms with the loss of him—her high school sweetheart, the guy she’d waited for throughout army basic training and deployment, the man she’d traveled all over the United States with as they’d performed their music and chased their dreams.

Sawyer had been her soul mate. She was once closer to him than any other person on earth.

Until fame came calling.

“Rory? Aren’t you going to say anything? Welcome me home?”

Without giving it a second thought, Rory turned and grabbed a half-full glass of ice water.

“Welcome home,” she offered and then tipped the water over his head.

Dear Reader,

Think about your best memory. Focus in on that. Try to remember every little detail of that moment, how it touched you, embedded itself in your soul.

Now imagine having that memory taken from you. Not just that one, but every one that came after and each one that came before. You don’t just lose your memories but the emotions and people that went with them. You lose your loved ones, then you lose yourself.

Alzheimer’s leaves you without memories, recognition, understanding, even the most basic forms of knowledge, like tying your shoe or using a phone. Early-onset Alzheimer’s is a rare form of the disease that can develop as young as one’s thirties, effectively stealing not only past memories...but future ones.

My goal when I set out to write A Song for Rory was to find hope within such tragic situations. But that job had already been accomplished for me in the countless personal stories I’ve read about this disease. Patients and caregivers for Alzheimer’s (especially early-onset) have my utmost respect and admiration. You are all fighters, battling to keep what you should never have to lose.

That’s why for every purchase of A Song for Rory, I’m dedicating a portion of sales to Alzheimer’s charities.

In A Song for Rory, I hope you find this truth: that even when memories are taken, love is not.

If you have a personal story on how Alzheimer’s has touched your life, I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me through my website at www.cerellasechrist.com or by mail at PO Box 614, Red Lion, PA 17356.

Cerella Sechrist

A Song for Rory

Cerella Sechrist

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CERELLA SECHRIST lives in York, Pennsylvania, with two precocious pugs, Darcy and Charlotte, named after Jane Austen characters. Inspired by her childhood love of stories, she was ten years old when she decided she wanted to become an author. These days, Cerella divides her time between working in the office of her family’s construction business and as a barista to support her reading habit and coffee addiction. She’s been known to post too many pug photos on both Instagram and Pinterest. You can see for yourself by finding her online at www.cerellasechrist.com.

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To my brother, Caleb Sechrist. Because you’re awesome. But you already knew that.

I don’t care what I said all those years ago when I found out Mom was having a boy. It turns out having a little brother is one of the best things that ever happened to me. Thanks for making so many of my days brighter.

Acknowledgments

To my sister, Carissa Sechrist, for allowing me to “borrow” many of her original lyrics for A Song for Rory. You’re the true genius behind Rory’s and Sawyer’s talent. And extra-special thanks for writing “Rory’s Song” just for this story. Your payment (i.e., pound of coffee) is in the mail.

To my editor, Laura Barth, for helping shape the Findlay Roads series thus far, and to Karen Reid for doing a wonderful job picking up where Laura left off. I’m blessed to work with not just one but two amazing editors. This story is better because of it.

A special shout-out to all my fellow baristas and customers at the Randolph Park Starbucks in York, Pennsylvania. Especially Bruce K. Davis, who kept me on track every week by asking me if I was meeting my book deadline. That next triple-shot cappuccino is on me, Bruce.

Finally, to every family member, caregiver and Alzheimer’s patient who has had the courage to share their personal struggle with this disease—you have taught me about persistence, pride, love, patience, and the power behind each and every memory. Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“AND THE WINNER of this year’s Artist of the Year is...”

Sawyer Landry tensed in his seat as the reigning country music diva, Daisy Elliot, slowly untied the red satin ribbon from the envelope. He knew the cameras would be watching him, so he tried to appear relaxed and prayed the stiffness in his shoulders wasn’t obvious. The auditorium sat hushed in anticipation of Daisy revealing American Heartland Radio’s most prestigious award.

If he managed to win, he could just hear his manager’s reaction. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, sugar! I knew you had it in you! Perle Jackson peppered all her conversations with such colorful dialogue. It was part of a carefully cultivated persona that she put on to disarm others. Sawyer had quickly learned not to trust her redneck shtick. Perle was as ruthless as a Mafia crime boss when the occasion called for it, which made sense if you believed the rumors that she’d actually grown up in Brooklyn, and her Southern accent was as fake as her fingernails. It made Sawyer glad she was working for him and not against him.

Daisy fumbled with the envelope, her bracelet catching on the satin ribbon. She laughed breathlessly, the sound a whiffle of air against the mic.

Sawyer realized he was balling his hands into fists, so he slowly eased them open. There was a collective shifting of the audience as they grew impatient with Daisy’s delay. At long last, she tugged the gold-edged ivory card from the envelope.

“There we go,” she announced, her voice carrying an air of relief. “As I was saying, the winner of this year’s Artist of the Year is...” She drew a breath. “Sawyer Landry!”

The tension broke as the audience swept to their feet in a standing ovation. Sawyer was a beat behind as the announcement hit him. He’d done it. Artist of the Year.

“Come on up here, darlin’,” Daisy exhorted.

He received several congratulatory thumps on the back as he navigated his way up the red-carpeted runway to the stage. From his peripheral vision, he noticed a montage of his concert performances and various awards ceremonies displayed on the massive auditorium screens.

The applause rose several octaves as he tossed a wave toward the audience. He felt himself warm to the reaction. It was heady enough to hear a crowd of two thousand fans screaming his name, but having such a strong reaction from his peers, even his idols, in the industry cheering him—that was a rush at an entirely new level. He nearly tripped over his cowboy boots—a gift from Nashville’s premier designer—as he moved toward the podium.

The audience was still on its feet, hooting and hollering, as he accepted the bronze statue from Daisy.

“Congratulations, Sawyer,” she murmured for his ears alone as she leaned in to press her cheek to his.

He hefted the weight of the award in his hand. It was an elongated sculpture with a crystal sunburst radiating from the top. He glanced down to read the description: “An artist of the highest caliber, displaying showmanship and talent, Artist of the Year,” followed by the date and year.

Sawyer swallowed hard as he read the words, making an effort to keep his emotions in check. He’d done it. After years of living out of a van, playing dive bars and community events, never knowing where his next paycheck would come from, he’d finally reached the top. He raised his head and looked out over the auditorium. The stage lights were too bright for him to make out individual faces, but the applause still rippled on.

He finally let out a breath and grinned. The sight of his smile set the crowd off once again, and the clapping intensified a few more notches. He raised a hand to quiet them, but it was still several long seconds before the room was silent.

“I don’t even know where to begin, there’s so many people I need to thank.” He drew a breath. “My band, my manager, Perle, and all the talented folks at Americana Records.” He quickly ticked through his mental list of industry partners, executives and collaborators.

“My family, especially my parents, for buying me my first guitar. I told you I’d pay you back for it one day, and now I guess I can.” He was rewarded with a rumble of laughter from the audience.

“I’m especially grateful to my fans. Every single one of you who bought an album or downloaded a single or attended a show—you are what has made this possible.” He laid a hand across his heart. “And I thank you for that.”

He stopped then, his gaze fixed on the sunburst at the top of his award. He experienced a tug in his chest, as he so often did when he was onstage, staring out at a crowd or accepting an award. In all those times, there was still one individual he had yet to thank.

She was the one person who had made all the difference in his life and his journey to this stage. But he hesitated to name her. After all, it was unlikely she harbored any fond memories of him after the way he’d ditched her.

But wasn’t this the moment? The occasion when he was meant to pay homage to those who had shaped and defined him, the ones who had believed when others had withdrawn their support? If that was the case, there was only one person whose belief in him had been unfailing, no matter the hard times. It was his own pride—the recognition that he was the selfish one who had given up on her and not the other way around—that had kept him from voicing her name.

Well, there was no time like the present.

“There’s one more person I need to thank. And she may be the most important person of all.”

A hush swept over the auditorium. With the stage lights blinding him, he could have almost believed he was alone in the room. He drew a breath and closed his eyes, struggling to find the words.

“Rory, if you’re watching—” he opened his eyes, trying not to wince at the bright glare “—I’m sorry.”

Saying those two words eased a bit of the ache in his chest. He hadn’t realized what a relief it would be to speak them aloud. It bolstered him to continue.

“You deserved so much more than what you got. And truth be told, you hold more talent in your pinkie finger than I have in my entire body.”

If the audience still remained in the auditorium, they had fallen utterly silent—he could imagine he was speaking directly to Rory. Only the faint electrical hum of monitors and amplifiers could be heard.

“If anyone deserves an award for best artist, it’s you. Because you’re the best artist I’ve ever known or collaborated with. Your faith in me helped me to believe in myself. I dedicate this award to you.”

Daisy cleared her throat, and a soft guitar riff from the speakers signaled it was time for him to wrap it up. He also heard a faint reverberation from the crowd, a wave of whispers traveling through the room.

“So, thank you...for everything.”

He tipped the award in acknowledgment and then moved toward Daisy, who was waiting to direct him off the stage. There would be a crowd of reporters wanting to interview him. Applause followed him into the wings, and he heard the ceremony’s host segue the proceedings into the next performance.

Sawyer paused at the hallway that led to the press area and looked down at the award he held in his hands. Though he felt relieved at having finally recognized Rory after all this time, a weight of grief still hung over him. Most days, he was too busy to acknowledge it, but in moments like this, the truth hit him full force.

No matter how many albums he sold, concerts he played, or awards he won, he wondered if he would ever shake the regret of letting her go.

* * *

RORY CALLAHAN TRIED not to fidget as the scones were passed.

It wasn’t that she was bored or having an awful time, she was just uncomfortable. High-tea luncheons weren’t really her type of scene, especially when she’d been forced to dress in a frilly pink sundress and strappy heels thanks to Paige Worth’s stringent dress code for the bridal shower. She tried to slip off the tight heels, but her best friend, Erin, nudged her gently in the side.

“Stop moving so much,” she whispered in an aside. “Paige is shooting daggers.”

Rory frowned and stopped working one open-toed shoe’s heel against the other. She slid a glance in Paige’s direction and caught her fellow bridesmaid glaring in disapproval.

“Well, it’s ridiculous,” she hissed back at Erin, her Irish accent more pronounced with her exasperation. “Why do we have to dress up in these fancy frocks anyway? Harper doesn’t care. In fact, I’m sure she’d have been just as happy having the shower at the Moontide, like I suggested.” She looked in her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s direction. Harper was smiling graciously. If she was unhappy with the choice of venue, she didn’t show it.

Beside her, Erin’s shoulders slumped. “That’s what I would have preferred, too,” she acknowledged, “but Paige insisted. And as the matron of honor...”

“I know, I know.” Harper’s sisters were sharing the role of matron and maid of honor, and that meant that whatever Paige wanted trumped anything Rory or Erin suggested. Tessa, as the maid of honor, occasionally spoke up to veto her older sister’s ideas, but on the whole, Paige was the one running the prewedding events.

“The Moontide would have been a lovely choice,” Rory continued, trying to keep her voice low so as not to be overheard by the other shower attendees, “and I’m sure Aunt Lenora could have used the business.”

Aunt Lenora was Erin’s great-aunt by marriage, and the proprietress of the bed-and-breakfast in Findlay Roads, the Moontide Inn. Erin and her young son, Kitt, lived there while her husband, and Lenora’s great-nephew, Gavin, was deployed overseas in the army.

Erin didn’t reply, and Rory guessed she’d decided to say nothing if she couldn’t say anything nice. Rory bit her tongue and tried to do the same. Harper was about to become her sister-in-law, and it was no good to start things off by complaining about Harper’s oldest sister.

“All right, everyone!” Paige, positioning herself in the center of the room, clapped her hands to draw the group’s attention to her. “Now it’s time for another bridal-shower game!”

Rory stifled a groan. After pin the ring on the groom, when she’d nearly choked on a macaroon at the blown-up photo of Connor used for the pinning, along with bridal bingo and shower charades, she’d had her fill of wedding-game antics. But Paige wasn’t done yet.

“I’ve saved the best for last.” Harper’s older sister was glowing with excitement. Rory had never been one of those girls who became giddy over weddings, even less so in the past couple of years since her breakup with her longtime boyfriend. But over the last two hours, she’d concluded that Paige’s enthusiasm more than made up for her lack of it, where matrimonial mayhem was concerned.

“Tessa is passing around your cards right now.”

As one of Harper’s bridesmaids, Rory already knew what was coming. Both she and Erin had been given the shower itinerary during one of Paige’s bridesmaid meetings, which occurred on a weekly basis now that the wedding was only three weeks away. So it was no surprise when Tessa handed her and Erin one of the scavenger-hunt cards, but still, Rory deflated a little.

Tessa paused to squeeze Rory’s shoulder in encouragement. Rory straightened. Tessa was keenly observant and definitely the sweeter of Harper’s two sisters. But still, Rory didn’t want to seem sour, especially as a member of the wedding party. She’d just have to make the best of Paige’s bridal-shower scavenger hunt. Tessa moved on to the next table.

“As you can see,” Paige continued with her instructions, “you have a list of items for our bridal scavenger hunt. Some items are easier than others.”

Rory scanned the list she’d be sharing with Erin.

A piece of candy.

No problem there. Erin always carried some in her purse, to appease Kitt when he got antsy.

Paper clip.

That shouldn’t be too hard. They could just ask at the hotel’s front desk.

A penny.

Easy.

She didn’t get a chance to finish perusing the items as Paige began speaking once again.

“Now remember, ladies, you only have twenty minutes to find everything on the list. The first pair back here with all of their items wins this deluxe mani-pedi gift certificate!”

Rory took a look at her fingernails. She kept them trimmed short, not only because of her server’s job, but also to make it easier to play guitar. She supposed she could use a manicure, especially for the wedding.

“All right, let’s get ready...”

Rory and Erin pushed back their chairs and joined the other guests, who were preparing to sprint for the doors. Erin neatly tore the sheet in half and handed the bottom portion to Rory.

“This will go faster if we split up.”

“Good idea,” Rory agreed.

“Set...” Paige prompted.

Rory glanced at her list as Paige shouted, “Go!”

There was the clicking and scuffing of shoes along the tile as the other shower attendees made a dash from their private reception room to commence the hunt.

“Meet you back here once I have all my items,” Erin offered, and then Rory was on her own.

* * *

RORY REGRETTED ERIN splitting their list by the time she reached the second item. Paige had obviously increased the difficulty with each sequential object. While she doubted Erin had had much trouble locating the penny, paper clip, or candy, Rory had gotten creative in tracking down a fork, newspaper, postage stamp and piece of hotel stationery.

But the final item on her list was the oddest.

An umbrella.

Rory stared at it for a full thirty seconds, wondering how in the world Paige had come up with these items. She stood in the hotel lobby, a gift bag—compliments of the resort gift shop—filled with her scavenger items hanging from her fingers. Where to find an umbrella?

She looked around, wondering if Paige meant for her to steal it from the coatrack. No way was she taking it that far. It was just a stupid game, after all. This is what came from letting Paige take charge. Rory sighed and tapped her foot then winced as the straps of her sandal pinched the side of her ankle. She was tempted to just take off her shoes and walk around barefoot, but Paige would probably be scandalized at the sight.

She moved toward the other side of the lobby and leaned against a column, which was hidden behind the large fronds of a potted palm, and rubbed at the offending sandal strap. She supposed she could always ask at the front desk for help. She knew some hotels kept umbrellas on hand for the convenience of their guests. But then her attention fastened on the placard sign standing nearby, advertising happy hour in the hotel lounge.

She grinned. Ah. Paige didn’t specify what type of umbrella. Surely one of those little cocktail ones would suffice.

Rory straightened and headed in the direction the sign indicated.

She couldn’t wait to see the look on Paige’s face when she and Erin showed up with all their items.

* * *

RORY ENTERED THE hotel lounge, which was pretty quiet this time of day. She imagined it was a much livelier place during the evening hours. But right now, there were only a few businessmen seated at the bar, and a young couple in a corner. Rory’s eyes drifted to the stage that dominated the room. There was no live entertainment taking place at the moment, but the sight was still a familiar one to Rory. Over the years, she’d played in over a hundred bars and lounges just like this one as she and Sawyer traveled around the country, performing their special blend of country and Irish folk music as they tried to make a go of a musical career.

She’d given up that life after Sawyer left her, though, and while she may have missed the man, she didn’t miss the smoke and gloom of the bar scene. In some ways, it had been a relief to walk away from it all...even if she did still resent Sawyer for the way he’d abandoned her.

“Excuse me.” She approached the bartender. “I need an umbrella.”

He eyed her with a look he must have reserved for customers who’d had too much to drink. She frowned at his reaction. “You know, one of those little ones you put in fancy cocktails?” She held up her torn sheet of the scavenger list. “I’m on a scavenger hunt.”

The man’s eyes cleared. “Ah, part of the bridal-shower party, are you? I’ve seen a few of you going back and forth.”

Rory nodded in confirmation. “So, do you have any tiny umbrellas?”

“I think we have some in the back. Give me a minute to see if I can scrounge one up for you.” He gave her a wink, but she pretended not to see it as she shifted her attention away from the bar.

She hoped the other shower guests weren’t way ahead of her. She didn’t normally have a very competitive streak, but she didn’t want to end up dead last in this game. She had a feeling Paige would somehow hold it against her. She wouldn’t be surprised if the other woman had a game planned to name the worst bridesmaid in the wedding party. Not that Rory was shirking her bridesmaid duties. It was just that Paige always seemed to expect so much more.

While Rory waited for the bartender to return, she reached for the bowl of peanuts on the bar. She picked through them, not really all that hungry even though the shower luncheon had consisted of mostly dainty finger foods. She’d probably be starving by the time she punched in for her shift at Callahan’s that night. Maybe she’d try to get there a little early and grab a bite.

She pushed the peanuts aside, then tapped her fingers restlessly on the smooth plane of the bar. With nothing else to occupy her, she turned her attention to the hi-def televisions mounted behind the counter. An entertainment channel was running—she recognized several of the starlets that flashed across the screen. There was no sound coming from the TV, but the captioning was announcing which of the featured celebs were going to be on the next season of some hit reality show. She leaned against the counter and watched the monitor without any real interest. She was just starting to space out, wondering what was taking the bartender so long and whether Erin had found all the scavenger items on her half of the list, when the entertainment host shifted to the next story on his agenda.

She stiffened as the familiar face of her ex-boyfriend flashed across the screen.

“Sawyer,” she breathed.

The headline ticker across the bottom of the screen announced him as the winner of the coveted Artist of the Year honor at the American Heartland Radio awards show. She experienced a pang of grief and a thrill of pride, both at the same time.

He’d done it. Not only had he found success as a country music star, but now he also had the most prestigious award in the industry to back it up.

The image shifted to him on a stage, holding his prize and speaking to the audience. Her heart fluttered as she noted that success had only enhanced his handsomeness. The light brown hair that he’d always kept on the longer side had been trimmed and styled, and the dusting of scruff along his jaw added a layer of cowboy cute that was surely a hit with female fans. She swallowed, peanut crumbs sticking in her throat.

“You a fan?”

She jerked, realizing the bartender had returned. He was holding out a miniature yellow drink umbrella, and it appeared as if he’d been standing there waiting for her to take it for some time.

“No, I’m not,” she replied, her voice clipped.

“If you say so.” He looked at the television, and Rory tried not to follow his gaze. She didn’t need to see Sawyer again, didn’t need to feel the stab of betrayal and heartbreak once more.

After nearly two years, she’d thought it wouldn’t hurt so much. Wasn’t that what everyone had told her? It takes time. Wounds heal. You’ll find love again...and all that. But Rory wondered how much more time she’d need? How much longer would her tender heart ache at the mention of his name or the sight of his face on a magazine, website or on TV? When could she finally stop avoiding country radio, afraid to hear his latest hit and wonder if he ever thought of her, if he ever missed her like she missed him?

“Don’t you need to get back to your party?”

Rory snapped to attention a second time as the bartender spoke to her. She tried not to bristle. What business was it of his if she wanted to hide out in here, away from the fuss and frills of this wedding business? Every time she turned around these days, she was confronted with reminders of love and happily-ever-after. She was thrilled for her brother and Harper—of course she was. But their impending nuptials were a reminder, every single day, that she was alone. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad if she and Sawyer hadn’t been together for so long, if they hadn’t had so many dreams and plans of a life together.

She shook her head. No use going there. She forced herself to look back at the television. Sawyer still dominated the screen, but it appeared to be a post-awards interview. Her eyes flicked to Sawyer’s face as he was being interviewed on a red carpet. She didn’t know what the reporter was asking, didn’t allow herself to read the captions. But she watched Sawyer’s face, the happy glow, and let the hurt and anger take hold of her once more.

All of Sawyer’s dreams had come true. And after almost two years of silence, she doubted that she even entered his thoughts anymore.

CHAPTER TWO

SAWYER STOOD OUTSIDE the restaurant and tugged his baseball cap farther down on his forehead. So far, he’d escaped recognition on the streets of his hometown, but he hadn’t spoken to anyone directly, either. He’d only arrived in Findlay Roads an hour ago. He’d flown into BWI Airport and rented a car for the hour-long drive to town. The trip had been impulsive, but he’d taken the text he received from his brother the night of the AHR awards as a sign.

He pulled out his phone and thumbed into the text app to read Chase’s message once more.

Way to go on the awards, bro! It’s a good thing you can sing since I’m the one who inherited the brains in the family.

Even after reading the text multiple times, Sawyer still smiled at his kid brother’s teasing. He supposed he deserved some ribbing. After all, as the older sibling, he’d tortured Chase unmercifully while they were growing up. It was hard to believe his baby brother was finishing up college next year...

Seriously, tho, long time, no see. When are you coming home for a visit? Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving. Mom and Dad won’t ask you, but I think it’s important you come home for a while. Final exams wrap up on Friday, and then I’m going to be free all summer. Hope 2 C U soon?

Sawyer frowned, as he had the first time he’d read the text. There was something in Chase’s suggestion that hinted of uncertainty, even perhaps vulnerability. But then again, how much could a person really read into a text message?

Still, Chase was right. It had been way too long since Sawyer had last seen his family, and he couldn’t even remember when he’d last visited his hometown. Certainly not since he’d moved to Nashville, and his career had taken off. Then it had hit him.

Rory.

It was the perfect chance to see her again, since his schedule was free for the next few weeks. Sure, Perle would probably prefer that he spend that time doing interviews and the like to leverage his recent AHR win, but he’d wrapped up his concert tour the weekend before last. Soon he’d have to hit the studio to begin laying down tracks for his next album, but he only had a few songs ready to record. Songwriting hadn’t come so easily in the last couple of years. He’d taken for granted how much Rory had influenced his desire to compose songs—without her in his life the music didn’t flow like it once had. Maybe talking to her would spark some fresh ideas. He’d always been eager to get the words and music down so he could play them for her and get her feedback. Besides, he reasoned, he deserved a minivacation after the breakneck pace he’d set over the last two years.

And just like that, he’d made the decision to come home. He’d booked the flight immediately and replied to his brother that he’d see him soon. But even though he was looking forward to time with his family, he was most excited about reconnecting with Rory.

And that was how he found himself in front of Callahan’s restaurant, trying to muster up the courage to head inside. He’d put this off for too long, and even though he didn’t want to wait another minute, he wasn’t sure what to say other than “I’m sorry.”

He owed her an apology. But even more than that, he wanted her back. It had become crystal clear to him in the hours after the awards show, when all his dreams were coming true, that something was missing. That something was really a someone.

He wanted Rory. Needed her. No amount of awards could replace her. She’d been his greatest source of inspiration for as long as he could remember. She had been his constant, through years of doubt and failure. He’d been foolish to think he wouldn’t need her once he hit the big time.

It hadn’t taken too much investigative work to learn she was working that afternoon. He knew, from previous phone conversations with his mother, that Rory had gone to work for her brother after she and Sawyer had split. He also knew she’d moved back to town and into the apartment above the restaurant. According to his mother, Connor’s restaurant had finally taken off. It was mentioned as a four-star dining experience in numerous travel and culinary magazines, and it had gained huge recognition when Connor was the runner-up and then the grand prize winner in the annual Best of the Bay competitions two years in a row.

Sawyer had to admit that the exterior of the place didn’t look anything like he remembered back when Rory’s dad had owned it. The Rusty Anchor sign had been replaced with a sharp, pub-style design, and the name had been changed to the family one of Callahan’s. The place had a cozy but classy feel to it, from the redbrick facade to the black-trimmed window frames. His gaze skipped upward, toward the second floor. He wondered if Rory was up there now or if she was already down below in the restaurant. Either way, his stomach somersaulted at the thought of her being nearby. He was close. So close.

He was a ball of mixed emotions, excitement and nerves competing for first place. What would she think of him showing up here? Would she recognize it as an effort on his part to make things right? Or would she merely see it as an intrusion?

He guessed there was only one way to find out. With another tug on his baseball cap, he drew a deep breath and headed inside the restaurant.

* * *

WHEN RORY CLOCKED in for her shift at Callahan’s that afternoon, she prayed there would be no discussions about Sawyer’s Artist of the Year award. Given that he was a hometown boy and she and he had been known so long as a couple, it was often impossible to dodge his name in conversation, especially from those who didn’t understand that Rory was no longer a part of his life. She had become adept at pat responses: “No, I don’t know what he’s up to these days. He’s so busy recording and touring, you know.” Most people missed the sarcastic edge to her words, but occasionally, someone would cock their head and make their apologies before blessedly changing the subject.

She grabbed her apron from the back room and said hello to Rafael. He mumbled an incoherent greeting in response, his attention fixed solely on the washing machine he was attempting to fix. Rafael had been with the restaurant well before it had become a highly rated, popular establishment. As one of the few original employees, Rory was fond of him, in large part because of his longtime loyalty to her brother. Now that Callahan’s had become a success, Rafael had been promoted from busboy and occasional line cook to maintaining the restaurant and property.

Tying her apron in place, Rory left Rafael to his work and headed back through the kitchen to check what section she’d be working that evening.

Twenty minutes later, she had settled into her server’s routine. She’d topped up the beverages at all six of her tables, provided a fresh bread basket to table eighteen and put in the appetizer order for table sixteen. She approached the computer to tabulate the bill for her four-top at table twelve and noticed the hostess seating a lone diner at table fifteen on the outer edge of her section. It was a slightly isolated table by the window, and one that was sometimes requested by customers dining alone.

Vanessa, the hostess, caught Rory’s eye and hurried over. “I just seated a cute guy at table fifteen.”

“I saw,” Rory replied as she stuck table twelve’s bill into the receipt folder. “I’ll get to him in a minute. I have to finish up with twelve.”

“Okay, but I wanted to give you a heads-up—he asked to sit in your section.”

That got Rory’s attention. She raised her head and zeroed in on the newcomer. He was slouched over the menu, a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. His posture was relaxed, but she noticed him drumming his fingers impatiently on the tabletop.

Her stomach clenched. She’d seen that gesture a thousand times over the years, in the back rooms of bars before they’d gone onstage, in the airport before he’d shipped out for army basic training, and the day he’d sat her down in a restaurant not nearly so nice as this one to tell her about the record deal from Nashville...right before he broke up with her.

She knew every emotion that accompanied that gesture—excitement coupled with adrenaline and just enough nervousness to keep him cool under pressure. Her entire body tingled, and she wondered if she should try to pass off his table to someone else.

She immediately dismissed the thought. He’d asked for her section. He knew she was here.

Drawing a deep breath, she headed for his table, dropping off table twelve’s check and promising to return for the payment shortly. Ten steps later, she was at his side.

He was facing away from her, looking out the window and over the water. She debated how to begin, whether to admit she recognized him through his thin disguise or behave as the server she was and ask if he’d like to start with something to drink.

In the end, he saved her from having to decide. He shifted in his seat, pulling his eyes away from the gray-blue of the Chesapeake’s water, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

“I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” she asked.

“How beautiful it is here.”

The way he said it made her realize he wasn’t referring to the view, and she fought back the heat flooding her cheeks. He looked the same, maybe better than when she’d last seen him in person. Or perhaps it was her complicated emotions making him seem that way. Sawyer had always been confident, but he seemed to hold himself with even more surety now. But then, setting country music records was likely to do that to a person.

Stabs of both jealousy and grief sliced through her. He’d become famous. He’d fulfilled his dream. And beneath the layers of frustration, a part of her was exceedingly proud of him. But he’d also left her, after years of shared joys and tears, when it was most convenient for him. And she’d spent the last twenty-three months trying to come to terms with the loss of him—her high-school sweetheart, the guy she’d waited for throughout army basic training and deployment, the man she’d traveled all over the United States with as they’d performed their music and chased their dreams.

Sawyer had been her soul mate. At one time she’d been closer to him than any other person on earth, her brother included. She hadn’t had many close relationships in her life, and Sawyer knew that. But she’d had him.

Until fame came calling.

“Rory? Aren’t you going to say anything? Welcome me home?”

He’d called her beautiful, as if that could make up for the heartache he’d caused her.

Without giving it a second thought, Rory turned and grabbed a half-full glass of ice water on a table waiting to be bused.

“Welcome home,” she offered and then tipped the water over the top of his head, dousing him.

And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked away, deciding Sawyer Landry could starve before she’d serve him.

* * *

SAWYER BLINKED THE water out of his eyes and groped for a napkin to wipe his face. He dabbed at his wet chin and pulled his baseball cap lower over his forehead, hoping he wouldn’t be recognized with the attention Rory had just drawn to him.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he admitted aloud and used the sleeve of his T-shirt to mop some water from his jaw.

Seconds later, the hostess appeared with a handful of napkins, uttering profuse apologies for Rory’s behavior.

He shrugged. “I should have seen that coming. Rory never was one to take things lying down.”

The girl blinked, obviously puzzled. Then her eyes narrowed as she studied him, her brow furrowing in concentration. Sawyer looked away, hoping she wouldn’t recognize him.

“You know Rory?”

He pushed back his chair. “Yeah, I’m her—” He stopped. “An old friend,” he said after a beat and stood.

“Sir, please. I don’t know what came over her, but I’m sure the manager will treat you to a meal on the house—”

“Not bloody likely.”

Sawyer turned as Connor, Rory’s older brother, approached the table. The other man’s expression was tight with anger. Sawyer held up his hands in surrender.

“Hey there, Connor. Good to see you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“The place looks great. Your dad would have loved it.”

Connor made an angry noise in the back of his throat and took another step toward the table. Sawyer shifted his eyes to the hostess, in hope of reminding Connor they had an audience. But she wasn’t the only one watching them. From his peripheral vision, Sawyer noticed that most of the customers in the immediate vicinity had paused to witness the confrontation.

“I just wanted to see Rory,” Sawyer admitted. “I thought I’d surprise her. In retrospect, maybe showing up here wasn’t exactly the smartest way to go about it.”

Connor’s jaw clenched in reply.

“Listen, I know it’s more than I deserve, but I’d really like the chance to talk to her.”

“I’m not sure she wants to talk to you,” Connor growled.

“Fair enough. But would you mind asking her for me?”

“She’s working right now.”

Sawyer nodded. “Okay.” He sat back down in his chair. “In that case, I’ll just wait right here.”

Connor crossed his arms. “You’re not welcome here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Sawyer released a breath, trying to keep his cool. He and Connor had always gotten along in years past. Sawyer had a tremendous amount of respect for the other man, especially his devotion to his family and his dream of becoming a successful restaurateur. He’d always known Connor possessed the same Irish bullheadedness as Rory; he’d just rarely come up against its full force like this.

Still, the man was protecting his sister. And for that, Sawyer couldn’t blame him.

“What if I order something? I’d love to see what you—”

“No.” Connor’s voice was flat, brooking no argument.

Sawyer opened his mouth to respond but never got the chance.

“Oh, my gosh! You’re Sawyer Landry!”

Recognition suddenly bloomed on the hostess’s face. Sawyer grimaced. Connor blinked.

“You’re him! You’re Sawyer Landry!”

Her excitement spread through the restaurant dining room, first hushed and then louder, like the click of falling dominoes gaining speed.

Sawyer knew it wouldn’t be long before he was assailed by autograph-seekers and picture-takers. Normally, he didn’t mind—it went with the territory, after all. But he’d come here to see Rory, and he didn’t imagine a rush of groupies in the restaurant dining area would endear him to Connor.

“Please, Connor, just tell her I want to talk.”

Connor’s arms remained crossed, his nostrils flared.

One of the servers timidly approached and thrust her order pad in Sawyer’s direction. “Would you mind giving me your autograph?”

“Dani, go see to your tables.”

“But—”

“Now.”

Sawyer heard the snap of photos and looked past Connor to see several restaurant patrons brandishing their phones and clicking away in his direction. He smiled at them and gave a little wave.

Dani began to slink away with an air of disappointment surrounding her.

“How about I drop by later and bring you a signed copy of one of my CDs?” Sawyer offered to her retreating back.

Dani turned, her face lighting happily. She nodded and then caught Connor’s eye before scurrying away again. Vanessa took her cue from her coworker and followed.

Before the two men could continue their argument, a customer approached and held out her napkin, along with a pen.

“Excuse me? Mr. Landry? My daughter is a big fan, and she’d just love it if I could get her your autograph.” She held out her napkin and a pen, and he took the items in hand.

“Sure, what’s her name?”

The woman beamed. “Allison. Allie, that is. Or whichever you prefer.”

He scribbled a quick note, wishing Allie all the best, and then signed his name with a flourish.

He sensed Connor’s mounting irritation.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so much.” The woman paused. “And...would you mind taking a picture with me? Just so I can prove to her it was really you?”

“No problem.” Sawyer stepped to the side so the woman could move in beside him.

She turned to Connor and handed him her cell phone.

“Would you mind terribly?”

Connor did mind, Sawyer could see it, but he wasn’t about to deny a customer. He wordlessly took the phone, framed the shot and clicked as Sawyer grinned broadly for the camera.

“Oh, that’s just wonderful. Thank you!” The woman was speaking to him, barely sparing Connor a glance as she reclaimed her cell phone. “Thank you so much! Allie will be so excited.”

Sawyer looked at Connor, eyebrows raised as though daring him to allow this to continue. A few chairs scraped, and Sawyer had the sense a receiving line was about to form. Connor must have realized it, too, because he grabbed Sawyer by the arm and hauled him away from the table.

“In the back. Now.”

Sawyer shot one last look over his shoulder and saw several crestfallen faces as he was dragged away. Once the dining room disappeared from view, Connor warned him, “I’ll take you to her, but if she doesn’t want to talk to you, you leave through the back. You got it?”

“Got it.”

Connor hesitated, his green eyes cold. “You don’t deserve her forgiveness, you know.”

Sawyer grew serious. “I know. But I’m hoping she’ll grant it anyway.”

Connor gestured for him to follow and didn’t comment further one way or another.

* * *

RORY PACED IN Connor’s office, her black Converse sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor each time she pivoted on her heel. Normally, she found this room soothing. After the fire that had damaged a large part of the building, Harper had seen to it that the back office was remodeled into a charming work space for Connor. Though it wasn’t overly large, the slate-blue walls and sea-glass collage artwork were calming. Harper shared the space with Connor, too, and while his half of the room was usually a jumble of papers and notes, Harper’s tiny glass-topped desk remained neat and tidy, often with fresh flowers in the pottery vase displayed on the corner surface. Rory had caught Connor adding flowers to that vase on more than one occasion. It warmed her to think her brother could be such a romantic where Harper was concerned.

Today, however, she spared little thought for her brother’s love life. She was too overwhelmed with her own.

Sawyer was here. Back in Findlay Roads. In the restaurant. Sawyer was here...for her? After the last couple of years trying to separate herself from the idea of ever seeing him again, he was suddenly back. And he’d sought her out.

She was still trying to wrap her head around this revelation when a soft knock sounded on Connor’s office door.

A second later, it eased open, and Connor stuck in his head.

Behind him, she caught a glance of Sawyer. She stepped back and shook her head.

“No. Connor, no. I said I don’t want to talk to him.”

Connor grimaced. “I know, but I can’t have him in the restaurant.”

“Then kick him out!”

“He won’t go without talking to you first.”

She scowled.

“Rory, please.” Sawyer’s voice sounded from the crack in the doorway. He edged it open and stood next to Connor. “Just five minutes. Five minutes, and then I won’t bother you anymore. Please.”

She raised her chin. “I can’t. I’m on the clock.”

“Not anymore,” Connor said. “You’re taking a break.”

“I just got here,” she protested, but Connor’s gaze pleaded with her.

“Vanessa can fill in for you for a bit.”

Rory opened her mouth to protest and then closed it. If Connor was asking her to do this then she should. He wouldn’t make such a request of her lightly.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Five minutes.”

Connor appeared relieved and then sheepish. “Um, would you both mind discussing things...elsewhere?”

Rory raised an eyebrow.

“I think it would be better if Sawyer left the premises,” he explained.

“Oh.” Rory wasn’t sure what that was about, but decided that if she was going to talk to Sawyer, it didn’t matter whether it was here or somewhere else.

“Why don’t we take a stroll on the promenade?” Sawyer suggested.

Rory folded her arms across her chest.

“Fine. But your five minutes starts the next time you open your mouth.”

Sawyer nodded but wisely didn’t utter a sound.

* * *

THE PROMENADE WAS blessedly vacant this time of day as people spent the late afternoon hours shopping or sailing on the bay. A few couples were scattered along the boardwalk and one man was fishing over one of the railings, but they were spread out so that Rory and Sawyer were mostly alone.

Sawyer had taken her at her word about when the timer on his five minutes would begin. He said nothing as they’d walked from Callahan’s to the promenade and still remained silent as they began strolling the stretch of boardwalk. After a good three minutes of silence, Rory grew too uncomfortable to allow it to continue. She stopped and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her torso. She made a point of tapping her wrist.

“Okay. You can start talking now.”

But he didn’t, not right away. At first, she thought he was antagonizing her, but then she realized he seemed to be searching for the words. His struggle gave her a moment to study him more closely. His light brown hair was trimmed short around his ears and behind his neck. She couldn’t see any more, since he still wore the baseball cap he’d been sporting in the restaurant. He didn’t wear any sunglasses, despite the afternoon sunshine. A part of her wished he had. It was difficult to stare into the familiar warmth of his blue eyes. He had a faint dusting of scruff along his jaw, and she wasn’t sure if it was an intended effect or whether he’d just not bothered shaving that morning. Maybe he’d been in too much of a hurry...to see her?

She tensed. She couldn’t let herself think such things.

It was hard not to, though, when he kept stealing glances at her, his mouth twitching slightly every time she met his gaze. It was also strange to be standing so near to him, after so much time apart.

He was somehow different...and yet still Sawyer. The way he carried himself was new to her. He moved with an easy confidence, maybe even a touch of arrogance, as if he’d finally found his place in the world, and no one could take him from it.

She hated that. She admired it. She envied it.

“I’m going to start timing you whether you speak or not,” she announced, as much to jump-start the conversation as to take her mind off her emotions.

“You said you wouldn’t start timing until I started talking.”

She smirked at his slip. He made a face.

“Okay, round one to Rory.”

She didn’t reply, simply tapped a finger on her hip, pretending to tick off the seconds—though she was really just waiting to hear what he’d say next.

“Please stop that.”

She ignored him. He groaned.

“Fine. Listen. I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I was selfish and inconsiderate, and maybe a little bit dazzled by the idea of my name in lights.”

“A little bit?”

He looked at her, managing to catch her eyes with his so that she couldn’t look away.

“I don’t know how else to say it except that I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did—you didn’t deserve that. I’ve missed you.”

Her heart began to pick up speed.

“You’re unhappy?”

He hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “I can’t say that I’m unhappy. I...love what I’m doing. I love performing, and I’ve gotten to travel the world. It’s—” he drew a deep breath “—it’s everything I ever dreamed.”

Her heart continued racing, but this time in anger.

“You came all this way to tell me that? ‘I’m sorry, Rory,’” she said, mimicking him, “‘but really, my life’s great now. Just thought you should know.’”

She grunted in disgust and turned away from him, stomping down the boardwalk. She passed an elderly couple seated on a bench and only barely registered their frowns of disapproval. She wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection, holding herself together or holding back her fury, she wasn’t sure which. Seconds later, she heard the soft thump of Sawyer’s footsteps behind her, trying to catch up.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“You’ve said enough.”

“But I haven’t told you the most important part.”

She almost stumbled in hesitation, but righted herself and took two more steps before he spoke again.

“You didn’t let me say that it hasn’t been worth it.”

She stopped abruptly, and he ran into her from behind so that she staggered forward. The next thing she knew, his hands were around her waist, keeping her from falling. For a moment, just the span of a heartbeat or two, she let him hold onto her and savored the memory of his embrace. But by the count of three, she came to her senses and pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me.” She whirled on him. “Don’t you touch me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He backed up, hands in the air. He looked pained.

“I didn’t come back to rub things in. I know I’m not the best guy, but do you really think I’m that cruel?”

She shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the question. As much as she’d tried to vilify Sawyer in her mind over the last couple of years, she didn’t know if she could call him cruel. Selfish, yes. Insensitive, sure. But cruel? No, he’d never been that. The man who had cradled her in his arms the night she’d lost her father was not mean. But even so, he’d broken her heart, and while he might not have done it out of cruelty, his selfishness had wounded her just the same. Just because he was ready to make amends didn’t mean she was ready to let him.

“Why now?” she asked him.

Sawyer hesitated, his eyes flickering with some emotion she didn’t recognize. Guilt? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, she pushed the question to find out.

“After two years of complete and utter silence, why did you come back now?”

“Because I missed you.”

She wanted to believe him, but something didn’t ring true. He wanted something from her, something that went beyond simply missing her and wanting her back in his life.

“A lot may have changed between us in two years, Sawyer, but I can still tell when you’re holding something back.”

He tugged at the baseball cap, a sign of his discomfort. “I’m telling you the truth. I miss you, Rory. More than you can imagine. I think about you all the time. There are nights when I toss and turn because my dreams are full of you and how I let you go. Some days, I forget to eat because my stomach is in knots, wondering what you’re doing, worrying that you’ll move on and find somebody else. I try to write music, but the words won’t come to me because I don’t have you there to tell me which lyrics are good. Sometimes, I can’t even—”

“Wait, back up.”

Sawyer stopped speaking as she held up a hand, but his mouth remained open as he registered her words.

“You’re having a hard time composing music?”

His jaw snapped closed, and he looked almost guilty.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” She began pacing, her steps trying to keep rhythm with her racing heart. “You’re blocked. That’s what all this is about. You’re feeling the pressure to top your first album, and you don’t have anything to write about.”

“Rory, that’s not it.”

She couldn’t even look at him. Because if she did, she might be foolish enough to believe his protests.

“It makes sense you’d come back now. You’re probably due for some studio time, am I right?”

When he remained silent, she had her answer. She found the courage to stop moving and turn her attention on him.

“You thought you could come back here and have some sort of...what, summer fling with me? To kick-start your creativity?”

He appeared offended by the suggestion but a little embarrassed, too. Which only proved her point.

Sawyer hadn’t come back to Findlay Roads because he loved her, because he missed her. He’d come back because he needed a muse. This realization drained the last of her anger and left her feeling sad and tired.

“I really need to get back to work.”

“Rory.”

He stepped toward her, but she automatically took a step back. The hurt in his expression was like a knife to the chest, but she steeled herself against it.

“I’m not here because I need to write new songs. I’m here for you.”

“But it’s not that simple, is it?” she countered, her voice flat.

He conceded with a nod, and for some reason, it felt a little too much like surrender on his part. Was he really giving up so easily? She shook her head, confused. Shouldn’t she want him to give up? To go back to Nashville and leave her in peace?

“I really do need to get back to the restaurant.” Connor was probably worried about her, plus she didn’t like asking her coworkers to pick up her slack.

Sawyer sighed. “Okay. Then is there another time we could talk? There’s some stuff I’d really like to get off my chest.”

She bristled. Not only did he need a muse, but he also wanted her to be his confessor? Nearly two years without a word, and now he was asking her to find time for him to unburden his guilt? Well, maybe she’d show him what it felt like to be humiliated and abandoned.

“Fine then. How about tomorrow?” she offered, keeping her tone cool. “You can stop by the restaurant in the afternoon, before the dinner rush. That’s when I normally get my break.”

Sawyer brightened considerably, and she felt a twinge of guilt. She’d just outright lied to him. She wasn’t scheduled to work tomorrow.

“You don’t think Connor will mind?”

“Leave Connor to me.”

Sawyer smiled. “Tomorrow. I’ll look forward to it.”

His hopeful expression cut into her heart, and she nearly opened her mouth to tell him the truth. But then she remembered how she’d felt, when he’d broken things off with her at the diner beside the Motel 8 in Little Rock, Arkansas. All because he’d been offered a recording contract, on the condition that he was a solo act with no Rory in tow.

She still remembered the words he’d spoken when he sat her down to end their relationship...

“I’m sorry, Rory, but it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. I can’t just pass it up for...” He’d trailed off, looking sheepish.

“For me,” she’d said, finishing the sentence for him. “For us.”

He’d sighed, the sound a huff of impatience. “They think I have a real shot, Rory—that I could be the next country music superstar. Only...it would be better if I was unattached, both musically and personally.”

“So I’m excess baggage, is that it?”

He’d made a gesture of dismissal. “You know it’s not like that. But sometimes, a person has to make sacrifices to go after what they want. And you and I have been together for so long. It’s probably about time we go our separate ways. You understand, right?”

She shuddered at the memory. Oh, she’d understood him all too well. It had been easy for him to toss her aside when something better came along. She had been his sacrifice, but she’d felt more like an old shoe, thrown out when no longer useful.

Because just like that, he’d severed thirteen years of love, friendship and collaboration. He’d drawn a line between who he was and who he wanted to be. He had never even checked in to see if she’d found her way safely back home to Findlay Roads.

Recalling that low point in her life, she managed to shake off her guilt at leading him on.

“Tomorrow,” she repeated, forcing her tongue around the lie. “I’ll see you then.”

CHAPTER THREE

SAWYER SHOWED UP at Callahan’s the next afternoon with a bouquet of flowers—purple freesias, Rory’s favorite—and a stack of autographed CDs for the restaurant staff. He felt a tingle of anticipation as he stepped toward the restaurant door, catching a brief reflection of himself in the windows. He’d chosen a casual, white button-down shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and he was wearing a faded pair of jeans. He’d ditched the baseball hat from yesterday, but he did wear a pair of sunglasses, both to combat the late-afternoon light and to hopefully stem any recognition as he walked into Connor’s establishment.

Fortunately for him, business was apparently slow this time of day, and he only glimpsed a few tables with patrons. He saw several servers moving around, though, probably preparing for the dinner rush. He approached the hostess stand and found the same young woman from the day before. She was speaking with another woman, petite and curvaceous with blond hair. She held a stack of menus in her hand, and he couldn’t help noticing the ring she wore. A claddagh ring, on her left hand. The two women turned as he stepped up to the podium.

Even with the sunglasses, the younger one from yesterday recognized him.

“Oh! It’s you!”

He smiled for her as he removed his shades. “It’s me,” he agreed.

The second woman cocked her head, as though trying to place him. He’d seen that look before, on the streets and at airports or at coffee shops, and even the grocery store. It was the look people got when they thought he was familiar but couldn’t quite believe he was someone famous.

“I’m Vanessa.” The younger woman held out a hand.

He shifted the CDs and flowers into one arm to respond to her handshake. “Nice to officially meet you, Vanessa. I’m—”

“Sawyer Landry. Of course you are.” She let her hand linger in his until he withdrew.

He slid a glance in the other woman’s direction and caught her frowning at him.

“Vanessa, can you take these into the back?” She shifted the stack of menus neatly into Vanessa’s arms.

“Oh, but Harper...can’t I stay here?” She looked from the blonde to him, and back again, obviously conveying some sort of coded message.

The one named Harper shook her head. “No, I think I’d better handle this.”

Sawyer steeled himself. Harper may have looked sweet and pleasant, but he had the feeling she was a formidable gatekeeper. He wondered if Rory had actually put her in place to keep him away. But why invite him back to the restaurant if she didn’t want to see him? Maybe just to get him off her back temporarily. The thought filled him with dismay. He’d been looking forward to this for the last twenty-four hours.

As Vanessa walked away with the menus in hand, Harper turned to face him.

“We haven’t met,” she began. “I’m Harper Worth, Connor’s fiancée.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows lifted. “Connor’s fiancée? Sorry, I didn’t realize he was engaged.”

She smiled, and he had the sense she couldn’t help it. She seemed excited about her role as Connor’s bride-to-be.

“I’m Sawyer Landry,” he belatedly offered.

“I know. Even if I didn’t recognize you from your music, I’ve seen photos from when you grew up around here.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Just how much did Harper know about him? How much had Rory shared?

He held up the CDs. “I brought these for some of the staff. One of the servers—I think her name was Dani—asked for an autograph yesterday. I promised I’d bring some albums by. Can you make sure she gets one of them?”

“Of course.” Harper took the CDs from his hand, her gaze darting to the flowers though she didn’t comment on them. “That’s very nice of you. You have several fans here, so I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, and then the two of them fell into an awkward silence.

“Um, did Rory tell you I was coming?”

Harper cocked her head. “No. Was she supposed to?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. There wasn’t a reason for her to inform Harper he’d be stopping by. After all, she’d said they could talk on her break since it wouldn’t interrupt her work. But then, this woman was going to be her sister-in-law. Wasn’t that the kind of thing sisters shared with each other? He’d only ever had a brother, so he’d never had a chance to observe a lot of sisterly interactions. And he supposed it was different between sisters and sisters-in-law anyway. He cleared his throat.

“Rory and I made plans. She said to stop by around this time—that she’d probably be getting a break before the dinner rush. Is she available?” He shifted the freesias from one hand to the other, feeling increasingly awkward under Harper’s steady scrutiny. He could only imagine how Connor had railed about him to her. He doubted Rory’s brother had given the best impression. He again wondered what, if anything, Rory had said to her.

Harper hesitated, and he had the sense bad news was coming.

“I’m sorry, but Rory isn’t working today.”

He frowned in confusion. “Was there a last-minute schedule change or something?”

She shook her head. “No, there have been no changes to the schedule, at least none involving Rory, this week.”

Had she forgotten he was dropping by? Or had she simply gotten her schedule confused? Maybe she didn’t have his number anymore, to let him know plans had changed.

“In fact, she never works on Fridays,” Harper went on. “She has a standing gig at the Lighthouse Café on Friday nights, so she’s always off those days.”

Sawyer’s face heated. Rory wasn’t the forgetful sort. If she’d told him to come by today, on a day she never worked, she’d done it on purpose. She’d stood him up.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I must have gotten the day wrong then.”

Harper looked at him with pity, seeing through his lame excuse, and that only served to stoke his frustration. Okay, so maybe he’d deserved this little trick on Rory’s part. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t due some payback. But he was still embarrassed and disappointed. He’d thought there’d been a crack in the wall she’d erected between them, but he realized now that her defenses were still solidly in place. Well, round two to Rory. That didn’t mean he was giving up. If she wanted to play hard-to-get, he’d just have to step up his game.

“Wait. Did you say she’s playing at the Lighthouse tonight?”

Harper hesitated, and he wondered if she hadn’t meant to give up that bit of information. But then, he thought he saw a sparkle in her eyes, just before she lowered her face from view.

“Did I? Oh, well, everyone around here knows that Rory plays there on Friday nights. She goes on at the same time every week. Eight o’clock sharp. Anyone in town could have told you that.”

Harper wasn’t looking at him. She was studiously swiping at the hostess podium, as if brushing away dust, but it was obviously already clean. He had the feeling Harper Worth was on his side for some reason. He grinned even though she hadn’t looked at him.

“That’s handy information, Miss Worth.”

She glanced up. “Please, call me Harper.”

“Harper,” he said, “it was a pleasure to meet you. Connor is clearly a lucky man.”

She smiled broadly at the compliment.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again soon,” she offered.

The words gave him hope. Whatever Rory had or hadn’t shared with her future sister-in-law, he seemed to have Harper’s stamp of approval—at least to attempt winning Rory back.

He considered the freesias in his hand. Rory had never been much of the chocolate-and-flowers type. Showing up with them might only make it look as though he didn’t know her anymore.

But he did. He still knew her.

He held the flowers toward Harper.

“Why don’t you take these? My way of saying thanks for all your help.”

Harper looked as though she might protest, but he pushed them into her arms before she could say anything.

“Well, thank you.” She eyed him. “And if you don’t mind me saying so...good luck.”

He nodded.

Where Rory was concerned, he’d take all the luck he could get.

* * *

RORY SAT AT the coffee-shop counter, a half-finished glass of iced tea in front of her, and waited anxiously to take the stage. The Lighthouse Café was always busy on Friday nights, but this evening it was particularly packed. Every table, from one end of the room to the other, was filled with patrons. The sofas and love seats along the walls overflowed with customers of all ages, from teens to people in their thirties and forties, and even a couple she swore had to be approaching their eighties.

The crowd didn’t really bother her. Performing to ten was the same as performing to two hundred. Once she was onstage, she always experienced a rush of self-confidence. But something about tonight had her tied up in knots, and it had nothing to do with the audience.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Sawyer. She wondered if he’d stopped by the restaurant, like she’d told him to. The thought made her squirm with guilt. As much as Sawyer deserved a little payback, she didn’t really feel right about what she’d done. She wasn’t the vengeful type, and she’d never stood a guy up before. Then again, the only guy she’d ever really dated was Sawyer, unless she counted Bobby Hughes in fifth grade and that one guy she’d gone to dinner with last year. But a stolen kiss on the playground and a boring evening out didn’t come close to what she’d had with Sawyer. Still, she’d never been so coy before as to lead someone on.

Even if he was six feet tall with eyes that could turn her into a puddle with one look. She shook her head and took a swig of iced tea. Nope, don’t go there, Rory. Sawyer may have come back to town talking big about apologies, but it didn’t mean they’d pick up where they’d left off. How could they? They were different people now. Especially him.

“Rory, you all set?”

She shook off her reverie as Dave Ridgley addressed her from behind the counter. He was the owner of the café and hosted most of the Friday night performances. He’d been the one to approach Rory about playing at the Lighthouse. He’d seen her perform at the annual 4th of July celebration in town last year and asked if she’d be interested in a weekly gig at his newly established coffee shop in town. At first, she’d been hesitant. She hadn’t been doing much with her music since she and Sawyer split. But the invitation niggled at her until she agreed to a trial run, of sorts. Within the first month, not only did she have a solid following of friends and acquaintances coming to see her perform, but she also became hooked on the opportunity to play her music on a weekly basis. And over the last year, she’d gained quite a few fans who made the effort to come out every Friday and hear her sing. It was encouraging, and a boost to her ego, to realize she had enough talent on her own, without Sawyer, that people wanted to hear her music.

“Ready when you are, Dave,” she said and stood to follow him.

They stepped onto the stage together, and Rory grabbed her guitar from its stand as Dave tapped the mic. A few conversations continued, but most of the crowd turned their attention to the platform.

“Looks like we’ve got a full house tonight,” Dave began. “I’m guessing it’s not because you came to hear me sing.”

There were a few chuckles, and one guy near the front let out a heartfelt “boo.”

“All right, Jeremy, you’ve obviously had too much caffeine already. I’m cutting you off. No more espresso shots.”

More laughter rippled around the room, and Rory had to grin. It was soothing to be in such a familiar atmosphere. She’d spent most of her life playing one show after another in a line of bars, lounges, community events and weddings. There were a few places she and Sawyer would frequent, but it wasn’t like this. Playing in her hometown, week after week, gave her a sense of comfort and belonging.

“Well, if you’re not here for me, then maybe you all came out for this lovely lady.” Dave gestured in her direction, and the café erupted in cheers and applause. Rory was hard pressed not to blush at the enthusiastic response.

“I think that’s a yes,” Dave concluded. “Then let’s get this show on the road. Rory, you’re up.”

More cheering ensued as Rory stepped to the microphone, adjusting her guitar strap around her waist.

“Now that’s what I call a proper welcome,” she said into the mic. Jeremy let out a wolf whistle. “You really have had too much caffeine, haven’t you, Jeremy?”

He laughed, and the others in his vicinity joined him. Rory strummed her guitar, listening to make sure it was in tune. She made a minor adjustment and checked again.

Perfect.

“You’ve all been patient with me these last few months while I worked on some new songs. Well, tonight, your patience will be rewarded. I have something new for you.”

She waited while they clapped with excitement.

“I take it you’re ready to hear it?”

More cheers.

“Okay then.” She drew a breath and strummed a few notes before launching into the song.

I can’t help what I feel,

But I know that wounds heal.

And time is all it takes,

But right now it’s heartbreak...

Though she’d told herself she wasn’t going to think of Sawyer as she sang, her mind couldn’t help drifting to him. He was the inspiration for the lyrics, after all.

I’ve fallen in love with you,

And now I’m bleeding and bruised.

’Cause I let down my guard,

And I fell pretty hard...

The audience was rapt. She sensed it as well as saw it when her gaze swept the room. A few couples were wrapped in each other’s arms, and several others swayed to the music. A pair of teenagers even got up and started dancing. She was glad to see it was being received so well. It wasn’t exactly a happy song, but it had come from her heart—from the deepest part of her injured pride and wounded spirit.

She launched into the bridge and caught a few people brushing tears from their eyes. She kept going, into the final round of the chorus.

What else can I do?

I’ve fallen in love with you.

She strummed the final notes on her guitar and stepped back from the microphone as her audience launched to their feet, clapping and whistling in a standing ovation. She smiled and gave a tiny bow, pleased with the reaction and doubly grateful that she’d made it through the song without breaking down. She’d had more than one crying session when she wrote it, thinking about Sawyer and how much she missed him.

But then, as if the music had conjured him, her eyes drifted to the back of the room, and there he stood.

Sawyer was here.

CHAPTER FOUR

HOW LONG HAD he been standing there? And how much had he heard? Enough, she guessed, because he was clapping along with the rest of them, as though he’d witnessed a fair share of her performance. He was too far away for her to read his expression. Had he realized the song was about him? She hoped not. It was one thing to bare her soul before an audience, but it was another to reveal her insecurities to the man who’d caused them.

What was he doing here anyway? How had he found out where she’d be tonight? Unless someone at the restaurant told him. Her weekly gig at the Lighthouse was well known. She supposed any one of her coworkers could have mentioned it to him. But then, the idea of him actually having gone to Callahan’s looking for her gave her a tiny thrill. He’d been true to his word and tried to see her.

And she, of course, had left him hanging. Stood him up. The stunt still didn’t rest well with her, but a part of her was pleased that he’d gone to the trouble of finding out where she would be. Though she didn’t plan on forgiving him just because he’d made a little effort. She was still miffed that he’d appeared like he had yesterday, showing up where she worked and expecting her to drop everything for him.

She’d like to see how much he enjoyed being put on the spot like that.

She stepped up to the mic again, an idea taking hold. “Thank you,” she said as the applause began to die down, and people resumed their seats. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“It was worth the wait,” Jeremy called from his table, and she gave a nod of thanks in his direction.

“I have another surprise for you this evening.”

She sensed a ripple of interest run through the crowd. “Some of you know that I lived on the road for years, performing with my...” She paused for a second as she tried to find an appropriate word other than boyfriend. “A mate of mine,” she amended. She didn’t look in Sawyer’s direction, but from the corner of her eye, she thought she noticed him straighten.

“Now, for those of you who are new to the area, I should tell you that my friend went on to bigger and better things. He’s known now for his debut album, Chasing the Wild, and he recently won American Heartland Radio’s Artist of the Year award.”

A few whispers ran through the room. Rory couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, but she recognized Sawyer’s name being mentioned.

“It’s been a while since he’s been back home, but tonight, we have the privilege of his presence, as well as a performance.”

She finally looked at Sawyer, her gaze cutting straight to the back of the room and meeting his eyes.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d all welcome Sawyer Landry to the stage.”

As the room erupted into shouts and applause, she smirked in his direction.

Now he’d see what it was like to be put on the spot.

* * *

SAWYER HAD TO give her credit. He hadn’t expected Rory to point him out like she had, much less try to push him into a performance. He’d hoped to speak to her privately, after her set was over. No chance of that happening now. Though he’d done pretty well not being recognized until Rory pointed him out. Most of the coffee-shop patrons were focused on the stage when he’d slipped inside, just in time to hear Rory begin her song.

The song that still had awareness humming in his veins. The mournful melody and soulful lyrics had put him to shame with their truth. He marveled at his own selfishness back then. But he could only dwell on his mistakes so long. He had to focus his efforts on making it up to her.

And if she wanted him to take center stage in this café, then that’s what he would do. As more and more customers turned in his direction, he kept his sights set on the stage and Rory. He tipped his head toward her, acknowledging the challenge, and began making his way from the back of the room up to the front. Several hands clapped him on his back. There were likely former friends here that he’d greet later, but for now, he had a show to put on.

As he took the two short steps onto the platform, Rory began to remove her guitar. She placed it on its stand and moved as if she planned to leave. His hand grabbed her wrist before she could escape. He felt her pulse jumping erratically beneath the skin. Was it the thrill of performing that had her blood pumping? Or did he have something to do with that reaction?

“Don’t go too far,” he warned her.

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

She looked over his shoulder and out at the audience. He didn’t want her trying to sneak out while he was distracted. She’d never been one to break a promise, which is why he tried to force one from her.

“Give me your word that you’re staying.”

She shifted uncomfortably, and he wondered if her plan had been to bolt as soon as she got the chance.

“I’m staying,” she agreed.

He waited, eyeing her, uncaring about the impatient murmurs sounding behind him. She sighed and tugged her wrist free from his grasp.

“I promise,” she agreed.

Satisfied, he reached for the guitar she’d set aside and adjusted the strap to better fit his broad shoulders. Rory hopped off the stage and took a place at the bar, people moving to accommodate her. He kept a steady eye on her until she nodded, and he decided she’d keep her word.

Only then did he turn to the audience.

“How y’all doing tonight?” It was the standard way he opened his performances, giving his audience the chance to express their enthusiasm. Tonight was no exception. The crowded coffeehouse exploded with applause, whistles and hollering.

“How about Miss Rory Callahan? She’s something, isn’t she?”

More shouts and some foot stomping. He glanced Rory’s way, and she was focused solely on him, ignoring the reactions from the crowd. He strummed a few notes to get a feel for the instrument.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking the spotlight away from Rory, since she’s the one you came to see.”

The audience responded with reassurances as Sawyer finished tuning the guitar to his satisfaction. In some ways, it was strange to be performing for such a small group again. He’d grown used to stadium crowds, massive sound systems and rows of bright lights shining down on him. Up here, on such a tiny platform with only a few house lights, he felt himself relax. As much as he loved the thrill and adrenaline of a powerhouse performance, there was something familiar and comforting about such an intimate venue.

“Well, if you don’t mind me playing a song or two, how about we pick things up a little?”

With that, he strummed the first few chords of one of his recent hits, a slightly rockabilly tune about a teenage boy trying to impress a hard-to-win girl. He looked at Rory a few times as he sang and caught her frowning at the lyrics. He wondered if she’d ever heard it before, if she knew he’d written it with her in mind. When they were younger, she’d been a vulnerable, guarded girl, but that had been part of what drew him to her initially. He could see she was wounded, still trying to find her place. But she was tough and unapologetic about being different from the typical teenage girls he knew. She’d caught his heart without him realizing it, and, as the lyrics said, “Drew him in with a smile.”

The audience enjoyed the song, clapping along and singing the chorus in unison with him. When he wrapped it up with a riff on the guitar strings, the crowd broke into rowdy applause.

He raised a hand to settle them. “Glad you enjoyed that,” he offered. “It seems like you guys know some of my music.”

There was a ripple of laughter that went around the room.

“Any requests?”

For the next half hour, Sawyer played several songs from his album and even a tune he hadn’t performed in years, thanks to a request from an old high-school friend in the audience. He kept an eye on Rory as he sang and even managed to catch a smile on her face at one point, which she quickly wiped away when she saw him watching her.

He’d learned to read an audience quite well in his years of performing, especially a small group like this. So when he sensed they were ready, he thumbed a couple softer chords.

“I appreciate you guys giving me the chance to play a few songs here this evening, but I know you didn’t come to hear me. You came for Rory. Some of you know that Rory and I were a joint act for years. Now, I’ve played with a lot of talented people since. But I’ve got to tell you that none of them quite measure up to her.”

There were murmurs of approval moving through the room.

“I don’t know if it’s those Irish roots of hers or something she inherited from her parents, but you’ve got to give it to her—the girl’s got spirit, and she knows music.”

The murmurs grew louder, and a couple people even clapped. He slid a glance Rory’s way. She was looking down at the bar, and though he couldn’t see her face, he suspected she was blushing.

“So, to finish up tonight, I’d like to ask her to come up here and join me.”

Rory’s head snapped up, and his suspicions were confirmed. Her cheeks were tinted pink, and her eyes were wide with surprise.

“And we’ll perform a duet for you.”

There were more whistles and shouts of approval, but Sawyer didn’t pay them any mind. He didn’t need this crowd’s permission. He only needed Rory’s. He looked at her, trying to convey his thoughts with his eyes.

Please. Come and sing with me once more.

He wasn’t sure she’d do it. Rory was stubborn, and she wouldn’t stand for being bullied or manipulated. Neither of which he was trying to do, but he wasn’t sure she’d see it that way. So he was a little surprised, but mostly relieved, when she pushed away from the counter and stood to her feet.

She made her way back to the stage and came to stand beside him. And having her there, it was almost as if the last two years had ceased to exist, and they’d never been separated at all.

* * *

RORY’S HEART WAS thundering in her chest so loudly that she feared the microphone would pick it up. She should have known Sawyer would find a way to turn the situation around on her. But what worried her most was what a thrill it gave her. It had been nearly two years since they’d shared a stage. But standing here next to him, all that time melted away, and for a brief moment, she could have almost convinced herself that nothing had changed.

Sawyer kept the guitar, and though she waited to hear the opening chords, she knew which song he’d choose. As she’d expected, he launched into a duet they’d performed many times—a heartbreaking song about love and loss and the determination to keep going through it all.

He took the first verse, and she waited to join him until the chorus. When she did, their voices blended in such achingly sweet harmony that she had to blink back tears.

Why had Sawyer come back now, after all this time? She’d waited for him at first, thinking he’d realize what he’d done, that he couldn’t live his life without her. But as seasons changed and summer turned into fall and then winter, and she heard his first single on the radio, she had to accept that they were finished. She had spent nearly as much of her life with Sawyer as without him, so it had taken her a long time to adjust to his complete and utter defection. Most days, it still felt a little odd not to see him. They had been such a constant part of each other’s lives that something still felt missing in her day when he wasn’t there, like forgetting to brush her teeth or how to tie her shoes.

Not that she equated her relationship with Sawyer to those things, but he had always been such a steady part of her life. When he’d taken that away, she’d been adrift for a long time. And now here he was, back in the center of her world. She didn’t quite know how to deal with that.

As she sang her part of the song, she felt his eyes on her. She kept her focus on the audience, not wanting to see the look on his face, but at the same time, craving his attention. This was not good. She didn’t want to wish for anything from Sawyer, not even so much as a glance. But having him beside her filled up a vacant pocket of her spirit that she’d tried to forget was empty. Now with the two of them on the stage together, everything that had been misaligned for the last two years shifted into place.

She gave herself over to the song, closing her eyes and soaking in the lyrics and the soft strum of the guitar as their voices blended together on the bridge.

When you get lonely,

I’ll be everywhere you are...

When Sawyer strummed the last note, she kept her eyes closed for only a second longer before the coffeehouse crowd rattled the walls with thunderous applause. She opened her eyes and instead of looking at the audience, her gaze went straight to Sawyer. He was watching her, happiness lining his features. Her heart tugged at the sight of him, those warm blue eyes, the trademark scruff along his jawline and that light brown hair that occasionally fell over his forehead and into his eyes. She had missed him. Too much. She couldn’t let him back in again, after how thoroughly he’d shattered her world with his leaving.

She’d promised him she’d stick around, but their time on the stage was up. She had to get out of there before her heart overrode her head.

“Thanks for a great night, everyone!”

With that farewell, she moved past Sawyer and off the stage. He was still holding her guitar, but she decided she’d pick it up sometime over the weekend. Dave would see it was taken care of.

She nearly tripped down the two steps leading off the stage and began making her way to the door. Several people tried to stop her, but she cut off each of their comments with a thank-you and kept forging her way toward escape.

When she reached the exit, she spared a glance behind her. She saw Sawyer, surrounded by fans but his eyes centered solely on her. His expression had shifted from joy to hurt. He was obviously wounded by her quick departure. For a moment, she wondered if she should wait for him. But no, she couldn’t risk it.

She exited the café and headed for her pickup, at the far end of the parking lot. The sight of the truck’s peeling blue paint caused her to sigh with relief. It was like a refuge, offering shelter from everything going on outside its cozy little cab. Technically, the pickup was Connor’s. He’d started using it after their father’s death. But Rory had a lot of memories wrapped up in the vehicle. Patrick Callahan had purchased it shortly after he’d immigrated to the States with his two young children, following their mother’s death. To this day, the smell of sunbaked vinyl upholstery and engine oil always made her think of Sunday drives, wedged in the middle of the cab between her dad and brother. She hadn’t minded that Connor inherited the pickup because she knew he’d take good care of it, as their father had. But now that the restaurant was doing so well, and Connor was marrying Harper, he’d bought a more family-friendly SUV and given her use of their dad’s old truck.

She nearly ran the last few steps, then pulled open the door with a creak and climbed inside. She never locked it. It wasn’t worth stealing, and she kept nothing of value inside. But when she reached for the keys she usually kept hooked on the belt loop of her jeans, she frowned.

Oh, no. She’d left her keys beneath the counter of the bar inside. She pushed her head against the headrest and groaned. She couldn’t go back for them. No way.

Which meant that if she wanted to avoid Sawyer, she’d better start walking.

* * *

SAWYER MIGHT HAVE missed her if he hadn’t decided to swing by her apartment and make sure she’d made it home okay. It was a thinly veiled excuse to see her, but he didn’t much care at this point. She’d dodged him twice, and while he probably deserved it, he’d been hurt that she’d broken her promise to stick around at the coffee shop. He was preparing what to say to her as he drove, speaking the words aloud to the silence of his rental car.

“Rory, I know I don’t deserve it, but I would appreciate it if you could respect the relationship we had enough to hear me out.”

He cringed, considering how she’d respond to that little speech. It wasn’t as if he’d exhibited a lot of respect for their relationship when he’d dumped her. He drew a breath and tried again.

“It would mean a lot to me if you’d just listen to what I have to say.”

No better. He didn’t think she was much interested in what would mean a lot to him.

He cleared his throat and considered how to rephrase his request, then stopped as he noted a lone figure, striding briskly down the sidewalk ahead. He’d know those stiff shoulders anywhere. He accelerated a few feet ahead and slid the car into an empty space on the street. He killed the engine and exited the driver’s side just as Rory came abreast of the truck. She took one look at him and her jaw went slack.

“You followed me?”

“Hardly. You didn’t give me much of a chance to follow you anywhere after you bailed back at the Lighthouse.” He tried to keep his tone even, but a note of accusation still leaked through. “You promised you’d stay.”

She shifted from one foot to the other, and he recognized guilt in her expression. “I did stay,” she protested. “I stayed for your entire performance. Although if I’d known you planned to ambush me into taking the stage with you—”

“Which was not so different from what you did to me,” he pointed out. He had her there, and he could tell she knew it, too, by the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her shoulders remained set, however.

“Rory, can we please talk?”

“You mean can you talk? I don’t imagine I’ll have much to say. And even if I did, it’s not as if you asked my opinion the last time we talked.”

He grimaced. Okay, so she was still hurt. Not that he could blame her, but maybe it had been a touch of arrogance on his part to assume she’d welcome him back, if not exactly warmly, then at least not with this degree of vehemence.

He glanced down the street. “Look, your apartment is only a few blocks from here. Let me drive you home. I’ll talk on the way. If you don’t like anything I have to say by the time we reach your place...” He drew a breath, afraid to gamble away his chance but knowing he couldn’t exactly keep showing up where he wasn’t wanted. “Then I’ll leave you alone. For good. Deal?”

She didn’t answer him right away but scuffed her heels on the pavement as she considered. After a long minute, during which he was pretty sure he’d held his breath for the entire sixty seconds, she nodded.

“Fine. Just until we reach the apartment.”

He should have felt relief, but he only experienced a wave of apprehension. He had less than five minutes to convince her.

He would have to talk fast.

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