“You sound just like my sister,” Erin muttered. “No, it’s not on Instagram. I printed flyers.”
Sarah laughed, quickly scrolling through Ally Finley’s social media followers to search for Heartache locals. “I can hang flyers, but I’ll do this first. What are the hours?”
Once she got the details and set up a simple event page online, Sarah promised to be at The Strand on Wednesday if she could convince her father to stay in town that long. She said good-night to Erin and hopped in her car. Before putting the key in the ignition, she finished up some tasks on her phone. She was in the middle of approving a new follower on Twitter—thinking it was someone from Heartache—when she recognized the name of her mom’s hometown in Louisiana. Belle Chasse.
Coincidence?
That creepy sensation she’d experienced earlier crawled over her skin again. Looking closer, Sarah saw the woman’s name was Becky, but her actual Twitter handle was “lockeduplove47,” which seemed icky. Feeling a bad vibe, Sarah deleted the request and clicked out of the app.
Tossing the cell phone on her passenger seat, she had all the more reason to work at the salon for a little while this week. She needed to see Ally Finley again and quiz her about Lucas—the girlfriend, the reputation, all of it. Sarah was edgy, restless and ready to come out of her skin. And she’d run for miles earlier today! Sure, she could buy more alcohol and drink herself into happy oblivion, but it seemedmore fun to give her body over to Lucas until she couldn’t think, could only feel.
Who better to help her than the boy with the worst reputation in town?
Chapter Seven
Erin wished shehad her sledgehammer.
It was morning. She was at home hand painting a new sign for Last Chance Vintage in her backyard. It should be relaxing, but she was impatient with the careful detail work. What she really wanted to do was take a sledgehammer to something. She was frustrated with everything—herself most of all.
Jamming the paintbrush back into the mason jar of red paint, she stretched her aching back, taking deep breaths to try to relax. She worked at an old picnic table she’d asked her brother to drag into the field beyond her lawn. She could spill all the paint she wanted without worry. With a million things to prepare before the filming started at the store, Erin had taken a few days off from working the register so she could focus.
Too bad her thoughts were stuck on a producer from out of town and the stark pain she’d seen in his eyes the night before. Remy Weldon was in far worse shape than she was emotionally. Which meant he wanted to avoid romantic entanglements, too, which was helpful. But shewas incredibly attracted to him. And now that she’d glimpsed the personal hell he was going through, she didn’t know how she would stay away. She’d never been the nurturer type—that was more Heather’s thing—yet every latent feminine and gentle instinct inside her wanted to wrap Remy in her arms. Hold him.
And yes, sex him until he couldn’t see any woman but her. There had been moments last night when he’d touched her and the touch had turned so electric she was sure he must feel the same way. What if they’d been put in each other’s paths to help heal one another? Maybe the chemistry between them could burn away some of his old guilt. For that matter, she’d be glad to torch some of hers, too. Talking to Remy about Patrick—and seeing the weight of all Remy’s baggage, made her realize she needed to stop carrying around so much guilt about being with a cheating, no-good bastard.
Time to move on.
The idea wouldn’t let her go.
“Anyone home?” A shout from the other end of the yard yanked her attention from her anger at Patrick. And the mix of new feelings she seemed to be developing for Remy.
Bethany and their soon-to-be sister-in-law, Nina Spencer, stood on the back patio of Erin’s house, carrying a bright blue cooler between them. Bethany wore a straw sun hat as big as an umbrella. Nina carried a basket with a towel peeping out of the top, and Erin would bet her last nickel it contained some kind of amazing baked good. After working for years in a specialty cupcake shop in Manhattan, Nina had moved back to Heartache and reunited with her high school sweetheart, Erin’s brother Mack. Today she wore a T-shirt with the Finleys’ logo on it for the bar Mack owned in Nashville. They divided their time between his homethere and a converted barn apartment on the Finley family property.
“You come bearing gifts?” Erin asked, drawn by the promise of food, help and the welcome camaraderie of sisterhood. After keeping a low profile in town for the past six months, she was ready to start enjoying herself again.
Forgiving herself. Maybe seeing how much Remy was beating himself up over something he’d had no control over had made her ease up on the guilt.
“We brought a little of everything,” Bethany announced, setting the cooler on the deck between the grill and the seating area. “Do you want to work first and eat later, or are you ready for a break?”
“So ready for a break.” Capping her paint jar, Erin took off her apron and left it on the picnic table.
Her sisters-in-law exchanged a look.
“What?” Erin joined them on the patio, kicking off her shoes as her feet hit the outdoor carpet.
“We made bets on how much hard labor we’d have to do before we got to try Nina’s cupcakes,” Bethany admitted. “Show her, Nina.”
“They’re lemon-berry.” Nina lifted the tea towel on the basket to show off neat rows of yellow-frosted dreaminess. “I frosted them a little too soon after they came out of the oven, but I was dying to try them.”
Erin inhaled the sweet-tangy scent. “Oh, wow. It seems only right that we eat these before we do anything else. Let me just run inside to wash up and I’ll bring us some drinks.”
“No need.” Bethany was already digging in the cooler. “Nina spent time in catering, so she thought of everything.”
Five minutes later, ensconced in a dark wicker patio chair with cream-colored cushions, Erin sipped her peachBellini and took the smallest bites of her cupcake imaginable to make it last longer.
“This is so delicious. I can’t begin to tell you.”
“I think the frosting works with it,” Nina observed, swiping her finger over the top of the cupcake to take a frosting-only bite. “It doesn’t seem like overkill to me.”
