“I’ll be ready in a few,” I said, pausing next to her.
“Are we in the clear?”
Not if I didn’t get away from her. The urge to push her back and see if she’d let me sneak more of those tantalizing kisses was strong. I ordered my feet to move. “We’re clear.” Before I turned into my bedroom, I glanced back. “Next weekend?” I’d have the house to myself, and I wouldn’t think about my request any harder than that.
Desire filled her gaze. “Next weekend.”
June
I was in a chair on the porch, guitar in my lap, a coffee on the little table, and a notepad full of notes.
A sixth full song had poured out of me. From Monday to Thursday, I’d outlined the melody, then the chorus, and filled it all in with lyrics.
I was close to a full album.
Everything I wanted was within my grasp. A potential record-breaking album. Perhaps some chart-toppers. And a world tour.
I was on the cusp.
June Kerrigan, tragic homeless orphan, would headline a world tour. I pressed a hand against my stomach. Nerves were lighting up. Anticipation bloomed in my belly, mushrooming larger until I could vibrate with excitement. Fear was right next to it. Anxiety that the cloud would dissipate and my chances would vanish. The last tour had been... a lot. A lot of travel, a lot of work, and thanks to Finn, a lot of drama. But I wanted more. I hated leaving the stage after a handful of songs. I also delighted in hearing that concertgoers had bought tickets for me and not the headliner.
As long as I cranked this album out, I’d be ready.
But I also wanted the man.
How hard would it be to leave him behind?
This wasn’t the first time I’d asked myself that question. The answer was taking longer each time.
The morning had dawned beautiful and quiet. High on my writing, I’d queried a few managers. I’d startedwith the ones Lucy had detested. Two hadn’t called me back and one had told me she was full. But now word would be out that I was looking for a manager. People might think I was a diva and had fired Lucy as soon as I thought I was too big for her, but I didn’t care.
The longer I was in Montana, the less I cared about the politics in Nashville.
Another weekend was here, and I had a tune in my head for another song. Some lyrics even. Lyrics about secrets.
I had a secret. And he could do the most amazing things with his fingers.
My phone buzzed and Wynter’s name popped up.
I answered and put the phone on speaker. The birds wouldn’t share our conversation. “Hey, girlie.” I set the guitar aside.
“Hey, Junie. Got a minute?”
I tensed. If this was anI miss you all the way from Denvercall, she wouldn’t sound so serious. “What’s wrong?”
“Ruby called. She thought you’d rather hear from me.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What’s wrong?” My blissful social media hiatus was coming to an end.
“A picture of you and Rhys at Curly’s has gone viral.”
Cold washed over me, leaving behind fragments of panic as the meaning sank in. “What? How? I’m in Bourbon Canyon all the time and no one cares.”
“No one cares that you’re here to visit family. But when you’re cozy in a booth with your high school sweetheart? The public is quite interested.”
I groaned. “What are they saying?” I would have to download the apps again. I had to see for myself, readthe comments, track the speculation. But Ruby had been correct. I’d rather have my sister, someone who cared about me, spill the dirty details.
“Well, it took a few days from when it was posted.”
