She’s not wrong. “Is she inside?”
“Making herself busy with things that don’t need doing. Sound familiar?” Jovie studies my face. “You’re good for her, you know. First time I’ve seen her happy in years.”
“We’re just making music.”
“Bullshit. She played me the song. That’s not just music, honey. That’s two people who can’t keep their damn hands off each other.”
My face goes hot. “Jovie?—”
“Don’t Jovie me. I’ve known Rye for a long time, watched her build defenses so high she forgot what sunlight felt like. Then you walk in here with your guitar and your puppy dog eyes, and suddenly she’s humming again.” Jovie leans closer. “Whatever you’re here to ask her, the answer’s probably yes. She’s just too scared to say it.”
Inside, The Songbird sits empty except for Rye crouched behind the bar, organizing bottles that were probably already organized. She looks up when the door chimes, going guarded the second she sees me.
“We’re closed.”
“I know.” I set my guitar case against the wall. “Wanted to talk to you about something.”
“If it’s about the song, we already?—”
“It’s not about the song.” I approach the bar slowly, giving her space to maintain distance if she needs it. “It’s about this weekend.”
“What about this weekend?”
“My family wants to meet you.”
The bottle in her hand freezes halfway to the shelf. “Your family.”
“Zara and Levi are having dinner at the ranch Sunday.”
“Levi Austin is your brother-in-law.”
Rye says this as if it’s news.
I nod.
“I Googled you,” she says. “I didn’t mean to, but I did because I was curious. I don’t know why I didn’t put it together sooner. I know Levi . . . well, of him. He was a star long before I started working here, and I remember him marrying a rock chick from LA, but I never realized his wife was your sister.”
“She’s still my sister,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. Rye doesn’t smile. “Anyway, they invited both of us.”
“Both of us.” She sets the bottle down carefully. “As in, together.”
“As in two people who’ve been spending time together and might want to get to know each other better.”
“We established boundaries, Darian.”
“And I’m respecting them. This isn’t about crossing lines. It’s about . . .” I search for the right words. “You met my body. Maybe it’s time to meet my people.”
A laugh escapes her, sharp and surprised. “Did you just quote a country song to me?”
“Maybe. Is it working?”
“No.” But her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile. “I don’t do family dinners.”
“Why not?”
“Because families ask questions. They have opinions. They get attached.” She resumes her organizing with unnecessary precision. “And because what we have doesn’t require meeting anyone’s family.”
“What do we have?”
