“That’s what matters.”
The drive to the ranch passes in comfortable silence broken by occasional directions and observations about the changing landscape. Rye watches the countryside roll past her window, and I catch myself stealing glances at her profile when traffic allows.
“Tell me about them,” she says when we turn onto the gravel road leading to Levi’s property. “Your family. What should I know?”
“Zara’s going to study you like you’re a song she’s trying to learn. She’s protective, especially since everything that happened with Van.”
“Van?”
“You Googled me, but didn’t read about Van?”
Rye lifts her shoulder.
“Do you remember when we were working on the song and I told you about my best friend, and former bandmate? The one I considered my brother?” I don’t wait for her to answer before continuing. “That’s Van, Zara’s ex. She caught him cheating.”
“Like hired a PI?”
I shake my head and navigate around a pothole. “No, caught in the act, in our publicist’s office with the publicist’s assistant. It was messy. Van wasn’t loyal. He betrayed my sister. Me. Just an overall shitty human. The point is, Zara’s careful about who gets close to people she loves.”
“And she loves you.”
“Despite all evidence to the contrary, yes.”
Rye stares at the house rising in front of us. Modern farmhouse style with wraparound porches and skylights,surrounded by white fencing that stretches toward rolling hills dotted with horses.
“This is beautiful,” she says quietly.
“Wait until you see the inside.”
“Darian.” Her hand finds my arm as I reach for the door handle. “What if this goes badly?”
“Then we leave early and get ice cream on the way home.”
“And if it goes well?”
“Then we figure out what comes next.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Best I can do.”
She takes a deep breath, gathering courage. “Okay. Let’s meet your family.”
The front door opens before we reach the porch steps. Stormy appears, all long legs and attitude, wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top that shows off her dancer’s posture.
“Hey,” Stormy says as she holds the door open for us.
“Stormy,” I say as I guide Rye up the stairs. “This is Rye Hayes. Rye, this is my niece, Stormy Austin.”
Much to my surprise, Stormy grins from ear-to-ear. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says as she shakes Rye’s hand. “My friend played a showcase at your bar and signed with a producer she met there.”
“Nice to meet you, Stormy. Thank you for sharing that story. I love hearing all the happy that comes from The Songbird.”
“Dad’s grilling enough food to feed Nashville, and Z’s . . . well she’s doing what she does best.”
“Pacing?” I ask.
Stormy nods. “Always pacing.”
