She’d checked her Wharton application—just to see. No movement toward acceptance. She’d been to the campus, had a tour, sat in a class, joked with the admissions team. She felt sure she should have an acceptance letter by now.
Drained from the length of her day, she shut off the lights, locked the diner, and walked through the warm Tennessee evening toward her car—and its shiny new tires—with sounds of music rolling over the top of the diner.
Ten years ago, the town had still worn its old-fashioned ways with the downtown sidewalks rolling up at the proverbial five o’clock. Only the diner remained open. And a stroll down any Hearts Bend street had folks waving at you from their front porch.
But these days, with so much fame living in town—did she mention that Lauchtenland’s Prince John and Princess Gemma had a home here?—Hearts Bend embraced more modern ways. The shops stayed open until nine. The park held a concert series year-round. All the while clinging to the good traditions of the past, like folks sitting on their stoops and waving to the neighbors.
She slowed as she approached her car. A man leaned against the hood of her VW. Elizabeth slipped her backpack from her shoulder, ready to swing.
“You’re leaning on my car.” The man jerked upright and swerved toward her. Ryder. She lowered her backpack with a loud exhale. “You scared me.”
“Sorry. I saw you were still in the diner—” He moved toward her. “I thought I’d make sure you got in your car safely. This is your car, right?”
“Are you following me?” She tossed her backpack into the passenger seat. “I’ll have you know my cousin is a Hearts Bend police officer.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a TWRA agent with Cheatham WMA, which has way more authority than a local police officer. Also, I saved his life, so—” He shrugged and made a funny face.
Elizabeth laughed. “I think I need to hear this story.”
“I don’t know…if I tell you, then all the mystery will be gone, and what will we talk about over dinner?”
Smooth. Clever. He’d picked up some moves over the years. “Maybe,” she said, trying to sound a bit mysterious herself.
Ryder had always fascinated her a bit. Two years older, a friend of her cousins, he’d never given her more than little-sister pat-on-the-head attention. Until the summer she was seventeen and they’d sat up all night on the high school bleachers talking about anything and everything. Oh, Pops had been so mad when she came home with the sunrise. Afterward, Ryder hung out with her almost every night, sitting on the back deck until the mosquitoes drove them to the basement to watch movies.
However, she wasn’t seventeen anymore. She was twenty-five and three years behind in her life plan. Which meant romance must be pushed back three years, or more. Nothing for her heart until thirty-two or -three. Maybe thirty-four.
Yet this wasn’t just any boy asking her to dinner. This was dark-haired, dark-eyed Ryder Donovan, who’d filled out his young-man skin and bones with muscle and might.
“Maybe?” Ryder said. “Is that a definitely maybe or a sort-of maybe. Perhaps a maybe, maybe?”
“More like a maybe-because-I-work-most-nights, but yeah, dinner might be nice.” There. A nice, soft out. Noncommittal without rejecting him.
“I’ll pencil that on my calendar. But for now…” He motioned to the park. “We could grab a spot on the green and listen to the last set.”
“I would love to, really, but I’m exhausted, and I have to be at Dorsey Furniture by eight. Staff meeting at nine. Will doesn’t believe in working remote. Yet.”
“Then I’ll say goodnight.”
“Good night, Ryder, and hey, it was good to see you.”
On his back porch, with the sounds and scent of summer rising from the trees, Ryder eased into his oak rocker and popped the top from a bottle of water. He set the chair into motion while his German shepherds, Fred and Ginger, slept at his feet.
From his hilly perch off South Broad between Scott’s Farm and the Cumberland River, the glow from the town center traced the treetops. He’d stayed for the last set in the park, keyed up from seeing Elizabeth.
On his way to his truck, he ran into country superstar Buck Mathews and his wife, JoJo, sitting on the tailgate of their truck, also listening to the last artist to play. They invited Ryder to join them and, for the next hour, chatted about life and love.
Buck won CMA Entertainer of the Year. Again. But he was really humble about it. The man simply loved making music.
Ryder never envied his friend’s success. He appreciated that he stayed connected to his humble roots. Ryder had grown up with wealth and knew all too well it did not buy happiness.
What he envied in Buck was his marriage. The way JoJo looked at him. The way he checked with her as he told his stories. But when Buck leaned close and said, “Keep this to yourself for a day or two, but Jo’s pregnant. Twins. We’re announcing it this week,” his heart unraveled with a bit of envy.
“Congratulations.” He slapped Buck a high five and hugged JoJo.
A family. That’s what he wanted. Ever since he was a kid. Then JoJo asked, in all sincerity, “What about you, Ryder? Anyone special? You’re such a great guy, I can’t believe no girl has snatched you up.”
“Yeah, well, so far it’s just me and the dogs up on the hill.” No offense, Fred and Ginger.
