“Yes, please,” Mom says with a hopeful smile.“And once you’re done, could you stop by Mr.Gimble’s?He has that order ready for me.”
“Which order?”I ask, already knowing I don’t want the answer.
“The one with the tiny wooden birdhouses.”
I stare.“Mom!Why?”
“They’re for my winter craft fair table,” she says, as if that explains everything.And maybe at this point, it does.
I shake my head, laughing as I shrug into my coat.“Fine.Spray paint first, tiny birdhouses second.”
“And books third!”she calls as I head toward the back door.
I glance over my shoulder and grin.
“You know me too well.”
“Buy at least one romance,” she demands.“The steamy kind.Your face needs more color these days.”
“Mom!”
But she just winks and waves her paintbrush like a magic wand.
I step outside to help her move the giant foldable sign onto the drop cloth she already placed on the deck—because she always plans ahead—and then I grab my keys.
Spray paint.
Birdhouses.
Bookstore.
A nice, simple morning.
And nope, I don’t have the faintest idea that fate has other plans for me at the hardware store.
Plans with broad shoulders, familiar eyes, and a voice that once made the whole world sing.
ChapterSix
Nathan
The smell hits me first—sawdust,fertilizer, and whatever weird chemical makes every hardware store in America smell exactly the same.
It’s comforting in a way I didn’t expect.
Hell, I don’t remember the last time I walked into a store myself.When I’m on tour, I have someone who runs all my errands, and the same for when I’m not on tour.
I mean, let’s face it, I never felt at home in Hollywood.
Funny how this is the first time I’ve admitted that, even if only to myself.
I grab a cart and head toward the paint aisle, half-distracted by the mental list I’m building.Sandpaper.Staples.Safety goggles.Maybe some wood glue?
But then I seeherand all rational thought just leaves my head.
I know it’s her.
Unmistakably her.
