The corners of his mouth rose. “Let’s hope the French toast is a close substitute.”
Luke parked in a garage half a block from the restaurant. When they were dating, he’d always reached for her hand when they walked together, but now it was like he actively avoided her. He touched her lower back to guide her around obstacles in their path but would remove it as soon as they were passed.
After that kiss last night and his comment that he wanted her closer, she expected him to reach for her, but he felt more like a polite, distant acquaintance than someone who wanted to be in a relationship.
Why was he holding back?
The cafe looked like any other corner diner and they were seated quickly. Rowan saw the waitress’s eyes widen when she brought their waters, but she managed to tamp down her obvious excitement long enough to take their orders. At least until she pushed through the door to the kitchen. Then she let out a squeal that could be heard in the dining room.
Rowan raised her eyebrows at Luke. “Doesthathappen a lot?”
He grinned. “More and more lately. Even before…you know. The good thing about Nashville is everyone is really low-key about seeing celebrities because they just live their lives here. They go to the grocery store, they take their kids to school, they pump their own gas. It’s normal.”
“You do know you’re one of thosethey, right?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Not really. I think of Tim McGraw and Faith Hill, Vince Gill, or Keith Urban when I think of celebrities.”
Rowan’s eyes widened. “Keith Urban is married to Nicole Kidman. I love her. Do you know them? Can you invite them to dinner?”
He laughed. “Sorry, Row. I don’t know them.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Darn.”
He kept laughing at her while he played with his straw wrapper. “I still get that way when I meet people I’ve looked up to my whole life.”
Their plates arrived quickly and they talked while they ate. Not about anything important—how their families were doing, what friends from high school were up to, but not them. Not what was happening between them. Not what either of them expected out of her trip.
The entire day was like that. Lots of doing, not a lot of talking. Luke hadn’t been kidding when he said he had a full day planned.
After breakfast he took her to the Country Music Hall of Fame, then the Ryman Auditorium for a behind the scenes tour. She’d always wanted to do it when she’d lived there but couldn’t justify spending the money on it while she was in school. He bought a picnic lunch to eat on the grounds of the Parthenon, something they’d done when they were in college and too broke for the six-dollar entry fee, then they toured the art collection inside. From there she thought they were headed back to his house, possibly for a nap, but he pulled into the parking lot of the Belle Meade plantation.
Rowan rested her head against the seat for a second before pushing her door open and hopping down out of the truck and waiting for him to walk around. He laced his fingers with hers and a small frisson of electricity shot up her arm, just like it had all day, every time he’d touched her.
Every nerve ending was hyper-aware of him to the point that she felt the small hairs on her arm sway in whatever direction he was. Was it too much to ask for the two of them to spend some time alone?
She’d figured it out after the Ryman—Luke was taking her to all the places they talked about going when they were poor college students only worried about having enough money for gas to drive between Clarksville, where he’d gone to school, and Nashville, where she’d gone to school. He seemed so excited to take her everywhere that she didn’t want to burst his bubble, but she wanted to spend time with just Luke—not spend hours at tourist attractions.
They joined a group getting ready to go through the house and followed along. Rowan admitted the history was interesting, even if she did have a visceral objection to it as a slaveholder plantation. Halfway through the tour, a few girls started whispering and looking their way. He had been recognized again. They made it all the way to the end of the tour before they approached en masse.
“Hi. Are you Luke Stone?” one of the girls asked, eyes wide and bright.
“I am,” he said.
“Oh my gosh. We love you. I mean…we’re really big fans,” another girl said.
“Can we get a picture?”
“Sure.” He joined the girls and took one of their cell phones to take a selfie.
“Here.” Rowan held out her hand. “I can take a picture with everyone’s phones.”
“Oh, no! We want you in the picture too,” the first girl said.
Rowan shook her head. “You don’t even know who I am.”
“You’re Rowan,” the second girl said matter-of-factly. “Everyone who follows Luke Stone knows who you are. You’re all anyone’s talking about on his fan page.”
“Oh…really?”
