Her eyes light at the mention of her husband. “Yes, but I don’t think Caspian would know anything. He’s only lived here a year longer than me. We need somebody from Indigo Hills.”
“Fine.”
She texts Nash. She types something on her phone and gets a response right away. “He says it could be Declan Wilder of Wilder Industries.”
I immediately grab my phone and do a Google search, my hand flying to my mouth.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Alex’s words have a tinge of excitement. “Oh my god, he is hot. Reminds me a little bit of Caspian. Has that broody, square-jawed look about him.”
The scruff of beard, the broad shoulders, the bedroom eyes. “It’s definitely him.”
“Oooh. You’re in luck.”
I look at Alex. “Why is that?”
“Because Wilder Industries is just outside of town. Declan lives here.”
Of course he does.
Needing to clear my head, I grab my purse and an envelope that needs to be delivered to a building two blocks over. Sunridge Records has two locations. This one in town, and one out near Twisted Whiskey, my boss Nash’s ranch. He and Alex bought some property next door and built a recording compound with guest cottages right on the banks of the Blue Canyon River. It’s a place for artists to get inspired and write.
We also have a location in the old bank building in the historic district of Indigo Hills. It’s pretty unique, with the main floor having a reception area and recording studio, and the other two floors holding offices and artist apartments. When our sound engineer is looking for a specific sound for a song, he likes to usethe bank vault because the result is incredible. That’s why we’re here in town today. That and Walker James is staying on-site.
I step into the cool air, the blue sky cloudless. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the way the weather in Texas ping-pongs from warm and mild to cool to cold all within the space of a week.
Living in a new place is exciting. I have lived in Nashville my whole life. I’m well-traveled, so I’ve never felt confined. The Winthrops own a chateau in France, a villa in Italy, and an apartment in Manhattan. But my home has always been Nashville.
I think back to my conversation with my mother and father to let them know I wanted to move to Indigo Hills. They took it surprisingly well, encouraging me to keep my Nashville home as a real estate investment. But I know it’s really in the hope that I will move back home some day. And I’m open to that. But the more time I spend in Indigo Hills, the more it feels like home. The vibe is similar. Outside of Music Row, it’s a small-town feel. The people are nice. The countryside is gorgeous. I’m not sure where I will end up, and that’s okay with me. I love my job and what I’m doing. Who knows? Someday, maybe I’ll work for a nonprofit.
I head to a historical building with a bakery on the first floor and offices on the second and third. Nash is a member of the Indigo Hills Rejuvenation Collective, which works closely with the Chamber of Commerce. Nash has a PA who works for him part-time, whom he shares with one of his buddies from high school that has a ranch adjacent to his. She’s at Echo Ridge today. So I step in whenever Nash needs me to.
As I walk up the stairs towards the chamber offices, a behemoth of a man steps down at the same time. I freeze on the second step the same way he freezes on the landing.
Declan.
He’s in jeans, worn cowboy boots, a plaid button-down, his brown hair curled slightly over his ears, his eyes holding mine. He waits on the landing while I walk up, stopping to join him.
Before I can speak, footsteps echo from above. A woman in heels starts down the stairs, talking loudly on her phone. The stairwell is narrow, barely wide enough for two people to pass.
Declan’s hand wraps around my upper arm, warm and firm, as he gently pulls me against the wall to let her by. His body shields mine, his chest inches from my face, and everywhere his fingers touch feels like it’s on fire. I can smell that same clean, earthy scent from Austin, and my breath goes shallow.
The woman passes without even glancing at us, but Declan doesn’t move right away. His thumb brushes against my arm, just once, and I swear I feel it down to my toes.
Finally, he steps back, his hand sliding away slowly. “Sorry. Tight fit.”
I force words out. “It’s fine.”
“Hi, Declan.”
“Hi, Bree.”
His intense gaze holds mine as the seconds pass. Neither one of us says anything to the point where it’s now awkward.
“So you live in Indigo Hills?”
I’m not really sure what else to say.
“Over by the university. Where do you and Cal live?”
