He swallowed his bite of sandwich before wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I was what you’d call a late bloomer. My parents were drug addicts so my childhood was about surviving.”
She covered his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry.”
He appreciated her gesture of comfort. He forgot how a simple touch could feel so good.
“Just the luck of the draw.” This wasn’t a story he told often, but he was willing to share it with Ivy. “My mom and dad abandoned me when I was eight. I went to school one morning, and when I came home, the apartment was empty and they were gone. The landlord called the police, and I ended up in the foster care system.”
“That had to be difficult.”
He shrugged. “Yes and no. I bounced from one foster to another but then landed with a family who is still part of my life even though I aged out of the system. They gave me my first guitar and lessons one Christmas.”
Understanding shone in her eyes. “A life-changing gift.”
“In every sense of the word. They encouraged me to also sing and write my own songs. When they realized I was serious about music, they bought me a small keyboard and gave me piano lessons.” If not for his foster parents, who’d been oh-so-loving and accepting, giving whatever child who passed through their door what they could, Nash had no idea how he might have turned out. That was why he bought them a new house before he’d bought one for himself. “Sid and Aimee Bennett are amazing. I love them so much.”
Ivy’s lips parted. She moved her hand from on top of his. “You took their name.”
“It’s my stage name.”
“What’s your real name?” she asked, raising her sandwich.
“That’s top secret.”
Ivy stared up at him through her eyelashes. “Please.”
Nash might as well give in because saying no to her wouldn’t happen. Not today at least. “Promise not to tell?”
“You can trust me. Even without the NDA.”
“I know.” Warmth flowed through Nash. “My real name is Neville Regis.”
She repeated it. Grinned. “Sounds like a British lord or duke.”
“Or a pretentious snob, which is about as far from my crack house upbringing as you can imagine.” He laughed. “I never liked it, but the real reason I took a stage name is because of my birth parents. I didn’t want them to look for me. Especially if I found some kind of success with my music.”
Ivy studied him. “You seem more like a Nash than a Nev or Neville.”
“That was R.J.’s idea. He came up with Nashville because it was like Neville and then shortened the name to Nash.”
“I like it.”
“Me, too.” He ate his sandwich.
A comfortable silence descended between them with occasional whistles and laughter from others in the park. Nash could get used to this, which shocked him. But he realized the biggest draw of this picnic wasn’t the food or the setting but Ivy.
“Thank you for making today special.” He sipped from a bottle of lemonade. “I needed this.”
“You’re welcome. So did I.” She leaned back on her hands. “It’s such a pretty day. I have to work later, but we have time for a walk if you’re up for it.”
“As long as I ditch the beanie, and there aren’t hills, I’ll be good.”
“We’ll keep it short so you don’t re-injure yourself.”
“You can kiss it better if I do.” Nash couldn’t stop himself from flirting with her. He wasn’t looking for romance, but he wouldn’t mind another kiss.
Her face flushed. “How about you promise not to hurt yourself more, and I kiss you now?”
Score!One kiss—okay, a second one—didn’t mean they were getting romantic. Besides, R.J. would never know. “That sounds even better.”
