“Sorry.” He put his guitar down and shrugged. “Just trying to help.”
“Help?” She tilted her head, drawing out the moment just to mess with him. “You saved my breakup song.”
His eyes lit up, his smile quick and easy. “You like it, then?”
“No, Clayton.” She let the silence hang for a beat before exhaling. “I love it.”
His brows lifted. “Glad to hear it. But . . .” He let out a low whistle. “I thoughtmybreakup song was harsh. But yours? Brutal.”
“Exactly what I was going for.” She laughed. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He reached behind him, popped open the bar fridge, and grabbed a beer. “Drink? We should celebrate.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I hate beer. Unless it’s Corona.”
Without missing a beat he reached back and pulled out a clear glass bottle. “I know.”
Her stomach did a little flip. “How do you know?”
“You told me at the Bluebird.”
She frowned, searching her memory. “I did?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded and opened the bottle with a Jack Daniel’s church key.
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you have an endorsement deal I don’t know about?”
He chuckled, passing her the beer. “Nah. Just a souvenir.”
She hesitated, rolling the bottle between her palms. The question had been sitting in the back of her throat for a while, but now, with the quiet between them, it pushed its way out.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He glanced at her, amused. “That is a question,” he said with a smirk. “Go ahead, shoot.”
She exhaled, her fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. “Did you have more bad days than good when you were married?”
His smirk faded. His grip on his bottle stilled, the easy rhythm of the moment fracturing just a little. His gaze flickered—maybe toward the past, maybe toward something he hadn’t let himself think about in a while.
He sighed and glanced at the ceiling, the weight of something unspoken settling between them. Regret twisted in her gut. She never should have asked. It wasn’t her business, and honestly she didn’t want to know. The rumors were bad enough—whispers of cheating, betrayal. Hearing his side wouldn’t change the fact that the damage was done.
“Afraid I did, Jamie.” He only said her name when he was being serious, which was rare. He was forever telling corny jokes and making silly faces—in other words, being Clayton.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” She gave him an opportunity to back out of the answer, or at least not elaborate on it.
He lifted the bottle and took a gulp. “Lord, it was bad. I mean, real bad. Right from the jump, if I’m being honest. Tammy’s five years olderthan me, was fresh off her divorce, and we met at a baseball game—me on the mound, her singing the anthem, like something out of a rom-com.
I had a crush on her because hell, I was a fan. But being a fan and knowing somebody ain’t the same thing. Didn’t know a damn thing about the real Tammy. Sure as hell didn’t know about that temper of hers—”
“I have a temper,” Jamie confessed.
“Yours is harmless.”
“And Tammy’s wasn’t?”
“Nah, hers is a whole different kind of wild.” He took a slow sip of his beer. “So I told her I played guitar and she just grinned, said it was cute. Then she invited me to her show that night and man, I was flat-out in awe of her. Back then I didn’t know the first thing about women.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not that I’m claiming to be an expert now, but the only girl I’d ever dated was my high school sweetheart, who up and married a doctor as soon as she got the chance.”
“Thisisa rom-com movie,” Jamie interrupted.
