“Is that why you’re breaking in? Revenge on the merch line?” I ask.
She doesn’t say anything, so I continue talking. “I’d be upsettoo if they gave me a dress with a mediocre singer on it.” I gesture to where the T-shirt drapes well below her belt line.
She takes a step closer and into the streetlight. I can finally see her smile bloom ever-so-slightly as she grabs the hem mid-thigh.
It’s pretty, her smile. I don’t know why, but I want to see more of it. She still hasn’t owned up to a reason for trying to get in the building, so I take another stab at guessing.
“Wait, I know. You forgot your candied pecans, didn’t you? That’s what everyone comes to these things for.”
It works. This time it’s accompanied with a dimple and striking white teeth, making me forget everything I was worried about thirty seconds before I saw her face. She’s beautiful, and that’s saying something. A large percentage of fans that attend my concerts are the opposite sex. Ones who throw themselves at me with heart-covered signs and in-your-face cleavage—the opposite of what this woman is doing. Her XL shirt is drowning her entire figure. It’s leaving everything up to the imagination, and I’m fighting not to let mine run wild as she steps closer to me. I haven’t had sex with anyone since I lost my fiancée, and there’s an embarrassing amount of pent-up pressure in a certain region.
“How did you know?” she asks.
I nod toward the door. “The way you worked over that metal bar. I can spot a feral nut lover when I see one.”
She acknowledges my humor with a chuckle and takes another confident stride forward. And another. “And what’s your excuse for being out here?”
I finally look at her again. Her attention is consuming—big blue eyes studying me with deep curiosity. She clearly missed my stage exit.
Perspiration beads on my palms—when did that happen?—and I rub them against the stiff denim on mythighs. I clear my throat. “They announced the supply shortage… yep—candied nuts, shirts, beer—it was ridiculous. I was just as pissed as you were.”
She feeds me another laugh. It’s flattering.
Her hands plant at her hips. They rubber-band her shirt to her narrow torso, leaving far less to the imagination than before.Attraction, that’s all this is. I try to recall the last time I felt it. It’s been a while. I always thought El was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Dark curly hair, chocolate brown eyes, high cheekbones, and she liked a man in a cowboy hat. It worked in my favor. But our connection was never thisvisceral. I don’t know what to do with my hands, my eyes, myanything.
“Well, what kind of crew are you running around here, Rhett Dawson? What did you do?” she teases.
Ran out on them. That’s the truth. Hundreds of good, hard-working people who I couldn’t do this production without. I let them all down tonight. It’s why I feel so guilty.
A siren breaks the tension that’s building between us with her unanswered question. We both let it capitalize our attention. The ambulance blazes down the street and then disappears.
“Do you mind?” she asks, gesturing to the spot beside me on the ground.
Even though I came out here to be alone, I’m not ready to watch her walk away yet. I want to hear what else she has to say, which is new for me. I happen to like being alone. I’ve made it so I neverneedanyone in my life. But then she came charging down that pavement and distracted me from an earth-shattering moment, and without even knowing it, defused the situation. Made me feel better. I owe her. The least I could do is let her sit.
“Sure.”
Her shirt—my face—drapes over her bent knees when she tucks them against her chest.
“Was the door really going to work if I pushed on the left side?” she asks.
I stare at the metal rectangle—the only barrier between me and the mess I made. I’mgladshe didn’t get it open. Thankful she seems to have given up on her reason for trying in the first place.
“It looks like you’ll never know.”
She sighs at the door. “I guess not. Who needs a hat with a mediocre singer on it when I can buy a Chris Stapleton one online instead.”
A smirk plays on her lips.
She’s witty. I’ve always liked that in a woman. El appreciated my humor but rarely mademelaugh. Which isn’t a fair comparison given the mother she has. There was no room for joking around in the Blackwood household when everyone was always buried under a mountain of expectations. Comparisons are also why I haven’t paid any attention to the opposite sex since El died. No one can hold a candle to the mother of my child.
But I suddenly have a strong urge to see whatthiswoman looks like inmyhat, even if she’ll never know how much she saved me tonight. Call it my way of paying her back.
I scan the area until I spot it not far away. The large brim managed to ring itself around the tour bus’s side mirror when I threw it. I push off the ground and unhook it, then squat down in front of her, caging her in with my forearm pressed to the bus behind her. I attempt to fit the cowboy hat on her head. It gets caught on the clip in her hair. She laughs and slides the prongs from her silky strands. They fan around her shoulders, and my nose fills with the scent of lemon as my hat sinks on her crown. She tips her chin back, the brim falling with it, and the moon reflects a milky orb in the deepest blue of her eyes.
“I take it back,” she says as they fall to my mouth, sendingan electric current flowing between us like two magnets trying their best to stay apart. My body is begging me to close the gap—toss off that hat just so I can kiss her. But then she finishes her thought. “I bet you run a great crew. They’re lucky to have you.”
The balloon around this suspended moment pops.
