“I agree. Usually, someone just arranges snacks at the dog park, but this is so much better.” Blaire Bradley, a Boston transplant spending the summer at her holiday house, leans toward us.
I grin. “Did you try the cupcakes?”
“I couldn’t resist. The lemon ones were so good,” Lola answers, her dark eyes gleaming. “By the way, will your boss be making an appearance?”
“And what boss do you mean?” I ask, playing innocent.
“Don’t be coy, Daisy. It doesn’t suit you,” Mrs. Bradley retorts. “This is the Vanders’ estate. So that means that you’re either working for Ryder Black or his brother, Brendan. And both are equally dreamy. A billionaire businessman and a musician.” She sighs. “Though, when I was younger, I was always partial to a bad boy, so Ryder would have been my first choice.”
Lola and I laugh.
“That’s why I love you, Mrs. Bradley,” I say to the woman who looks to be a well-preserved sixty-year-old. “Always surprising me. I want to hear all about you and the bad boys,” I say with a grin, deftly changing the subject.
As she happily recounts the story of her rebellious youth when her parents thought she was at college, but she was really on the road with a band, I turn to Ryder’s window, wondering if he’s up yet.
Like me, Ryder is inherently a night owl. I told him I was having a few friends over for Archie today, but I failed to mention the extent of the puppy pool playdate.
I feel a brief twinge of doubt. Perhaps I should have cleared the event with him. After all, he’s serious about his privacy. And this is a lot of people traipsing around his lawn and pool area. Even if the inside of the house is off-limits.
This is how I get myself into trouble. I lead with my heart and not my head, and don’t always think through the repercussions. But I haven’t been able to shake Mrs. Halle’s comments that the estate was filled with people back in the day, and it seems so sad and empty now. I just wanted to fill it with fun.
This morning, with the sounds of laughter and yips of dogs, the melancholy blanket that seemed to hover around the house has lifted. I can’t explain it, but it’s as if the house approves of the party. Welcomes it, even.
But perhaps Ryder won’t.
CHAPTER 16
Ryder
(TEN YEARS AGO) RYDER’S JOURNAL
A few days ago, Daisy and I were sitting on the couch, making up a song together, just for fun. We were laughing one moment, and the next, she leaned closer to add lyrics to the page. And I suddenly saw her, not as my best friend’s little sister, but as something far more.
When she looked up at me, her expression stole my breath as effectively as a punch. She smiled, just the smallest tilt of her lips, and whispered my name. Her voice was like a shot of adrenaline rocketing through me. The same rush I get from being onstage when a crowd of thousands roars my name.
I stood up, left the room, and went for a long swim. I needed distance. I needed perspective. It’s going to take more than just laps in a pool to get it.
(NOW)
I’m trying to sleep after a long night of attempted songwriting, when a barking dog wakes me. Actually, barkingdogs, plural. At first, I’m confused, wondering how animals got on the tour bus. But as I slowly return to consciousness, I remember I’m not on tour anymore. I’m in Rockhaven.
I open my eyes and groan. The barking continues. I pull a pillow over my ears, but it doesn’t help. I could get up and find my industrial-strength earplugs. They’re handy when I have to sleep while my band and crew carry on the party past me when I’m on tour. But I’m awake now, dammit, and experience tells me I won’t be able to fall back to sleep.
And anyway, I really should get used to civilian hours. Living like a vampire is normal for a musician on the road, but it’s past time I adjusted back to real life.
The sound of laughter filters through the open window of my bedroom, which overlooks the pool. The house is on private grounds, and the beach below isn’t accessible to the public. Confused about the source of the noise, I get up, stretch, and peer outside.
That’s when I see them.Her.
Daisy is sitting in the middle of a circle with Archie in her lap, surrounded by a dozen people sitting cross-legged on the grass. And then there are corgis. Lots of corgis. Of all shapes and sizes—both the corgis and the people.
The dogs mill around, sniffing one another’s backsides, while Daisy talks to a tanned, muscular man wearing a T-shirt and board shorts. She laughs at something he says. My jaw tightens at the admiring way he watches her.
Muscle-dude looks up and sees me. He points in my direction, and Daisy turns toward me.
She grins, waving madly.
“Hi!” she calls with a wide, welcoming smile.
