All I manage is a small nod. I feel like I’m meeting Superman. I thought I was prepared for this, enough to not come off like a starstruck fool, but apparently not.
He reaches across to greet Miles. “Cash.”
Miles clasps it with his free hand, the other still resting on the nape of my neck. When they part, Cash flexes his fingers, then winks. “Strong grip.”
“Hockey,” is all Miles says.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Cash steps back, leaving room for me to get out.
But Miles tugs me back for another kiss, one that’svery clearlyfor our captive audience of one. When enough time has passed to land right on the edge of rude, he eases back. “Call me if you need me, okay?”
“I will.” I hop out. “See you later.”
Cash slow claps before shutting the door behind me, then finally takes a couple of steps back.
When he offers me his hand, I place mine in his, and he brings it to his mouth, kissing my knuckle. It reminds me of when Easton did it at Sully’s, but Cash makes the gesture smoother. Still, I shake my head.
“Nice to meet you.” His voice is so melodic, the words run together and almost sound like a song.
“You sure know how to make an impression.”
“I try.” He presses his key fob, popping his trunk, and grabs his guitar. His gaze drifts over my shoulder. “Why’s your boyfriend scowlin’ at me?”
“He’s not?—”
I dart a look back at Miles, and yep, he’s definitely scowling. I smile wide and wave. He gives me a small grin, then whips a quick three-point turn and disappears down the driveway. I have a feeling there’s some staking-my-claim sex in my future, and I’m very much looking forward to it.
“C’mon, darling,” Cash cajoles, swinging an arm over my shoulder and walking toward the studio.
I shrug him off. “My mama’s the only one allowed to call me darling.”
He chuckles. “Noted, Starling.”
“Sorry.” I smile. “That one’s taken, too.”
“What am I gonna call you then?”
“Summer works.”
“Now that’s no fun.” He smirks. Not sure I’m a fan of that particular look, but I don’t say so.
Cash holds the door open for me, but then I lose him to the horses.
And I meancompletelylose him.
The smirk disappears. His whole demeanor changes. He stops at every stall, greeting each one gently. Like they’re old friends.
His smooth-talking country star persona suddenly nowhere to be found. Maybe we have that in common—the version most people get to see versus the real one. Too soon to tell.
“Do you ride?” I ask.
“Whenever I can,” he replies, running his hand along the chestnut mare’s neck. I only know she’s a mare because Boone let me tag along a few weeks ago when he let them out, into thepasture. He introduced me to each one. I’d never heard him talk so much, so I listened. This one’s name is Canndy—with two-N’s—Boone wasveryspecific about that. She leans into Cash’s touch, eyes half-closing.
“You’ve got a way with them.” I lean against the empty stall behind me.
“Grew up on a ranch. Spent more time with horses than people most days.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “You ride?”
“No. Riding is an expensive hobby. Plus, I’ve always been kinda scared of them.” I laugh, then lower my voice. “But don’t tell anyone. It’s not very ‘country music’ of me.”
