8. meet me at the gala
9. I will do the rest
Jenna stared at the paper, her hand trembling as she held it.
All she’d ever wanted was to have someone come into her life and take control. Someone she trusted to handle things, to tell her what to do. She’d just spent the past thirty minutes trying to figure out what to do with her night and now she had a nine-step plan. And it included getting to wear the vintage Valentino dress.
Okay, number one, take a bath.
18
Deacon stoodin the newly renovated Hope Falls Concert Hall, which had been out of commission since the ’80s leaning against the Chicago-style bar rail, nursing his Coke, doing his best not to make it obvious he was holding his breath every time the doors opened and a new arrival appeared.
The community had buzzed about this restoration for months, with the town’s older set waxing nostalgic about glory years when acts like the Four Seasons or Ella Fitzgerald played there, while the younger set marveled at the space’s transformation from derelict shell to mid-century splendor. What most didn’t know was that he had been the one behind the reno. Investing in the town was a small part of his way of giving back. Every surface gleamed with new paint, but he made sure the original architecture and character had been preserved, from the parquet floors to the ornate hand-carved wooden corbels to the gold leaf on the dome ceiling. This was the first event booked in the space. It was the unofficial grand opening or christening. Deacon hadn’t micromanaged the reno, hetypically hired the best, most competent people and then trusted them to do their job. Nine times out of ten, it worked out for him. He was happy to say this was one of the nine times. He hadn’t seen the progress since about halfway through the project, but they’d far exceeded his expectations and restored it to even better than its former glory.
He'd been trying to distract himself by noticing all the little details in the work, but every thirty seconds or so he found himself checking his phone. He hadn’t heard from Jenna. He’d seen her open the door and grab the basket, so he knew she had it. He also saw what he thought was disappointment when he wasn’t on the porch, but it was hard to say for sure what her expression had been under the bill of her hat.
He kept reminding himself he hadn’t told her to text, so the fact that she hadn’t didn’t mean she wasn’t coming. He knew he’d been taking a risk with the basket and the list, just like he’d taken a risk the night in the hotel room telling her to go change into his shirt and wait by the bed, but he also remembered sensing how tired she seemed of always being the one to handle everything—decision fatigue, they call it—and how much she enjoyed someone else, specifically him, hopefullyonlyhim, being in control.
There was a very good chance he’d gone too far, crossed a boundary, but at this point if he didn’t do something drastic she wasn’t going to show up for this event. And something told him if tonight passed and he didn’t see her, the walls she had up were going to be even taller and the reinforced steel impenetrable.
This would make a statement either way. Her showing up in the dress he selected, following his instructions, even if he was the only person who knew, would tell him he hada chance, if not… well, he didn’t want to think about if not.
He’d just put his phone back in his pocket when he got a security camera alert. His adrenaline spiked knowing the girls were home alone. He’d already taken two steps away from the bar towards the exit when he pulled up the feed and saw both girls smiling and waving at the camera. He instantly relaxed. Tabby knew how to contact him through the security cameras. He’d shown her as a safety precaution, but she sometimes used it when she wanted to ask him something and he was gone. She rarely did, which is why he’d almost just had a heart attack.
“Daddy, Daddy, watch. Blake taught me a cheer.”
He double tapped the side of his phone to activate the two-way speaker and the recording function so he could save the cheer. “I’m watching.”
They both stood with their hands clasped in front of their chest and yelled, “Ready!” They put their hands out to their sides, then brought them above their heads and clapped as they shouted, “O-kay!”
Then they began stepping side to side and doing all sorts of synchronized hand movements leading up to the big finish, which was two cartwheels. “We are dynamite! The Hope Falls Huskies gonna win tonight! We are dynamite! So light that stick and start that fight! We are dynamite!”
Deacon clicked the two-way speaker and put his fingers in his mouth for a quick whistle, then clapped his hand against his wrist as he held the phone with his hand. “Wow! That was incredible!”
“She learned that in like ten minutes!” Blake enthused. “She’s amazing! She should be in dance or gymnastics or something!”
Kristen was a dancer, and she’d hated it. It was part ofwhy he’d never put Tabby in classes. But Kristen’s parents had pushed her. Kristen’s mom was a prima ballerina in the New York City Ballet and had forced Kristen to follow in her footsteps, literally.
He also worried that their pushing taxed her heart, and that could have contributed to her death. Although, everything the doctors had told him contradicted that. They all said exercise was good for Tabby.
“I wanna be in dance, Daddy!”
He thought back to the wedding. She’d spent the entire day on the dance floor. “Okay, ladybug,” he agreed reluctantly. He knew there were classes at the community center he could put her in and told his brain that didn’t mean she was going to go pro and move to New York.
“I’m gonna teach her more!”
“Yay!” Tabby hopped up and down as Rocco ruffed his approval beside them.
“Okay, have fun girls!” He waved and shut down his phone as the door opened, and he saw a flash of a red dress.
His breath caught in his throat until he saw long dark hair and he exhaled. It wasn’t her. Every single time the door opened, he held his breath waiting to see if she walked in. Any flash of red dress that came into his vision caused him to do a double take, but so far it hadn’t been her.
Out of the corner of his eye, Deacon caught a flash of platinum blonde and braced for the approach. Thankfully, she walked past without incident. He’d been in the same spot at the bar for less than an hour, but the flirtation parade had been nonstop. Over a dozen approaches so far. The first woman had been a shy teacher who asked if he knew which class Tabby would be in next year, then talked about the number of students she had the year before andproceeded to tell him each of their names and a fact about them. He appreciated that she talked more about her students than herself, she clearly loved her job, which he respected, but he couldn’t reciprocate the interest. The second was more direct, a real estate broker, who complimented his suit, then his biceps, then, bewilderingly, his “restraint with product” in his hair. Number three, who’d zeroed in like a heat-seeking missile, was an influencer with a massive Instagram following and an equally large intolerance for being ignored. She leaned one elbow on the bar rail and tossed a strand of hair over her shoulder, eyes sparkling with the calculated intent of a predator who’d spotted a limping gazelle.
“Didn’t take you for a Coke guy,” she said, gesturing to his glass with a bright red nail tipped in rhinestone.
He offered a polite half-smile. “I’m boring like that.”
