“Scarlett.” Her tone was more threatening than before. “Until anything serious happens, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. If this becomes something, then yes, you’ll need to talk to Donna, but right now, let yourself be free to see where things go,” she insisted. “And quit trying to find excuses as to why you shouldn’t and instead look for all the reasons why you should.”
“I just don’t know what to expect, and that really scares the shit out of me. What if—”
“No what-ifs,” she demanded. “Just tell me you’ll at least think about it.”
I let out a sigh. “I’ll think about it,” I agreed, knowing damn well I’d think about it regardless of whether I said I would or not. “Friday doesn’t seem so far away all of a sudden.”
“Friday?”
“Um.” I paused. “He’s coming back to Quincey Falls on Friday and told me to meet him at the recording studio,” I eased out, knowing she was going to be thrilled.
“So much for those flowers just being flowers, huh?” she rebounded.
“Shut up,” I joked. “I have to get back to work. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said. “And Scar, remember, you deserve happiness just like everyone else. I won’t stop telling you this until you believe it yourself.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was normal for me to count down the days until Friday, but this week seemed obsessively so. And now that Friday was here, and based on the sheer number of clothes strewn across my room, it was like I’d forgotten how to get dressed.
“My god. This is ridiculous,” I said, the frustration forming tiny droplets of sweat on my back. I took in the pair of dark wash Levi jeans, a fitted white crop top, and one of my favorite jackets staring back in my reflection through the full-length mirror.
The jacket had been a gift to myself. Maggie and I had stumbled upon the quaintest little thrift store on our drive back from Nashville one time and decided to stop. We rummaged for hours, and when I spotted it, I knew it was coming home with me. That was years ago, and it was still my favorite.
The cream jacket was etched with hand-drawn equestrian toile print in a deep navy that complemented the wash of my jeans. The brown corduroy collar laid nicely against my rich chocolate brown hair and always gave a chic but country vibe, and it was always the first thing I grabbed.
“I have no time. This will have to do,” I insisted to myself.
Why was I so concerned about my outfit this time around? I’d spent plenty of time with Stetson, and this time would be no different. At least that was what I kept telling myself. But in the way back parts of my brain, I could hear Maggie’s words: “Quit trying to find excuses as to why you shouldn’t and instead look for all the reasons why you should.”
I told her I’d think about it, and quite frankly that was all I’d done since Tuesday. Since Stetson’s unannounced arrival in Quincey Falls, I’d been looking for all the reasons why I shouldn’t flirt with the idea of something more. If I was being honest, I think it had less to do with Stetson and more to do with me, and all the past times that I’d been let down or, even worse, left.
But what was I going to do? Stay closed-off for the rest of my life and never let anyone else in? That sounded miserable. I did think, however, that if Stetson weren’t in the position he was, this whole thing would be a helluva lot easier. But then again, would it? Or was I just trying to find more excuses?
I hated to admit it, but I thought it was the latter.
“Damn you, Maggie,” I muffled under my breath as I spritzed my perfume all over, the lingering notes of vanilla establishing a sense of confidence. I grabbed my purse and keys from the kitchen counter before turning toward the door.
Chris Stapleton’s “Tennessee Whiskey” was blaring through the barn as I stepped inside. The warm air mixed with Stapleton’s angelic voice wrapped my entire body in a hug that sent a sharp desire coursing through my veins.
“Anyone here? Stetson?” My voice was losing a little bit of confidence with every second that remained silent. A sinking pit emerged at the bottom of my belly as the memory resurfaced of leaving here empty-handed last time. I didn’t even think about texting him to make sure he was actually here. What if he decided not to—
“Mornin’.” Stetson’s voice was like a trigger to my increased heart rate, immediately forcing it into overdrive.
I swallowed hard, attempting to force the unnecessary nerves back down.
“Good morning,” I said, rotating my body around toward where his voice came from. “For a second, I thought maybe you decided to bail on me… again.” I smirked, the tone in my voice suggesting I was just messing with him.
“I would never keep a pretty woman waiting any longer than I had to, especially not one like this.” He dragged his pointer finger up and down. His confidence was something I’d admired but also found extremely infuriating at times because he somehow always knew exactly what to say.
Meanwhile, I was digging for every ounce of confidence I could find while attempting to be calm, cool, and collected. My brain was running a million miles an hour, my stomach was teetering back and forth between excitement and nausea, and the growing ache to be touched by this man was proving to be a nuisance.
“Hm. Interesting.” I cocked my head to the side. “Well, now that you’ve kept me waiting long enough, think it’s time we got some actual information for this article I’m supposed to be writing?” I asked.
“I reckon we can do that.” He half smiled and walked toward the recording studio. “Step into my office.” He dragged the door open, his protruding biceps visible even under his black long-sleeved Henley, and stepped aside, allowing ample room for me to walk by.
I studied him as I moved closer to the recording studio. His black jeans were held in place by a black leather belt—not that they needed it; they were practically molded to every curve of his lower half. His black cowboy boots and black trucker hat completed the monochromatic outfit.
