Page 28 of Three Months Yesterday

But the sound of the front door opening stops any further conversation and from the look on Madison’s eyes, we’re not going to get it back tonight.

“Oh, there you are.” Ruby’s voice precedes the sound of her steps on the wooden porch as she moves into my line of sight. “It’s cold out here, you should come back inside. Both of you.” The last is said as an afterthought, if the guilty look that passes over her eyes is any indication.

“I’m actually a little worn out.” I try to smile, but I know both women can tell it’s forced. “I’m gonna head out, but thank you so much for dinner tonight. It was truly delicious.”

“Of course. You’ll have to join us again.”

“I’d like that.” I push myself up from my seat, waiting for Madison to meet my gaze before saying anything else. “I’ll see you back at the cottage. I want to learn more about the history and all your plans for the place.”

I don’t wait for a response from either of them before I’m jogging down the stairs and heading for my car. My extended vacation in Stonebridge Hollow just got significantly better, and I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.

Knowing what having a stalker feels like is the exact reason I shouldn’t be sitting on my front porch right now. But having that understanding isn’t stopping me.

A major reason for leaving the city was the hope I might get my drive to create music back, but if I’m honest with myself, I don’t know if I really thought it’d happen.

It’s why the only instrument I brought with me was my acoustic guitar.

Stonebridge Hollow and The Lantern Inn blew my expectations—my hopes—out of the water.

It’s like I’m eighteen again and just starting to explore making my own music. Learning how to build a melody and write lyrics, and desperately wanting to spend all my time doing that.

But I’m itching to have all my instruments with me—my banjo, my fiddle, and most especially my piano.

Is it an extravagance to figure out a way to get a piano? Absolutely.

Will that stop me from asking Madison if I can do it? Not in the slightest.

My soul is screaming at me to play around with anything and everything. I have all these ideas flying through my mind and I need to get them out. It’s like an invisible force driving me in a way I haven’t experienced in longer than I’d like to admit.

It’s been seven months since I’ve written any kind of music, but I’ve known I was on a downward spiral longer than that. Still, I didn’t realize just how out of love I’d fallen with the process of creating music.

If I really think about it, my last two albums were written in the depths of writer’s block—forced from a need to satisfy everyone, not just the label but my fans too.

When I listen to those albums, I hear the difference in every note and lyric.

I like to think my music hits on a wide range of emotions, just as life does, but those two albums were filled with darker imagery. Things I’ve always touched on but never written an entire album about, let alone two.

The sound of a screen door falling shut pulls me from my musings, and I wish I could say I don’t spring up from my chair like a jack-in-the-box but, unfortunately for me, I do.

Madison’s barely started down the steps of her front porch by the time I’m standing in front of her.

“Hey.” Her brows pinch and her eyes trace over my face, concern painted across her features. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I had a question for you. Well, maybe more of a favor.”

“Okay…” She drags the word out, the silent question obvious in her voice.

My gaze falls to my feet and I kick at an imaginary pebble on the walkway, not really sure where to start my request.

“I’m aware you don’t know anything about my career, and I don’t really know if that’s important for me to ask this favor, but I’m gonna give you some of it anyway.”

“Beck—”

“I’m a pretty successful folk singer.”

Madison’s hands land on her hips at the interruption, but I need to get this out.

I can talk about myself during an interview with little problem. But talking about my success on a personal level? Not something I’ve ever been able to do. To an extent, I recognize I have every right to have pride in my work. Maybe I even have a right to be a little egotistical about it, but it’s not who I am. And I hope it’s someone I’ll never be.