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I wish everything was different. For a brief second, I wish I’d never gone to Nashville and hit it big. I could have had her without all these complications. I could have had privacy, peace, and a job I could clock out of at the end of the day that paid my bills. I didn’t understand what I was getting into, or what I was losing five, ten years down the road by taking on this career.
I can’t think about that.
What’s done is done.
Giving my head a shake, I put my hands on my hips. “I got a little carried away. You’re right, but I don’t know if I can keep my distance.”
Her lower lip trembles, though not with tears. “What does that mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, baby. It just means I might kiss you again. Or ask you to cross the lawn to my house.”
I don’t want to hurt her, but God, I can’t let go yet. I thought I could. Turns out, I’m selfish, and I want her in my bed again.
“When?” she whispers.
I swallow. “When I can’t stand it anymore.”
There’s a bang and heavy thumping from around the corner. We both startle, ripped from the tension all around. She seems relieved to push off the wall and circle the house; she’s practically scampering away. I’m on her heels. Colin gets out of the truck by the barn, one of the front tires shredded. He must have hit something going pretty fast.
“I told him not to drive it off the gravel,” she says, frowning. “There’s too much shit from where there used to be trash in the grass.”
“I’ll get it changed,” I say.
She nods, crossing her arms. I make my way across the lawn to the truck, my body still tingling from touching her. Colin starts talking, making some excuse for the tire, but I’m not really listening as I haul the spare from the bed. When I look over my shoulder, all I see is the back door falling shut.
I don’t see her again for the rest of the day. That night after dinner, which she leaves on my stoop in a brown paper bag, I take a beer from the fridge and sit on the steps outside.
Her light stays on, a golden glow through her sheer curtain.
I think I see the shadow of her pass by. Maybe not. It’s hard to say. But I stay and watch for a while, just in case.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SABRINA
It’s been a few days since he kissed me like that, but I’m still all hot and bothered.
Hell, I’ve been hot and bothered since he arrived.
The kitchen fan whirs overhead. The sound of Dad and Serena rumbling down the drive rings in my ears, reminding me it’s just me and Coen in the house for a little while. I wonder if they’ll be back or stay out for dinner. Maybe I’ll make Coen a bag lunch and leave it outside his door if it’s just us.
That would be the smart thing to do. Just us seems dangerous.
Instead, I go upstairs into the spare room, where the ladder to the attic sits. Dust rising, I push it over and hook it into the brackets. I climb up and give the trapdoor a gentle push, turning my head to avoid falling debris. Nothing comes out. Dad must have been up here recently. Pushing it all the way open, I climb through and straighten.
The attic is an A-frame, light wood space with finished walls and a circular window to let in the sun. The motion-activated lights switched on when I came up the ladder, revealing the boxes and odds and ends.
My stomach dips.
All of Mom’s stuff she left behind is still here. She never wanted it, even when I got older and offered to ship it out. Softly, I tread in a slow circle. My fingertips slip over the dusty surfaces of cardboard, over her records, over the plastic garment bag covering her wedding dress. They come to a halt on a black, alligator leather guitar case. Dust sits thick on the textured top.
I flex my hand and then wipe it back.
Maybe I’m not ready to open that up. Stepping back, I go to the record player by the window, draped in fabric. Clouds rise as I pull it back.
I smile. I can’t help myself.
Digging through the pile of Mom’s records, I look for the worn ones. The first one that falls into my hand is the Greatest Hits of Johnny Cash. I set it in and place the needle, and the strains of the first song waft through the attic. My face hurts from smiling. Just underneath it is Dolly Parton; I set that on the edge of the table. That used to be one of my favorites when I was tiny.
