Instead he saw Norah in the doorway, underdressed for the chill in the air, decked out in a series of knits that were mismatched and clingy enough that they could only be dance clothes. Ballet shoes raced across the front porch and over the driveway, and she almost threw him off balance when she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.
She sighed out the words. “I missed you.” But she didn’t climb down him.
He hugged her to him one-armed, “Norah, I have a present for you.”
“Don’t care.” She kissed his neck.
“I’ll bet you do.” He smiled.
“Nope.” Her kiss landed on his mouth and she hit him like wine. She seeped in through his tongue, and everywhere she touched him. Spreading like wildfire throughout his system, she warmed his core and invaded his extremities, left him feeling just a little drugged.
He pocketed the ring and kissed her back.
Chapter 65
Five months later
* * *
TJ stood at the side of the church. Everyone was inside. Everyone except Norah.
JD found him standing there playing with his cufflinks just for something to do with his hands. “Cold feet?”
“Try ‘cold fear.’ Norah’s not here.”
His brother nodded. The ceremony was due to start in five minutes and the bride was missing. “She’ll come. She loves you. That much is obvious.” He sat on the bench and watched while TJ paced.
TJ nodded. “This scares the crap out of her.”
“Well, there’s some sense in that. The more you commit yourself the more you have to lose. I know that first hand. So do you.”
He knew that part made sense, but . . . “She says it’s like by marrying me she’s making me more likely to die. It’s irrational.”
“Of course it is. But it’s all she knows. Marry a man and he dies.”
He conceded. “I know this is taking a supreme act of bravery and sheer faith on her part.”
JD put a hand on his shoulder, and it calmed him a little.
“You know, JD, this is a big day for me, so it’s a good time to say big things that might not otherwise get said. Thank you. Before Norah, you were the only one who always believed in me and accepted me for who I was. And I didn’t always treat you well enough.”
JD shrugged. “I didn’t always treat you well enough either. We’re brothers, not angels.” He laughed and embraced TJ in a hug that meant the world. “Speaking of angels, little brother, look.”
TJ felt his shoulders get turned.
Norah was walking toward him, dressed all in white, her dark hair partly up, partly cascading down her back and over one shoulder. She held a bouquet of purple tulips down at her side and wore the necklace he had designed for her. Her beautiful face held wide eyes that seemed to see only him.
TJ looked to thank JD, but his brother had disappeared.
He couldn’t tell from Norah’s face whether she had come to tell him she was ready or that she couldn’t do it.
When she was close, she stopped but didn’t touch him. Her voice was low enough that he had to strain to hear what she was saying.
“I had to tell you something first.”
He nodded, waiting.
“I am so scared. I lost so much when I lost Jeff.”
He knew. The sun had risen and set on Jeff, and he only hoped one day she looked back on her years with him with the same fondness.
She continued. “But my Dad reminded me of something a while ago. When I was with Jeff, I was a kid. I loved him like a kid. I hadn’t ever lost anybody, and I took a lot of it for granted.
“You told me that I’m strong. And I survived it before, so the worst case scenario is that I survive it again. But you’re wrong. This,” She gestured between them, “is already so much more than what I was even capable of then. I have never loved anyone like I love you and I don’t think I could survive losing you. So I figured I’d come here and tell you I couldn’t do it.”
TJ held his breath.
“But on the drive over, I realized I was already too late. I already love you too much, and I can’t back out now. I’m sorry I’m late. But I wanted to come and tell you, you have your bride. One very scared bride, if you’ll still have me.”
“Of course.” It came out as a whisper. TJ Hewlitt, who belted songs before a packed Central Park and always had something to say, could only whisper. He wondered how he’d ever get his vows out. “I’m scared, too. Norah, you’re my world.”
Searching for words, he shook his head. “It’s this big cliff and we just have to hold on and jump and hope it’s tall enough that we don’t ever hit bottom.”
He held his hand out to her.
Slowly, Norah put her hand in his.
Epilogue
Nashville Music News
Maggie Jacobson
* * *
These days having a Wilder single at the top of the country charts is little cause for excitement. Wilder hitting the top of the pop charts is also something we’ve seen before. So when their latest single Jump hit #1 on Billboard’s Top 100 no one was surprised.
Jump has stayed at #1 for sixteen weeks now. A harkening to their heavier side, it blends deep guitar riffs and wild drum solos. The first hit written by lead singer TJ Hewlitt, Jump has an unusual vocal track that blends all four members’ voices and is simultaneously both mellow and intense. Only when you listen to the words do you realize that Jump is a love song, with our liquid-voiced lead encouraging us to take his hand and take a chance.
One has to wonder if this is any reference to Hewlitt’s new bride, Norah Davidson Hewlitt, formerly of the Houston Ballet. Hearts broke everywhere when Wilder’s front man wed Davidson here in town last spring. The former playboy has been mostly out of the limelight since recovering from a crippling car accident just over a year ago.
The band has been back on the touring circuit for nine months now and TJ Hewlitt seems better than ever. Wilder remains one of the few groups to record only music of their own writing, so it’s amazing to see a band this tight take a chance like this and add a new writer. TJ Hewlitt’s style is clearly his own and, while he maintains Wilder’s trademark sound, any fan who listens will be able to distinguish his music from the other band members’ pieces as well as from group efforts.
On stage, the band remains technically amazing and just plain fun to watch, however this new tour shows a maturity in their music that wasn’t previously there. Anyone who gets a chance should pay whatever price is asked to see them in one of the smaller local venues they’ve taken to playing lately.
As a Wilder fan from back in the days before they were signed, it would be tempting to believe I’ve heard everything they have to offer, but truly these guys are just getting started. Even with only two singles released, the aptly titled Leap of Faith has been their best and biggest selling album to date, and deservedly so.
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Thank you for reading Love Notes.
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If you’ve enjoyed the Wilder Books, you need Alex’s story. When Alex hires Maryliz as the new nanny for his 2-year-old deaf daughter, he gets more than he bargained for. But can it last?
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Afterword
Dear Reader, I hope you’re swimming in all the happily-ever-after that Norah and TJ finally found. When I was about 3/4ths of the way through writing Our Song, I suddenly just knew I had to write TJ’s story. Love Notes is actually the second Wilder Book that I wrote. Norah and TJ were in for so many surprises in their story, but they both had a lot of healing to do. I loved writing this one and I hope you loved reading it
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Preview of Music & Lyrics (Wilder - Book 4)
Alex was sitting on his couch with a beer when the woman went stomping past him. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to, her face said it for her.
Her orange hair was scraped back into a tight knot, and her sensible shoes shook the floor as she went by. She was done. He'd seen that expression before. Hadn't he just been trying to ignore the yelling coming from the other room himself? Of course she'd had enough. It was really a miracle she'd lasted this long.
She came back into the room, luggage packed and in hand.
Well, shit. She'd been ready, he realized. Still, he listened to her words.
"Mr. Beaumont, I'm resigning my position here." She handed over a typed and signed paper. It wasn't dated, so she hadn't known she was leaving today. As he scanned it, he saw the words even as she spoke them. "Effective immediately."
By the time he looked up, she was already gone from the room. Then he heard the back door slapping shut behind her. Not that it was a good sound, but it was far better than the discordant yells coming from Sophie's room. That awful sound was probably the worst thing a musician could hear.
He tipped his head back and poured in the beer as though it would seep in and fill all the cracks in his life. It didn't, but the slight buzz of the expensive, local beer made him feel just a little like it did.
It worked, too, until the yelling went quiet and he sat sharply upright at the sign of impending doom. There was no telling what Sophie was up to when she was quiet. But he sat still as though he would hear something, or a crash would come, or maybe she would say something.
The last one was never going to happen. Well, not in the lifetime that he could foresee. Probably the reason for the beer. Nothing filled the cracks of failure like a good cold one.
For so long, things had been fine. Golden even. He toured, his wife ran the show here, his daughter was perfect, and things were great. It had all gone to hell one unknowing step at a time. Just one day he woke up and everything was wrong. He could see the path he'd taken to get here, but he hadn't seen it when he'd been walking it. Now he was stuck between the worst options a father could have.
Then Olivia stuck her head into the living room. "Daddy?"
Her voice was sweet, the tones dulcet, her smile soft. She was his perfect girl. "What baby?"
"You need to get Sophie." She began to frown, her lips pressing together.
He nodded and stood up, only then realizing the beer had been a little more potent than he'd figured. He shouldn't have drunk it all. Then again, he couldn't have predicted that Mrs. . . . Mrs. . . .
Shit. Her name wouldn't come to him. Then again, did it matter? The woman had quit. That's what he couldn't have predicted.
But if he'd been a little more sober, a little more on the ball, a little better of a parent, he would have seen it coming. She wasn’t the first one to leave. She wasn't even the first one to stomp out with no notice.
Then again, if he'd been a better parent, they probably wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. Maybe it was Bridget's fault. He liked to believe that was possible.
Perfect Alex and Perfect Bridget had made Perfect Olivia.
Then they'd had Sophie and everything had gone wrong.
Catching his balance, Alex followed his older daughter into the back room, just as the discordant yelling started up again. He didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one.
Looking down at Olivia and thinking he shouldn't leave her in charge of her sister as much as he did, he said, "We'll have to get another one."
She seemed to understand that he meant ‘another nanny’ and nodded up at him.
But in the meantime, it was all up to him.
He had to go face his two-year-old daughter.
Mariliz Jennings sat across the desk from her last hope.
The stern, older woman frowned down at Mariliz's resume and then frowned harder. It was understandable.
Maraliz had a degree in psychology with a focus on abnormal childhood development, with minors in French and creative writing. It was as though she wanted to be sure she had a career that required she ask people if they wanted fries with that? Oh, and loads of student debt, too.
To say she was having a bad month was an understatement. She was about three weeks away from running out of rent money, and that wasn't an exaggeration. She had the notice—two weeks and five days to be exact. Then she had to either break into the savings she swore she wouldn’t touch or find a new craphole to live in.
On the upside, she'd once been a teacher. Not qualified to teach in a real school, because she'd quit before getting the state certificate. She'd worked in a retail shop once—luckily not serving fries—before she completed her degree. Then, after that one year of teaching, she'd been a wife. Which didn't look all that impressive on a resume.
To be fair, her work hadn't been all that impressive as a wife, if her recent divorce was anything to measure by. She'd been told to be pretty, plan parties, play house. She'd done all of that exceptionally well, if her friends were to be believed. She'd also gotten her nails done, spent an exorbitant amount of time prepping home-cooked, organic meals, and filled her boring down time with lunches and more romance novels than a person could shake a stick at. Well, there were no more sticks left; she'd read so many books that all the trees had likely been killed. She was grateful when she got an e-reader and could better hide her habit from Reynold, who thought she should be reading loftier things.
Looking back, maybe he was right. Had she been reading something educational she might have been able to put it on her damn resume. Or, she might not have needed the resume in the first place, because she never would have realized her marriage was so lacking. She might never have found strength from the women behind the pretty or racy covers who stood up for themselves. And Reynold might never have told her she was crazy and should be happy with the good life she had.
She might never have looked further.
She might never have decided to take charge and plan a special trip. That was when she found out her husband had been taking special trips all along—just not with her. Still, he'd told her she should appreciate the nice life he gave her. Mariliz didn't.
Well, until now, when she was her own woman, on the verge of getting evicted from her crap apartment. A woman who had gotten a very nice car in the divorce and not enough alimony to cover everything. Her lawyer hadn't argued well enough that she'd put as much into the marriage as he had. Maybe she hadn't.
At least she learned along the way to sit still and smile when the pressure was on. She used that now. And her nails looked fantastic. She had a lot of free time being unemployed and nail polish was cheap. So she faked calmly lacing her fingers and crossed her legs under the skirt that was only vaguely professional, but definitely not cheap.
She was the best-dressed woman at her apartment complex, that was for sure. So she smiled wide under the last smidge of her expensive lipstick. She needed another tube of it. She needed rent. She needed a paycheck about two weeks ago.
Mrs. Purvey, of the Purvey Child Care Agency—which Mari thought was a terrible name for anything with children—pointed down at the bottom of the print copy she'd been asked to bring. Apparently, Child Care was not part of the electronic age.
"It says here you speak sign language?" It was a question, despite the fact that she said it all wrong.
"I was a certified interpreter in American Sign Language. But
I'm not at the medico-legal level anymore." She offered a sad smile. It had been years. Another cool skill that Reynold thought was another way his wife could be crass. Ya know, working. Had she tried to get reinstated, she would have surely failed the test now. But, as with many things, at one time, she'd showed promise.
"You do or don't speak the language?" The woman stared at her harshly.
"As a nanny? Perfectly fine." A deaf kid? The thought had no sooner occurred to her than Mrs. Gray was voicing it.
"We have a family in need of a live-in starting tomorrow. The younger daughter is deaf." Another harsh stare, as though she was daring Mariliz to take the job.
"That sounds fantastic." Tomorrow? She hardly paid attention as Mrs. Gray listed the stats. Number of kids, ages, genders, etc.
Mari blinked. She could live in. No more worries about rent, or money. Not if she had a place to stay. Then she blinked again. She'd better pay attention or she was going to lose the job before she even got it. In her hand was an info sheet still warm from Mrs. Gray printing it out for her.
"Do you have any questions?" The older woman asked in a tone that brooked no uncertainty that no, Mariliz Jennings did not have any questions.
"I can't think of any." She said, then realized that made it sound like her brain didn't work. She motioned with the fact-sheet. "This looks very thorough."
At last, the older woman looked pleased.
Mari filed that away. She'd gotten very good over the past years at learning and cataloging who liked what, who'd vacationed where, and how to remember factoids as though she actually cared.
Three minutes later, it was over. She was dismissed from the office and found herself on the front steps. She was expected at the address at eight p.m. tonight to introduce herself before the children went to bed, then she would start tomorrow at eight a.m. suitcase in hand.
Love Notes Page 36
