Almost Perfect: A Sweet Small Town Opposites Attract Romance (Back to Silver Ridge Book 1)

by Claire Cain

  “Let’s get inside,” I said, my voice shaking as I shoved open the door, hauled my bag out behind me, and made it to the garage entrance into his house first.

  “Can’t wait to see the place again, huh?” he joked, giving me a quizzical look.

  I reached for and took his hand in mine when he got close enough, just inside the house. “No. I’ve missed you, and we’re alone now, right?”

  He blinked, and it seemed to hit him. What I meant. Why it mattered we were alone. “Yes. Warrick’s in town ’til tomorrow.”

  And then, we ignited.

  His kiss answered my urgent one, his hands stripping me of bag, then jacket, then shirt, his mouth traveling down my neck as my hands slipped up his glorious torso. And all sense of dread, of some task I had to manage, flew from my mind. All hints of impending doom awaiting me, that return to normal life I had to face but just couldn’t, disintegrated in the face of our heat.

  Only Wyatt, Wyatt, Wyatt filled my mind.

  FORTY

  Wyatt

  Hours after she’d arrived, bellies full of dinner and bodies exhausted from our reunion, we lay side by side on my overstuffed couch. I hadn’t stopped marveling at how good it felt to be with her now that I knew I loved her. I hadn’t said it yet, but now that we were talking, I could feel it coming. We still had a lot to talk about—we’d hardly said much of anything the last few hours, and the time had come.

  “Did I tell you how much I missed this couch while I was gone?” She petted the soft light brown material next to my shoulder.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I did. The couch in my living room isn’t nearly this comfortable.”

  Here was an opening of sorts. I’d been waiting for her to bring it up—to want to talk about how she’d been gone for almost five days, and how she’d come back with just one small carry-on bag. I hadn’t gone into her place here, but she’d left with one very full suitcase. She could have plenty more stuff at the cottage, of course, but I had no idea whether she planned to stay with me on my couch or go back to the cottage. And then, for how long?

  “Then I’m glad you’re back here with me even more.”

  I didn’t want to force it. I’d planned to ease into such a discussion on the ride from the airport, but then she’d needed to make a call. After that, we… got distracted. During dinner, she’d updated me on what was happening with her lawyers and some things she’d heard post-interview. She’d told me a little more about Jenna and mentioned going to dinner with Quinn, Sarah, and Dahlia tomorrow.

  But we notably hadn’t talked about the way forward for us. It had to be soon, because I could hardly think of anything else, now that the initial crush of relief and desire and longing had been sated.

  “Me too.”

  And then nothing.

  Our heads rested side by side on a large throw pillow, but I would’ve bet money she could hear my heart pounding in my chest. I certainly could—it felt like my whole body had been taken over by the rush of adrenaline that hit in this instant. This moment when I realized she wouldn’t bring it up… not tonight, and maybe not at all.

  How would that even work? We’d just ignore she had an insanely demanding life waiting for her to return until one day she just had to go and disappeared from my life entirely?

  Growing more agitated as the thoughts poured over my mind, I shifted and sat up, which caused her to do the same. Our eyes caught, and there was no way she could miss the worry on my face.

  “Are we going to talk about this?” I asked, voice low and far calmer than I felt.

  “About what?”

  My head dropped down between my arms where they rested on my knees before glancing back up at her. “Come on, Calla. I don’t want to force you here, but at some point, we have to face reality, don’t we?”

  She blanched and sat back against the couch, folding her arms. “What reality, Wyatt?”

  Frustration coursed through me, followed directly by disappointment. “That you’re you. That you have a life and a career waiting for you to get back to them. That I have no idea what we’re doing here together, and no idea when it’s going to end.”

  “I wasn’t sure it had to end.”

  She said it like my statement meant I wanted us to end. Like I wanted anything other than a lifetime with her, though I couldn’t figure out a way to make that happen. And yet her saying that, like she had the same desire, made no sense.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on. You just went to deal with this huge thing. And yes, you’ll talk about the details of the problem, but not the reality of your life. You haven’t mentioned your label, or what you’re doing for new management, or what your schedule is. And I can’t help feeling like it’s by design.”

  There. Got it out.

  She hugged a pillow to her chest. “I don’t know about management, or my label, or even my schedule. They want me to get another album out later this year, which seems insane. They want me back there full time, immediately, to work on it.”

  There it is. The truth I’d been dreading but had needed.

  “And did this happen because of the interview?” My body was a pulse and nothing else. All other feeling had disappeared into the abyss of adrenaline in this moment.

  “No. I was always supposed to be back in March.”

  The rocks of those words tumbled down and piled on top of me. Some part of me had known that, deep down. The part that expected the worst, even though I tried to be more like Warrick and Mom.

  “I see. So when you said you wanted to stay here, that was, what?”

  She stood slowly, facing the fire, but then turned to me. There was no consolation in her desolate expression because it matched the landscape of my heart. When she wouldn’t speak, I pushed.

  “Please help me understand, because it feels a lot like you’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

  Damn, I sounded bitter, but I couldn’t hold that back. She’d been outright lying every time she said she wanted to stay here, to escape her life.

  And I’d been the idiot who’d believed her. Not only that she could, but that she’d ever even want to.

  It hit me—the aspect of her interview that had disturbed me but I couldn’t name. I’d chalked it up to her having to deal with this whole mess in the first place, to me not being able to help her in any tangible way. And yes, that’d bothered me.

  But it was that composed way she lied about Bri. Because now, I realized just how much she’d done that same thing to me. How often had she lied to get what she needed—a change of opinion or a better option? She’d lied about everything related to a life in Silverton—particularly her intention to stay.

  I felt sick in the silence, unable to look at her. When I finally did, she seemed pained, not poised. That provided a modicum of relief, though maybe I shouldn’t admit that. It might make me awful, but knowing she couldn’t keep that mask in place with me, right now, helped.

  She swallowed, then cleared her throat. “I’ve lied to you, yes, but not intentionally. I didn’t plot this out and try to get you to—to be with me.”

  Her words settled between us, and I mined them and her tone and everything I could scrape up for evidence. It all sounded true. And I had to admit my part of it.

  “It’s not like I had to be coerced,” I said and stood. I’d dived in, motivated by attraction and emotion and a newfound freedom to actually live life.

  Her shoulders dropped. “I’ve been lying to myself, too. And I can’t pretend like I regret it, because I needed to believe I could have something separate from what my life was before. But I am sorry if I hurt you, because I genuinely never meant for that to happen.”

  “Something separate. Like a side piece? Like a secret you keep from your fans and your real life?”

  “No, not at all—”

  “I specifically said I didn’t want something casual. That whatever happened, it meant something to me.” I could hardly think straight, my mind had flatlined. Ha
dn’t I been clear?

  Had I?

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she staved them off somehow, gritting her teeth. “It did for me too.”

  I grabbed her hand, wanting to console her and shake her and stop this.

  “I don’t want this to be—” I huffed out a breath, working to calm my rioting thoughts. What could I say now? How could I erase the last few minutes that felt so much like an end when everything with Calla up to this point had felt like a beginning? “I don’t want you to leave.”

  She pressed her lips together in a regretful frown. “But I should go.”

  Her words circled back to me. I’m sorry if I hurt you. Like she wasn’t convinced she had? Or like I seemed unaffected by her admitting that I’d been some kind of emotional vacation from her real life?

  But then, she was moving. Gathering her things, slipping her feet into her shoes, and leaning up to kiss my cheek. The press of her lips shredded me—I wouldn’t be surprised to find marks there later.

  “Let me walk you over there, at least.”

  This—whatever it had been—might’ve been dissolving as we spoke, but that didn’t mean I had to be a jerk. And it’d buy me a minute, a chance to find the right words, to ask the right questions.

  “No. You stay. Do those dishes from dessert.” She tried for a smile.

  “They’ll keep. Let me—"

  “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I am.” She turned to the entryway, and said, almost like it was for herself, though I heard it, “I think I wanted this a little too much.”

  And then, she slipped out the front door, closing it gently behind her. I pulled it back open, the impulse to run after her warring with the knowledge that I should give her the space she asked for.

  So I stood, watching her move through the night toward the cottage, then slipping inside. She must’ve moved farther in because the front windows didn’t brighten with the glow of lights.

  It matched the moment—me watching her go and seeing nothing. We were at opposite ends of things, having been wrapped together so tightly just hours ago, now separated by distance and winter chill and the brutal reality that she couldn’t be here.

  And any hopes I’d had that we could be together past this little escape from LA she’d taken were foolishness. The misery of pursuing something I actually wanted, of getting my hopes up and allowing my feelings to run wild, settled in. A beating heart hurt so much worse than a dead one when it got cut open.

  FORTY-ONE

  Calla

  I sat slumped against the door in the dark for at least a half hour. I couldn’t think, couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to do now.

  A while later, once my back ached and my leg was numb from the hard floor, I summoned the will to move. I went through the motions of brushing my teeth, changing into pajamas, and lying in bed. It was all so similar to how life had felt before I’d ever come to Silverton.

  Quiet. Empty. Desperately sad.

  And the second I let myself admit that, I cried and cried and cried.

  And then I accepted that I couldn’t stay here. The minute I did move from my wretched little spot, my mind replayed every interaction I’d had with Wyatt. The kitchen counter where he’d stood the very first night in his ridiculous, sexy chaps. The sink reminding me of his distaste for my mess, which came more from genuine discomfort than judgment, I’d eventually realized. The bed, where I hadn’t slept in well over a week because the last two nights I’d spent in Silverton, I’d been at Wyatt’s house, and the very last night, in his bed.

  I woke early and scoured the place. The cleaning service would deal with the remaining food in the fridge and small bin of trash, but they’d been here since I’d left last time. Everything else was already spotless—all I had to do was empty the drawers and pack. So I did.

  It was Quinn who pulled up at nine this morning. Bless her, she’d dropped her daughter off at school, then basically turned right around and made the drive up to get me. I hauled my giant suitcase that had stayed here and the smaller carry-on with me and tucked them into the back of her sturdy-looking SUV. She nestled my guitar into the back seat before sliding into the driver’s side.

  “Thank you for coming,” I said as I shut the door and she hit the gas.

  “Should I squeal out of here?”

  I forced a laugh. “No. No, it’s not his fault.”

  And that was the brunt of it. It was no one’s fault. I couldn’t change the fact that I had this life and that it was completely different from what he wanted. And he couldn’t change the fact that he didn’t want me. Not the me that was Calla and Mayhem. Sure, he wanted me, enjoyed me, maybe even liked me, but he didn’t want a life with someone like me. And I couldn’t be just Calla, just like I’d realized I couldn’t be just Mayhem anymore. There was no getting around that.

  And I couldn’t really have a life with someone like him. Could I?

  Wait, could I?

  “Well, was it your fault?” Quinn asked.

  “I was going to say no, but… I mean, no. But it kind of feels like it, because I’m the problem.”

  She halted halfway down the long stretch of road that led to the highway that cut through the canyon.

  “Now, I call bs on that. You are not a problem.”

  Her voice was severe, and though I’d sensed she was the fiery type before, I’d had no idea. But here she was, and Quinn Darling had a magma soul.

  “If my life was simpler, we could—”

  Her hand shot up, and she shook it. “I’m going to stop you right there. Your life is what it is. That wasn’t a surprise to Wyatt when you two went out, was it?”

  “No.” Even if, apparently, it had been a bit of a surprise in the very beginning. But no. Not by the time he’d asked me out.

  “Then there’s no pretending this is all such a shock to him. He can’t clutch his manly gentleman pearls and date music’s Miss Mayhem at the same time.”

  I laughed at the image, even if said image pinched a bit.

  “He’s not clutching pearls. It’s my fault—no, it is. I’m saying that because I lied to him. Mostly to myself, but then by extension, him. I’d been looking for an escape and coming here was that. But once I got here and got over the isolation of being out here, I’ve fallen in love with it.” With him. “And I didn’t want to leave it. So I made comments about wanting to stay… indefinitely.”

  She pursed her lips, then nodded and cranked her gearshift into drive. “And why did you do that? I mean, I get that life was pretty crappy with the rumors and what happened with your mom, but do you really want to be done with the music business? Could you just walk away and be happy?”

  I’d been sitting with the question at the edge of my mind for the last twenty-four hours, if not longer. And I didn’t need any more time to think. “No. I don’t want to leave. That’s part of what feels so defeating.”

  “How so?”

  “It would be easier if I wanted to throw it all to the wolves and retire. Come live up here and be a rancher’s wife. And part of me sees that… like I can really, truly see it. But after talking to Jenna and my assistant, I’ve realized that I don’t want to stop. I just need it to change.”

  “And can it? Change?”

  I blew out a breath and watched as the rocky, snow-dusted canyon slipped by.

  “It can. My record company is going to be pissed, and it’s going to be terrifying, but I think it can, if I stop trying to hide and start actually letting myself evolve in a way I’ve been resistant to.” If I let myself be both Calla and Mayhem. If I risk people seeing what I’d realized in my time up here—that I always have been both, through and through. And if I could do this first, then maybe I could change things with Wyatt, too.

  Quinn acknowledged that with a slow nod, and we sat in silence a while. By the time we reached the city center, she seemed to have come to a conclusion.

  “You mentioned at one point you’ve written some songs.”

  “Yes.”

  �
��Is that what you mean by evolving? Writing your own music instead of playing other people’s?”

  An old, sad defensiveness rose up in me, but I pushed it back down. Quinn wasn’t trying to make a big point about me singing someone else’s songs. I didn’t need to give the lecture about how many people in music—pop and other genres—used songwriters. “Yes. That’s part of it. Maybe a more acoustic-sounding album. Honestly, if it tanks, it’s not like it’ll be worse than my last two albums, but at least I won’t hate it.”

  “Can you just go indie? You have to have the connections and cash.” She looked hopeful.

  “I wish. But I also have an exclusivity contract, and they get my next album. It’s iron-clad. So… maybe I force their hand this way.”

  She gave me a wry smile. “Fair enough. Then I’d say, let’s start now. Choose your favorite song and come up and sing it at the bar. I’m on tonight from seven to ten. We’ll do dinner, and then you can come with me. The people there won’t be expecting you, and it’s a random Thursday at the tail end of the season… it should be fine. We can even have Diego confiscate phones if you want.”

  “Can he do that?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Eh, I don’t know.”

  Grabbing my bag, I scooted out of her car and glanced at the towering edifice that was the Silver Ridge Resort Hotel. The stonework on the front was beautiful. It managed to look sophisticated, and yet just rustic enough to pair well with the neighboring historic lodge.

  “I’ll think about it. Thanks for giving me a ride, and I’ll see you tonight.” I dragged my suitcase behind me and gave her a chin nod as she waved off my thanks and slipped back into her car.

  The bellhop greeted me. “Miss Rice, nice to see you. Please, allow me.”

  He took my bags and guitar, which I happily surrendered, and gestured me into the lobby. I couldn’t believe I still hadn’t been inside, but the rift with Wyatt had opened the door. Or it’d closed the door on my staying up there, which I still needed to alert Warrick to. I’d pay to the end of my extended time, of course, but I couldn’t be there. So close to Wyatt, but in what felt more and more like an alternate universe.