Nights Under the Tennessee Stars

by Joanne Rock

  Nina grinned. “I have a hard time staying quiet for long. Hard to believe, right? But I got fed up with not talking and figured what did I have to lose? I started telling the story about Vince’s death and my role in it...” Her smile faded. “It was awful. And it didn’t get better right away. It took months of feeling like I was scraping my insides out before I started to turn a corner.”

  “But it really helped?” Erin hadn’t remained angry with her mother after a childhood that had been occasionally frightening. She just drew boundaries and figured that was healthy enough. Yet considering it had taken her months to shake loose the sense of failure about Patrick, she wondered again if she was missing out on a deeper understanding of herself by avoiding the counselor’s office.

  “So much.” Nina took another sip of her Bellini. “I needed that outside perspective to help me see what was normal about what I was feeling and what...wasn’t. I wouldn’t have finished college without her help.”

  While Erin tried to imagine what it would be like to unlock all her family secrets and let a therapist wander around her thoughts, Bethany quizzed Nina more on the time frame for her experience and how she measured her results. She asked so many questions, in fact, that Erin got a much clearer idea of Bethany’s commitment to the process.

  When Bethany seemed to have exhausted her list of things to ask, silence fell over the group for a long moment.

  “What will you do if Scott continues to just show up?” Erin asked. She’d hoped the couple had turned a corner last fall when they had agreed to see a counselor.

  Bethany stared out over the fields toward the peach orchard while she thought about it.

  “As long as there is still some love there, I’m going to keep trying.” Her voice wobbled a little and Nina leaned over to sling an arm around her shoulders. “I will continue fighting for as long as there is a scrap of a chance that we still have a few seeds left of what we once shared.”

  Erin’s eyes burned at her sister-in-law’s heartfelt words. “Cheers to that.” She lifted her glass in a toast. “Love is worth fighting for.”

  Or so she hoped. These days she wasn’t sure she really believed she’d ever experience it herself.

  “Cheers.” Nina clinked her glass to both of theirs and Bethany smiled crookedly as she drank, too.

  “No one said marriage would be easy.” Bethany dug into her apples and Erin was glad to see her eating. She’d lost a lot of weight last summer, but she seemed to be holding steady now.

  “Um. Right.” Nina nodded. “But it took me eight years to get Mack even thinking in that matrimonial direction after he went and married someone else first. So let’s go gently on the hopeful future newlywed, ladies.”

  Erin laughed, lifting her fingers to run them over a wind chime that hung near her chair. “Mack adores you. He only got divorced because he married the wrong woman the first time. I can tell you both—” she stared hard at the two women “—that you are the right choices for my brothers, assuming you can handle them. I hope you do because I love you guys, big-time.”

  “Aw!” Nina, who had no siblings and whose parents had abandoned her to her grandmother when she was in elementary school, rushed over to give her a hug. “Right back at you, chica.”

  “And it’s not just because you make great cupcakes,” Erin assured her, winking at Bethany over Nina’s shoulder.

  “Hey, my cupcakes got me a few marriage proposals back when I worked in New York, I kid you not. That’s how I knew I was onto something.” Nina plunked down in the chair close to Erin on the opposite side of the table where she’d started. “You let me know when you need to turn up the heat for your next boyfriend and I’ll make a batch guaranteed to have him thinking about a ring.”

  She couldn’t possibly have guessed how the ring remark would affect her because, of course, Erin hadn’t shared that particular detail about Patrick with them.

  “I don’t think we’ll know who Erin has her eye on until the ring is already on her finger,” Bethany remarked, eyeing Erin across the table. “She’s always played it close to the vest.”

  “With my mother ready to turn the slightest comment into major drama, wouldn’t you do the same?” Erin had her reasons.

  Nina snorted.

  “Well, sure.” Bethany added a few cheese slices to her plate, carefully avoiding Erin’s gaze. “That doesn’t mean you should hold out on us.”

  Was there a trace of hurt in her voice? Erin had never been the kind to share much of her private life with anyone, but she was hoping days like today would become more common. She enjoyed these women, and she trusted them. Heather might be her sister by blood, but Bethany and Nina were part of the fabric of her family. Their presence at Finley events made things less strained as far as she was concerned.

  “You’re right.” Erin sat up straighter. “So I’m turning over a new leaf, and you’re going to be the first to hear my new decision about my nonexistent love life.”

  Bethany’s eyebrows shot up.

  “There’s nothing as delectable as a good secret,” Nina declared.

  “I’m thinking about making a pass at the producer.” It was probably crazy. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility.

  “What?” Bethany exclaimed at the same time Nina said, “No way!”

  “I know, Bethany, I told you I wasn’t interested in a man in my life.”

  “Right. Yesterday,” Bethany reminded her.

  “I stand by that.” Erin stirred the ice cubes in her drink, watching them swirl around the peaches floating on top. “I had my heart broken not that long ago, so I’m not ready to jump back into a relationship. But I realized the producer and I are both...in a transition period.”

  “He’s your gap guy?” Nina clutched her arm, her silver rings flashing in the sunlight.

  “Maybe he could be.” And Remy needed a rebound woman, even if he didn’t know it yet. “He’s from Miami, so there won’t be those awkward moments where you see each other around town. We can just...” She finished the sentence with a shrug. “You know. Enjoy each other and then go our separate ways.”

  The other women exchanged a look.

  “Okay, stop with the telepathy,” Erin complained. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Sex complicates things,” Nina started at the same time Bethany said, “It’s not easy to keep emotions out of the equation.”

  “Right.” Erin hadn’t thought that far yet. Maybe the attraction was stronger than she’d realized if she was already making plans to follow the chemistry where it led before she’d considered all the possible consequences. “Normally, I’d agree with you. But I think Remy and I—”

  “His name is Remy?” Nina sighed.

  “He has a Cajun accent,” Bethany offered.

  “Anyway, I think we’ve both had our emotions trampled recently, so they’re not really going to be involved.”

  “And there’s a river in Africa called De-Nial.” Nina adjusted her big straw hat to keep her face covered from the sun. “Although I support you in your quest for a good time.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Bethany added. “Good for you, Erin.”

  They spent the rest of the afternoon working on signs for the new store space in Last Chance Vintage. Her sisters-in-law, Bethany and Nina, didn’t mention Erin’s plan again, which she appreciated. She wasn’t sure why she’d confided in them when—as Bethany had pointed out—she usually kept her personal life very personal. Maybe it was because she was starting over, committing to her new life in Heartache rather than hoping she’d find happiness somewhere else. Or maybe it was because she felt like a bad friend for not sharing more about herself in the past.

  Yet as the sun sank lower and the other women headed home, Erin realized it wasn’t for either of those reasons. The simple truth was, she was nervous about acting on what she felt for Remy, especially in light of the things he’d shared with her.

  There was a very real chance he’d say no. She knew he was
trying to avoid the attraction. But she recognized his pain, and it called to her on a deeper level than the surface chemistry. She knew what it felt like to be hurt. Lost. Struggling to stay afloat. And if they had the kind of chemistry that could distract him from all of that for even a few hours at a time? She would at least propose it.

  Telling Nina and Bethany about it was just Erin’s way of making sure she didn’t lose her nerve. Now that she’d shared the plan with her friends? She’d damn well follow through on it if only for the sake of her pride.

  Dumb or brilliant, she wasn’t sure. But she picked up the phone to call the Heartache B and B and invite Remy Weldon for dinner.

  * * *

  REMY WAS IN the middle of laying out a digital storyboard with his director in a teleconference session when his cell phone rang. Sarah had gone out earlier. They’d had a good talk the night before about making better choices to stay in touch with him frequently. They had adjoining rooms at the B and B for the next few days while Remy finished scouting the area for locations. Remy had touched base with Sarah’s counselor, who had told him she was encouraged that Sarah had reached out to him and that spending more time together could be a good thing for both of them.

  Her comments had lifted some of the pressure off Remy to rush through this job and get back to Miami. Now he sat alone in his room working on the cramped desk overrun by knickknacks, staring down at the caller ID to see who was interrupting his meeting.

  It wasn’t Sarah.

  It was Erin Finley. He’d entered her contact information into his phone for reference’s sake. He never expected her to call him for any reason. Unless, maybe she had a question about the coverage for her Dress for Success event. Curious, he told his director they’d finish up later and Remy took the call.

  “Hello?” He had no reason to feel uneasy, yet his senses hummed with a kind of wariness he didn’t normally experience around anyone, let alone a woman.

  It must be the conversation they’d had last night that was messing with his head now. He’d let her get too close. Shared too much.

  “Hi, Remy. It’s Erin.”

  Her voice worked on him like a good song on the radio. He wanted to turn it up. Listen to more. And damn, that wasn’t a good thing.

  “Hey.” He fought to keep things more professional this time. “I was just working on some ideas for shooting the episode with Last Chance Vintage. It’d be nice if we could work on some kind of preliminary event for your clothing drive so that we’re filming customers bringing in donations and you prepping the racks for the clients as you get ready for the show.”

  “That would be great.” She spoke fast. “And we can talk about it more. But I called to invite you for dinner. At my house.”

  His brain blanked.

  “You are welcome to bring Sarah, of course. I know she wants to spend more time with you—”

  “I don’t understand.” He jabbed the button to turn off his computer screen, needing to focus on this call. On Erin and what she was suggesting.

  “It’s dinner,” she repeated. “You know—a standard meal people eat every day. I’ll prepare food I hope you like. We’ll have some awkward conversation, but it could be a nice change from eating alone.”

  He had to smile, which probably counted as a miracle given how much the invitation had rattled him.

  “Right. I remember the meal.”

  “I’m a passable cook. Nothing to write home about, but I keep an excellent wine stash, so there’s a chance you’ll enjoy the cabernet too much to notice if I overcook the steak.”

  “Erin.” He closed his eyes, thinking about having a meal in her home. That she cooked for him. “I thought last night, when I told you...the things I did... I thought we were agreeing that the whole undercurrent between us was a bad idea.”

  “Maybe I did agree at first.” She was quiet for a moment, and he tried to picture her. Where she was. What she was thinking. Damn, but what was she thinking? “But I think that’s a mistake,” she continued finally. “I mean, putting the whole undercurrent between us aside, how long has it been since you had a dinner at a friend’s house? How long since someone cooked for you and you held a real conversation over a meal?”

  He didn’t need to think about it. He could recall a date and time easily, but he tried like hell not to live in the past.

  “I don’t know...”

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” she pressed. “Is Sarah around?”

  “Sarah wants to go to the drive-in with a bunch of her new friends tomorrow. Do you believe they have a drive-in theater in Heartache?”

  “You’re talking to one of its most vocal supporters when it nearly got shut down ten years ago.”

  Remy edged around the edge of the bed to peer out the small window overlooking the gardens behind the B and B. Another couple who were staying in the hotel were taking tea out under an awning while the hostess hurried to bring out another silver-covered platter.

  “That’s right. I forgot I was talking to the former mayor’s daughter.”

  “I’m an activist at heart.”

  “I’m not a project for you.” He said it more sharply than he’d intended, but he got the impression that Erin was a fix-it kind of woman, and not just because she renovated her own shop with power tools. Sometimes caring people could offer too much help.

  “No,” she agreed. “You’re not my project. But you’ll be glad for a steak with me tomorrow since Sarah already has plans.”

  He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. He liked this woman and all her capable, no-nonsense attitude. There was no denying it.

  “I’ll bring dessert,” he said finally. “I found a restaurant up the street that brings in locally made cupcakes.”

  Remy told himself he was agreeing only for the meal and not for the way Erin Finley got under his skin. She was too damn easy to talk to, yes. But maybe she had a point about him not getting out more.

  “I love cupcakes.” She smiled when she said it, he could tell. “Get the lemon-berry, if you see them. They’re fantastic.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHEN ERIN HAD bad ideas, apparently they happened in threes.

  Shoving the charred foil packet of potatoes away from the flames on the grill, she cursed herself for all three of those ideas. First, for deciding to start something with a guy who had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Second, for confiding to Bethany and Nina that she was going to act on that decision. And third, for inviting him to this dumb dinner. She’d asked him in a fit of optimism, thinking they could enjoy each other’s company while forgetting their pasts.

  But while she was just trying to scrub the memory of a loser who had lied to her, Remy was still grappling with the traumatic loss of his wife. A loss he unreasonably blamed himself for.

  How the hell had she ever thought sex and steak could fix that?

  Burned potatoes sure wouldn’t.

  By the time her doorbell rang—the classic chime echoing through her sparsely furnished house and bouncing off the ceramic tile floors all the way to the back patio—she was close to tears. She had not shed a single tear for her loser ex-boyfriend since the day she’d found out he was married, and here she was sniffling hard. Erin slammed the grill shut and turned off the heat.

  Marching through the house, she flung open the front door. Only to find Remy on her porch looking as lost and miserable as she felt.

  To his credit, he held a bakery box in one hand and a bag from the liquor store in the other. His hazel gaze flicked over her, taking in her vintage pink sundress and skinny white patent-leather belt paired with gray argyle tennis shoes. As she stared right back, she couldn’t help but think how they were a mismatch on so many levels. Remy was classically handsome in dark jeans and a white tee with a camel-colored linen jacket.

  His dark hair was neatly combed, the ends curling at his collar, still damp. Her heartbeat jumped at the thought of him showering for this...for her. And that, right there, was why she’d been so p
ushy with him. She was crushing on him like a teenager no matter how much she wanted to deny it.

  “Hi.” He awkwardly held up the goods. “I may have overbought since I was hungry and everything looked good.”

  “You show grace under pressure when I practically twisted your arm into dinner.” She took the bag and the box. “Come on in and let me apologize for being so bossy. It’s a bad habit of mine.”

  “No apology necessary.” He followed her through the living area, where white leather couches and bright blue glass lamps made the room look like a Wedgwood dish. A rattan coffee table and accent furniture kept it from being too fussy looking. “Nice place you have.”

  “Thank you.” She took a left into the kitchen. “I like decorating and I find plenty of cool stuff when I go on buying trips for the store. It’s a constant battle not to cram the house full of things I think are neat.”

  She felt nervous and tempted to call off the whole thing. Send him back to the B and B. But after he’d showered, shopped and shown up she also didn’t want to be rude.

  “Erin—”

  “Remy—” She started at the same time, so they talked on top of each other. “You go first.”

  “I just wanted to thank you for inviting me over.” He took her hand to turn her toward him. Then he let it go quickly, almost as if he wanted to make sure not to touch her. “I know I may not be the best company, but it was a good idea to have a place to go while Sarah is out. You were right about that.”

  Relieved she’d had good instincts about something, she relaxed a little, though her hand still tingled warm where he’d touched her.

  “You may rescind those words once you see how badly I burned the potatoes.” She set the wine on the wooden kitchen island and searched for a corkscrew. “I’ve been nervous all day, feeling like I twisted your arm into coming here.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Kind of I did.” She passed the corkscrew to him to let him open the Chianti, then pulled down some glasses from an overhead cabinet. “My brother calls it Type B Bossiness because I tend to wear people down quietly.”