Nights Under the Tennessee Stars

by Joanne Rock

  The customer was self-sufficient, picking through the racks with a practiced eye.

  “Remy said I should behave naturally.” Erin was excited about his unexpected dinner invitation. Probably far more than she should be.

  She’d assumed after the way they’d parted the night before that he was ready to put that time behind him. Now she wondered. She’d been buzzing inside ever since she got his text. Would he stay for a while...after dinner? Her skin heated as she thought about what that might mean.

  Was it foolish to wish for more from him? To hope that his texts were a sign there might be room in his heart for...something? She knew better than that. And yet she was going to meet him anyway.

  “Yes, but don’t you want to use the publicity as a chance to show people what a dynamic, exciting store you run?” Bethany lifted the small sign Erin had painted for the sale rack. It showed a picture of a rainbow, unicorn and a pot of gold all around the word Sale.

  “Show off your stuff. You’ve got so many great visual elements here.”

  Erin set down her phone, not sure what to do while the cameras rolled. There were downtimes in retail and it wasn’t as if she spent all day straightening the stacks of clothes or dusting off antiques.

  “I’m barely surviving the cameras so far, Bethany. I can’t suddenly start turning cartwheels for attention. It’s just not my style.”

  “I know, but when you have an opportunity to really do something well—” Her breath hitched, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, God.”

  She clapped her hands over her mouth, staring up at the ceiling without blinking until the tears dried without falling.

  “Are you okay?” Erin hoped the cameras wouldn’t notice the drama behind the counter. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Bethany sniffed and lowered her voice. “I can’t talk about it here.”

  “Is it Scott?” Erin came around the front of the counter so her back would block the cameras from seeing her sister-in-law.

  “I think he’s giving up on us. For good.” She had barely squeaked out the last word when she turned and darted through the break in the heavy plastic divider into the store’s renovated area.

  Erin debated what to do. Man the store and be there for the cameras and one self-sufficient shopper or follow Bethany?

  The debate was short since the Finley motto had always been Family First.

  Edging between the sheets of protective plastic, she found Bethany sobbing against a counter.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted between sniffles. “I’m so sorry. I just started thinking about how Scott always accuses me of being a perfectionist and trying to make everything better. I shouldn’t tell you how to run your television spot and I shouldn’t tell him how to run his life. I don’t know. I just—” She raised her hands in the air, a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like everything I say is wrong. Every conversation is a land mine.”

  Erin felt her sister-in-law’s hurt sharply. She didn’t want this for Bethany.

  “First of all, I love your advice and you always have good ideas, so feel free to tell me how to run the store anytime.” Erin dug under a cabinet where she kept building supplies and found a roll of clean paper towels. She passed it to Bethany. “If Heather was here, she would kiss you for telling me to stop texting on national television.”

  Bethany tore off some of the toweling and wiped her nose. “All my advice drives Scott crazy. But I feel like he doesn’t have a plan to save our marriage. He sits in our therapy sessions and waits for them to be over. And if I ask him about it, he clams up.”

  “I’m sure it can be intimidating to be married to someone who is so incredibly competent, but he has to know how lucky he is to have you.”

  Her watery laugh didn’t sound convinced.

  “I mean it.” Erin sat on one of the counters, the scent of lumber and wood stain heavy in the air. “The whole family earns money on our shares in Finleys’ Building Supplies because you keep the place in the black year after year. Mack has you to thank for being able to invest in his own bar in Nashville. I have your business savvy to thank for having enough start-up cash to get Last Chance Vintage off the ground. Heather does, too, for that matter.”

  “But I think I chased him away from the business that he planned to make his life.” Bethany swiped her eyes, smearing mascara. “Remember when I quit teaching, I just planned to help him. I was going to be like a second in command. Then I ended up taking it over. Things have never been the same since then.”

  “It’s not your fault you had great ideas and really found a niche.” She ripped off another paper towel and stepped closer to Bethany. “Here, let me fix your makeup.”

  She wiped away the excess and noticed her sister-in-law was shaking from the stress.

  “You should go back out front,” Bethany urged. “I shouldn’t even be here if I can’t hold it together in public anymore.”

  “I’m your family.” Erin crumpled the paper and threw it away. “If we can’t shed tears in front of each other, it’s a lonely damn world.”

  That forced a crooked smile from her.

  “I don’t see you shedding too many tears during the hard times.”

  “The last man who upset me this badly didn’t deserve my tears.” Erin didn’t know what she’d do if Patrick called her again. How could he think for a second she would want to hear from him? “I’m saving up mine for someone really worthy.”

  She knew there was a good chance she’d be the one crying when Remy left town. Especially since she wasn’t being nearly cautious enough when he extended dinner invitations. But right now, all she could think about was the bright, shining moments that felt happy in the short term.

  Didn’t she deserve some of that in her life?

  “I wouldn’t wish this hurt on you.” Bethany combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed the front of her blouse.

  “I know.” Erin’s phone chimed in her hand and she wondered what Remy wanted. Funny how she knew it was him. “But maybe you can’t have those beautiful highs without the hardship of the lows.”

  Bethany shook her head. “I’ll tell you this much. I’d really like to get off the roller coaster either way. And I’d sure feel better if he had a plan—if he offered any inkling of some strategy that might save us.”

  Erin hugged her goodbye, hard, and wished she could do more than just go back into the front of the store while her sister-in-law took time to gather her composure. Their one customer was still working her way through the racks, onto the boys’ clothes now that she’d looked at all the toys and the girls’ stuff.

  Only then did she check her incoming text.

  Is it okay if a cute, fairly well-mannered eighteen-year-old joins us? I will double the number of cupcakes.

  They’d be dining as a family.

  Erin couldn’t help a wistful smile. No doubt about it, she was enjoying some beautiful highs this week. Typing her reply, she ignored the cameras completely.

  Shoes, dresses and boys are some of my favorite conversational topics, actually. Your guest sounds fun.

  Remy’s note came right back.

  Boy(s)? Plural?

  Her heart flip-flopped as if she was the eighteen-year-old.

  I will get back to you on these questions in person.

  Then waited.

  Can’t. Wait.

  She felt as though someone had turned a light on inside her. She wondered if she looked in a mirror right then if she’d see herself glowing.

  “Ma’am?” she called out to her customer. “Looks like it’s just ten minutes until closing.”

  The woman gave a terse nod and kept digging through the racks of clothes. No doubt Bethany wouldn’t approve of that business practice, either. But while Remy was in town, Erin planned to squeeze every moment of joy out of her time with him even if it meant putting a piece of her fragile heart on the line again.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WHEN HER DOORBE
LL rang two hours later, Erin opened it to find Remy holding two grocery bags and Sarah beside him with a pastry box. A lightning strike lit up the sky behind them, brightly illuminating the father and daughter for a moment.

  “Welcome! Come in before you get soaked.” She held the door wide.

  “Don’t worry, Erin.” Sarah hurried inside ahead of her dad. “I’m only here in a cooking capacity. I’m completely not elbowing my way into dinner.”

  Erin looked to Remy for guidance on what she meant, but he just shrugged.

  “I’m really looking forward to visiting with you, too,” Erin assured her. “Of course, you’ll join us. If anything, I’m the one elbowing my way into your family dinner.”

  She gestured at the kitchen and Sarah moved toward it in a rush of ponytail and black poncho fringe. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “Your kitchen is so cute!” Sarah ran a hand over the rounded lines of a yellow Frigidaire refrigerator. “Everything is so clean and modern, but retro, too. Cool, isn’t it, Dad?”

  Remy nodded. “Cool and cute. Definitely.”

  He winked at Erin from behind Sarah’s back.

  “But to answer your question, I only offered to come so I could cook for you both,” Sarah insisted. “I owe my dad a thank-you for being patient with me when I’ve been one headache after another for him this week.”

  “I tried telling her we wanted her to stay and enjoy the food she cooks,” Remy explained, setting the bags on the pale yellow–tiled kitchen counter. “But she’s on a mission.”

  “Wow.” Erin checked out the pile of produce Sarah pulled from one of the grocery sacks. “Maybe we should let her run with this mission. Whatever dinner is in the works looks like it’s going to be good.”

  “We stopped at a farmers’ market and everything smelled so fresh.” Sarah passed Erin a quart of strawberries. “See?”

  Dutifully, Erin inhaled while Remy withdrew a bottle of wine. Father and daughter made an easy team together in this kitchen that Sarah had never set foot in before. It was nice to see them both in a moment where they were relaxed. Happy, even. Erin was curious about what had happened at the police station, but didn’t want to risk breaking the mood.

  “I know right where you got them.” She found a colander and tried to wash some of the fruit, but Sarah shooed her away. “You must have stopped at the farm where Ally’s boyfriend, Ethan, lives.”

  “Really?” Sarah’s expressive green eyes grew wide. “Ally told me all about Ethan’s family and how they take farming really serious. I guess they try to live like pioneers or something, doing everything themselves. I think it’s neat to know you have the skills to, like—run away and live off the grid.”

  Remy stilled, but Sarah didn’t notice as she moved around the kitchen, turning on the oven and pulling down a cutting board from an open shelf. Another lightning flash brightened the kitchen, making Erin reach into a cupboard for a flashlight, along with some candles and matches, just in case.

  “Wouldn’t you miss modern conveniences, though?” Erin asked carefully. “Like good shopping or restaurants?”

  “Maybe.” She looked over her shoulder at her father. “Dad, you grew up where it was so rural you were practically off the grid. Didn’t you like it in the bayou?”

  She drawled the last word with Cajun flair, making Erin realize they’d come from different walks of life in Louisiana. While Sarah had a Southern lilt to her voice that sounded different than the Heartache locals, it also didn’t sound like Remy’s thicker drawl.

  “I wanted a better life than fishing could provide.” He reached for the corkscrew and went about opening the wine.

  His clipped answer made Erin realize how little she knew about him outside his history with his wife.

  “Did you always know you wanted to go into TV production?” she asked, sneaking a peek at the recipe Sarah had open on the digital tablet she’d propped against the flour canister.

  Grabbing the fruit while Sarah was busy putting together what looked like a quiche, Erin washed and sliced the berries for the strawberry salad recipe.

  “No.”

  “Dad was a photographer.” Sarah whisked eggs and chopped veggies as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

  Remy helped a little, but it was clear he deferred to his daughter’s cooking wisdom, tackling the jobs she assigned, like slicing tomatoes and grating fresh mozzarella cheese.

  “What made you change fields?” Erin found a big bowl for the strawberries and added mandarin oranges.

  “I just followed the opportunities that came up,” he replied with a shrug.

  “Mom always said it would have been hard to have two artists in the family, although I never understood why.” Sarah slid the quiche into the oven. Then, noticing that Erin had assembled the salad, she beamed. “Erin! You didn’t have to do all that.”

  “Happy to help. The recipe looks great.” She tried to piece together Remy’s creative roots while the teen cleaned up the kitchen. Had his wife really discouraged his photography career because there couldn’t be two artists in a family?

  Erin wondered why Liv had thought that. Did two similar temperaments clash? Or would two artists mean too little income?

  But that was a cynical thought.

  She tried to focus on Sarah’s chatter as she worked. Erin didn’t think most eighteen-year-olds—even if they knew how to cook—took the time to wash the prep dishes and wipe down the countertops, but Sarah worked with smooth efficiency. Because she was in a hurry to leave? Or was it simple practice from managing the household for her father?

  “Okay, I’m out of here,” she announced when she was done. She kissed Remy on the cheek. “Ally will be here to pick me up any second. I just texted her.”

  “You really can’t stay and share the feast?” Erin asked, genuinely disappointed. She appreciated the insights she’d gotten about Remy and was enjoying getting to know his daughter better.

  “Ally and I are going to do our fingernails with some manicure art stuff she got at The Strand.” Sarah wriggled her bare digits for emphasis. “I guess her house is super nearby?”

  She peered out the window into the dark.

  “Right over there.” Erin pointed. There were fields between her house and her mother’s and Scott and Bethany’s, but they were still close enough to see lights in one another’s windows. “You could have jogged if it wasn’t starting to pour.”

  “Oh, I see her taillights! She’s backing out now.” Sarah whirled around and gave Erin a hug, her hair silky smooth and apple scented. “Hope you like the quiche!”

  “I’m going to love it. Thank you so much.” Erin walked her to the front door. Rain spattered through the screen despite the deep overhang on the porch. “Want an umbrella?”

  “No. I’ll be fine. See you at the shoot tomorrow. And remind Dad that Ally’s taking me back to the B and B after?”

  “Of course.” Erin waved at Ally as her niece pulled into the driveway. “Have fun.”

  When she closed the door behind her, the house seemed unusually quiet. Remy stood in the dim hallway between her and the kitchen, his shoulders backlit in a way that put him in shadow.

  Even the outline of him was handsome with his square shoulders and narrow hips. He wore a blue dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up and the collar unbuttoned.

  “She sure fills a house, doesn’t she?” Erin accepted the glass of wine Remy held out to her, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange.

  “Always has.” Remy lifted his glass in the direction of the front door. “And cheers to her for that or I would have lost my mind long before now.”

  Erin understood that now, having had the chance to see them together. While Remy obviously excelled at his job, Sarah had more than held her own on the home front. They seemed to have a good relationship, but when Erin thought about what they’d been through together, she ached for them both.

  She nodded at the love seat in the front room and Remy followed he
r there, taking a seat beside her. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. The lightning outside the window provided a spectacular show.

  “Where did she learn to cook like that?” Erin settled deeper into the leather cushions, making her feet comfortable on the rattan coffee table while they waited for their dinner to bake.

  “Self-taught, I guess. She’s always had an interest in cuisine, but she truly started cooking with a vengeance once it was just her and me.”

  Erin’s throat dried up as she pictured a grieving girl learning how to cook to feed herself and her father.

  “She’s been very good to you,” she observed quietly before taking a sip of the pinot grigio Remy had brought. “I didn’t want to ask in front of her, but I’ve been wondering how things went at the police station.”

  “They kept the letter. Initially, Sarah didn’t want to see what it said, but after I read it and the police did, too, we encouraged her to take a look.”

  “You said it wasn’t threatening.” That was as much as he’d offered in his text.

  “No.” His jaw tensed. Even in the lightning flashes, she could see the hard set to his profile. “He apologized for sharing anything about her mother with—” his hand fisted on the sofa beside her “—others. He said he didn’t expect her to ever forgive him, but he wanted her to know he was sorry for that and for not being a part of her life.”

  The words were halting as if each one stuck in his throat.

  “It sounded sincere?” She tried to reconcile her vision of Liv Weldon—the artist for whom Remy had sacrificed his photography to provide her with more opportunities—with Sarah’s felon biological father.

  Surely, the man must have some redeeming qualities to have wooed a woman like Liv in the first place.