by Rula Sinara
“You want to know what I think?”
Finn waited for him to continue.
“I think he’ll pay me a visit after he gets home to ask for your hand in marriage.”
“I’m not so sure. I’m not even sure I want that.”
“You can’t fool an old fool.” Connor winked. “Of course you want that. And when he asks, I’ll say yes...on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“He has to guarantee that even if he signs with Bernie and goes on the road for a time, he’ll make Nashville home base, and he’ll always come home to you.”
“That’s a lot to ask.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a musician, and we both know—”
If she could take back the words, Finn would do it in a heartbeat.
“That didn’t come out right,” she began. “What I meant was—”
He held up a hand. “No, after all the years I put music ahead of you and your sister, I had that coming. But Sam is a better man than I am.”
“You’re a good man.” At least, she thought, he’d become a good man.
“That boy is good to the bone. And trust me, I know good when I see it.”
“But you’ve heard him sing and play that guitar of his—he’s wonderful. It’s only a matter of time before someone like Bernie makes him an offer he can’t refuse.”
“We don’t need the details to know that Bernie already made him an offer.”
“And if he signs? What then?”
“So what if he does?”
“He’ll go on tour and get all caught up in the lights and the autographs and the groupies and—”
“He’s better than that. Give him a chance to prove it. And stop making him pay for my mistakes.”
Finn nodded. “I’d better check on Ciara.” She got to her feet, then said, “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thanks, Dad.”
“No, thank you.”
“For what? You’re the one who doled out all the great advice.”
“Thanks for not calling me Connor. Don’t get me wrong, my mama chose a fine, strong name.” He got to his feet, too, and gave her a fatherly squeeze. “But I like Dad a whole lot better.”
Finn would have said, “Me, too,” if not for the happy, relieved sob pulsing in her throat.
Only one thing could make life more perfect, and if Connor was right, it would happen in about a week.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
HALFWAY THROUGH THE two-hour, twenty-six-minute flight between Denver and Nashville’s Berry Field, Sam wrote the last lines of a new song. Whether or not he performed it onstage, the lyrics would likely remain the most meaningful—and personal—of any he’d written to date. And with a notebook that bulged with nearly three hundred Sam Marshall tunes, that was saying something. But the biggest challenge still remained: finding the right notes to accentuate each word.
The right notes...
He laughed to himself, because even that reminded him of Finn, looking sweet and sad as he left her at The Right Note.
She’d been front and center in his mind since he’d headed to the Nashville airport. And while the Marshall family and friends had gathered to celebrate a successful dry run at Nate and Eden’s ceremony, a hundred little things had made him think of Finn. In his childhood bedroom after the rehearsal dinner, while drafting his fun-yet-moving best man speech, Sam had caught himself doodling Finn in the margins. Lady Luck must have been smiling on him, because if Sophie had walked in a tick sooner and caught sight of it, she’d never have let him live it down. Why, he wouldn’t put it past her to volunteer to write his eulogy, just so she could rub it in one last time...payback for the times he’d razzed her for drawing various boys’ names in colorful bubble letters all over her high school textbooks.
He couldn’t wait to see Finn’s reaction when he told her he’d stepped on his new sister-in-law’s white satin shoes...because visions of her in a flowing white gown and gauzy veil had distracted him. She’d probably blush and giggle when she heard that he’d mindlessly written Sam and Finn Marshall in the guest book, then made up a flimsy “need to use the men’s room” excuse rather than tell his aunt Maeve why a squiggly black tornado had appeared above his signature, hiding his mistake.
His seatmate leaned forward slightly, tapped a many-ringed finger on his tray table.
“I can’t help but notice that you aren’t wearing a wedding ring.”
Instinct made him cover his left hand with the right, which prompted her to snicker.
She extended the hand. “I’m Ada.”
He shook it, and returned her smile. “Sam.”
“Do you live in Nashville?”
“Yes, ma’am. Just heading home after a quick trip to Denver.”
“And I was out there visiting my sister.” She glanced at his hand again. “So, Sam, are you allergic to gold?”
“No...”
“I ask because I don’t see evidence that you’ve ever worn a wedding ring.”
“That’s because I’ve never been married.” Sam would happily don a gold band for the right woman. For Finn.
“A man as handsome as yourself? Please. Surely there’s a fiancée...”
“Not yet.” Because he needed to put music to those lyrics.
“Not yet?”
“Well, I have someone in mind...”
She waved the comment away. “I believe this is your lucky day, and mine, too. I’m the proud ima of four unmarried daughters, you see.” She handed him a business card that said Ada Abraham, Master Matchmaker. “You can see right there in black-and-white why their marital status is bad for business.” Laughing, Ada rested fingertips on his forearm. “I have a good feeling about you, Sam, so I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you your pick of my girls, which will spare you the trauma of memorizing and delivering a proposal, one hundred percent free!”
Sam patted the pocket that held his song lyrics. “Much as I appreciate the offer—and I’m sure they’re all as lovely as their ima—my heart belongs to another.”
“Ah, and you’ve just broken mine.” Ada thumped her ample chest.
Their flight attendant walked down the aisle. “Seat backs and tray tables up, please,” he said, pointing at the “fasten seat belt” light above their heads. A quiet ding punctuated his demand.
Saved by the bell, Sam thought, grinning to himself.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gents, this is your captain speaking.” The garbled voice recited altitude, approximate arrival time and the current temperature in Nashville. “We trust you’ve enjoyed your flight and hope you’ll fly with us again.”
“Why do pilots bother with all that nonsense?” She stuffed snacks, a water bottle and her paperback into a tote nearly as large as his carry-on. “Do they realize that most passengers can only decipher every other word?” She zipped the big red bag and held out her hand, palm up this time. “Since you won’t be using the business card...”
Laughing, Sam gave it back.
“I paid extra for the raised print, you see. Waste not, want not.”
“A Ben Franklin quote. One of my favorites.”
“Ah, he’s smart and well read, too—yet another reason to mourn what could have been.” She smiled at him, then quickly turned to the man across the aisle. “A two-and-a-half-hour flight, and I just now noticed that you’re not wearing a wedding ring,” she said, holding out the card.
Oh, he could hardly wait to share this story with Finn! Chuckling and shaking his head, Sam leaned back and, eyes closed, pictured Finn.
Finn, who’d stolen his heart and turned him into a scared-to-say-love bonehead. Whose capacity to love and talent for nurturing made him yearn to be one of the people on the receiving end o
f her TLC. Who’d hidden behind a hand when he’d said her lips belonged to him, and said with nothing more than a look that she felt the same way.
When he’d first moved to Nashville, staying busy had been the only thing that had kept him from heading straight back to Denver. Vacation planners claimed New York was “the city that never sleeps,” but in Sam’s opinion, Music City was just as much an insomniac. It took a while to adjust to nonstop commotion, blaring sirens, blinking lights...and tourists who followed anyone carrying a guitar case in hopes of running into someone worthy of signing anything that could hold ink. Every now and then, he still yearned for the peaceful beauty of the Double M’s mountain vistas. But these few days without Finn proved without question that people, not places, had the power to lure him from his dream: he missed Finn more than he’d thought it possible for one person to miss another, and he couldn’t wait to get back to her.
He’d tucked the handout given to all of Nate and Eden’s wedding guests into his jacket pocket. Opening it, he saw the list of people who’d participated in the ceremony, song lyrics, scripture verses, then came to his favorite part...when the bride and groom joined hands and recited together:
I promise to be your constant friend, your faithful partner in sickness and health, in joy and sorrow, to honor and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, and to love you from this moment to my last on earth.
He’d heard similar vows in the past, but none had put a lump in his throat or moved him to tears. It wasn’t until he’d heard Nate and Eden’s special twist on the traditional pledge that Sam realized he wanted to live those words...with Finn.
* * *
IN SAM’S ABSENCE, the guys had made great progress on a project that had grown out of Connor’s idea to donate The Right Note’s old furnishings and utensils to a homeless shelter. They’d decided to open their own shelter instead.
Rowdy had surprised them all by announcing that he owned three rental properties, and intended to donate one to house those in need.
When the contractor who’d renovated the diner heard about it, he’d volunteered materials and man-hours to bring the place up to code.
Connor’s visits to local and regional media outlets promised prime-time coverage before, during and after the fund-raiser they were planning. He’d met with the mayor, too, who’d put him in touch with local agencies that would provide trained staff.
Torry’s connections had encouraged the involvement of some of recognizable names—groups, duos and solo artists who’d agreed to appear in person or via live video feed.
Even Bernie had gotten involved by promising to orchestrate a recording of the fund-raiser. Once packaged and sold online, he was sure it would bring in income now and far into the future.
It didn’t surprise him to hear that Finn would cater the after-party, or that she’d written to-do lists for everyone.
“I can’t believe you got so much done while I was gone. Did you leave anything for me to do?”
“Finn cracks a mean whip,” Mark said, handing Sam a copy of the itinerary she’d designed and doled out. “And don’t worry. You’re the guy in charge of making sure everybody can get here at the same time, on the same day. And that the fund-raiser doesn’t conflict with anything else on that date.”
Sam chuckled. “Gee. Is that all?”
“Actually, no. She wants you to think up a catchy title for the fund-raiser. And a name for the shelter.”
“No way.” He looked at Mark’s list. “Where does it say that?”
Torry stepped up, pointed over Sam’s shoulder. “See? Right there. ‘Sam—date, ASAP.’ And here, ‘Event title, ASAP.’ Trust me...she means every syllable of that acronym, so I’d get right on it I were you.” He pretended to shiver. “That Finn is a force to be reckoned with.”
“That’s m’girl,” Connor said.
It had been her father’s offhanded comment, weeks ago, about the need for more homeless facilities and rehab centers that had inspired the idea in the first place. The changes in the man had been remarkable, and he deserved a lot of credit for making—and sticking to—the decision to turn over a new leaf. Would he have been as successful without Finn’s open-armed welcome? Sam didn’t think so, and the answer stirred his imagination, sparking possible names for the organization.
“By the way,” Mark said, handing him an envelope, “Bernie left this for you.”
“What is it?” Sam turned it over a few times.
“How should I know? Do I look like the type of guy who reads other people’s mail?”
Sam copied his smirk. “Well...”
“Aw, just open it, smart guy, so we can all get back to work.”
Sam could tell from the size and heft of the package that it contained a contract. He could feel a paper clip, too, which meant Bernie had attached a note, something along the lines of Sign this agreement, or walk away from what could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
He folded it in half and tucked it into his back pocket. “I’ll look at it later.”
“If you don’t sign,” Mark said, “you’re out of your ever-lovin’ mind.”
Torry agreed. “The man has connections everywhere, meaning if you have any talent at all, he can hook you up with movers and shakers in all areas of the entertainment industry. Think of it, Sam. Movies. TV. And albums.”
Bernie had definitely helped boost Torry’s career, which now included major motion pictures and guest spots on sitcoms in addition to performances on some of the most sought-after stages.
“I’ll read it after I’ve checked on Ciara and Finn.”
“When you see Ciara, you won’t believe your eyes,” Connor said. “Tell those girls of mine that I’ll be home in an hour or two.”
“Speaking of home,” Mark said, “if you sign that thing, what are the chances you’ll sell your share of the partnership and make Colorado home base?”
“Nah. I need to stick around at least long enough to figure out how a guy who claims he never reads other people’s mail knows what’s in this envelope.”
“He didn’t have to read it,” Torry said. “He read the writing on the wall.”
“All right, give a guy a break, will ya?” Mark said.
Sam made his way to the double entry doors and lifted a hand. “I’ll be at The Right Note if anybody needs me.”
He stepped outside, hands pocketed and shoulders hunched, and plowed into the biting early-November wind. In the distance, rays of the setting sun sparked from the “Batman” building’s iconic radio towers. The sight caught him off guard, and he stopped walking, enraptured by the beauty of the scene.
Poor Finn, he thought, rounding the corner, because she had no idea that by saying yes, she would be in for a lifetime of stuff like that.
The Right Note’s slow-blinking welcome sign came into sight just then. Truth in advertising, he thought. She greeted everyone with genuine warmth, but he liked to think that she reserved that sweet, one-of-a-kind smile for him. Would he see that smile when he admitted that he didn’t just want her lips all to himself, he wanted all of her, for the rest of his days?
She was bent over a tour map when he walked in, showing the couple at the checkout counter how to get to Riverfront Station. “Here’s the Ryman.” She pointed at a dot on Fifth Avenue, then slid her finger farther up Broadway to Third Avenue. “And the Johnny Cash Museum. You’ll be able to see the station from there. This time of year, you shouldn’t have any trouble grabbing a couple of seats on the Hop-On Hop-Off Trolley. The driver will usually stop so you can get pictures of the Parthenon and the Capitol building. The Nashville skyline is gorgeous at night!”
The couple thanked her and made their way to the door. She was right: the Nashville skyline did look gorgeous at night, but it couldn’t compare to the way her face lit up when she spotted him. Should he wait un
til they were alone to tell her what he’d decided, or do it right here, right now?
“How was the flight? And traffic from the airport? When was the last time you ate anything? I know they don’t feed passengers on airplanes anymore...”
“The flight was fine.” Later, he’d tell her about Ada’s offer to hook him up with one of her unmarried daughters...without the usual matchmaker fee. “And so was traffic. I grabbed a burger at the airport, so thanks, but I don’t have an appetite.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you, though. And something to ask you.”
A short line had gathered at the counter.
“Let me take care of these customers,” she said, “and then...”
He’d give her all the time she needed. If she said no, he’d need the rest of his life to get over it.
“So what’s in the envelope?” she asked.
He’d almost forgotten it was in his back pocket. “To be honest, I’m not sure. Mark handed it to me as I left the club to come over here.” Sam didn’t want to talk about Bernie. Or the deal. “You guys made some serious headway on the shelter project while I was gone. I’m impressed.”
“It didn’t all happen while you were gone, you know. Writing up lesson plans and teaching is important work. Demanding, distracting work. I’d be surprised if a few things didn’t escape your notice.”
She turned to greet another customer, and Sam used the time to collect his thoughts. Should he explain everything now, or wait until later, when they could be alone?
“The envelope,” she said. “It’s from that man, isn’t it?”
“What man?”
“The one with the ponytail and goatee you were talking to the night Ciara and Connor went to the hospital. What is he? Agent? Manager?”
“Producer.”
She raised her chin a notch and stood up straighter. “So what did he offer you?”
Another customer approached, and as she rang up the tab, Sam said, “I don’t want to talk about this now. Or here.”
