One More Minute With You

by Sierra Hill

  One More Minute with You

  Sierra Hill

  Copyright © 2015 Sierra Hill

  Published by Ten28 Publishing

  Cover Design by Letitia Hasser, Romantic Book Affairs

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Find Sierra on the web:

  http://www.sierrahillbooks.com

  www.twitter.com/sierrahillbooks

  www.facebook.com/sierrahillbooks

  ISBN: 0692367683

  ISBN-13: 978-0692367681

  DEDICATION

  To all the music lovers of the world and the musicians who they love

  Acknowledgements

  To my two beautiful nieces, Ky and Kass, who helped me choose the title of this book. I hope they both find and live their true passions someday - whether it’s in music, art, sports or academia. And may they always pursue their dreams and never give up on what they want. I love you both so much.

  Many thanks to Carole White, who while on vacation in Seattle, shared with me her time and talents to help in the editing process. I owe you a bottle of wine or two.

  Mom and Mary were my initial beta-readers who encouraged me to keep on writing the story and sharing with them my chapter-by-chapter updates.

  To my musical inspirations, all of whom I adore and listened to on constant repeat while writing this book: Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam, Chris Cornell, Paolo Nutini, Brandi Carlile, Coldplay, Bastille and Patty Griffin. I may not have the musical talent they possess, but I know good music when I hear it. Music is the food for my soul.

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  “I see your Mr. Hunk-of-Burning-Love is back again today,” Donita drawled in her nasally, southern-twanged, smoke-tinged voice. “Isn’t this the third time this week he’s sat in your section?”

  Kenzie looked up from her notepad, where she’d just reviewed a customer’s order before placing it on the fry-cook’s counter, and peered out into the café’s seating area. Her section incorporated half of the dining room which at present, covered ten occupied tables. She scanned the red, vinyl-covered booths, most of them filled with her regular breakfast guests, until her eyes rested on the man in question.

  Mr. Hunk-of-Burning-Love, indeed.

  Damn, he looked even better today than the last two times he’d been in this week. And yes, as Donita so correctly calculated, this was the third day he’d been in.

  The third day in her section. The third day of his piercing-blue eyes raking over her body, looking at her as if he was in search of something. The third day that when he spoke, his deep, resonating voice sent shivers up and down her spine.

  Her head snapped back over to Donita and shrugged noncommittally. “Is it? Huh. He must like my coffee.”

  Donita pursed her lips together, giving her a once-over and making a smooching sound. “Mmm-hmm. I bet that’s not all he likes.”

  Kenzie decided it wasn’t worth debating anything with Donita, who seemed to have a one-track mind when it came to men. Her co-worker was in her mid-forties, and from the stories she told, had been around the block a few dozen times or more. So many times, it seemed, that the block decided to pick up and move into the next county.

  She enjoyed working with her, and had since her first day in the diner three-months earlier. Donita had become one of her only confidants in Nashville, and even with her Flo-like, “Kiss my grits” persona from that well-known seventies diner show, Kenzie found herself admiring the woman and her motherly ways.

  Grabbing the pot of coffee and a menu, Kenzie took a steadying breath and headed toward table twenty. He’s just another customer, she reminded herself, fixing a smile on her face as she reached the end of the table.

  “Good morning. How y’all doing today?” She emphasized the y’all, hoping to sound like she belonged in Nashville, even though she grew up nowhere near the south.

  A trace of a wicked smile etched across his perfectly lush lips as the man quirked his head up from his tablet to look at Kenzie. He was freaking gorgeous.

  His head was a tousled mess of onyx, a carefully sculpted bird’s nest of hair - like he’d just gotten out of bed, ran his fingers through it and that was that. And his eyes oh, his eyes - were a deep, cobalt blue, that today seemed a bit more sleep-deprived than she’d seen them before.

  In fact, she noticed dark shadows under his eyes, as if he’d just pulled an all-nighter. And if that wasn’t indication enough, his thick, dark stubble proved he hadn’t shaved that morning and maybe hadn’t for days.

  His yawn was his only form of greeting.

  Kenzie smiled, pouring a generous cup of coffee in his mug.

  “Ya know, they say that a yawn is just the body’s way of screaming for coffee.” She quipped, mentally patting herself on the back for being so witty.

  The man grunted his approval, staring longingly at the hot liquid. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed deeply.

  His voice was deep, gravely and sleepily sexy when he spoke.

  “Do you by chance have any Espresso?”

  Kenzie was surprised by his request. Not one customer in the three months she’d worked at Hank’s Diner had ever asked for anything other than black drip coffee. It just wasn’t a southern drink.

  Sweet tea? Sure. Lemonade? You bet. Black coffee with a little cream? Every day. But to her knowledge, that Espresso machine had been unused and untouched since it was purchased. It was a dust collector, if nothing else.

  Kenzie, of course,knew how to use the silver-chromed machine. She hailed from Seattle coffee capital of the good ol’ U.S. of A. Why wouldn’t she know how?

  In fact, she’d spent two years in college working part-time as a barista, whipping up the most creamy, frothy concoctions known to man. Just the memory of the rich, flavorful aroma of the roasted coffee beans made her realize just how much she had begun to miss home.

  “Well? Can I order a latte?” The mean looked up at her expectantly, his head cocked to the side, jarring Kenzie back to her present location and circumstances.

  She nodded her head, assuring him she could meet his request.

  “Absolutely. Although, I’m not sure we have any flavors. Is that okay with you?”

  The man gave her a look of relief, his mouth breaking into a wide grin, flashing her with his straight-white teeth. “You’re a life saver. I’ll take anythin
g you’ve got, as long as you make it a triple shot.”

  Kenzie felt something close to excitement gurgle up from her belly. She had no idea why his request would make her so giddy, like a kid getting to ride the “big” roller coaster for the first time. Maybe it was just the way he asked her for it, like she was granting him his dying request. It made her feel like she was contributing to his happiness. And that just made her damn punch-drunk.

  “You got it,” she said, setting the coffee pot down on the table and picking up her notepad and pen. “Do you know what you want for breakfast today? The usual?”

  His eyes darted to hers with a bemused look. “I have a usual?”

  She blinked, wondering why his question made her feel like an idiot.

  Kenzie shifted from one foot to the other, trying for an air of nonchalance. She was a waitress, for goodness sake, and should be expected to know the orders of her regular customers, right? And this was his third time here in less than a week, so that would classify him as a regular.

  So there.

  “Well, yeah. Two eggs, fried. Two link sausage. Two slices rye toast and a fruit cup on the side. That’s what you’ve ordered the last two days, so I’d consider that your usual.”

  His eyes flashed a detectable, yet small, hint of interest, before he slunk down into the booth, stretching his legs out so that his motorcycle boots peeked out from the other side of the table. Judging from the white T-shirt, gray hoodie, worn black leather jacket and gray jeans he so casually wore, Kenzie immediately pegged him for a musician.

  Go figure. A musician in Nashville.

  She knew the type. Been around them all her life. Was raised by one. Fell in love with one. Was nearly killed by one. And now was trying to become one herself.

  And from the looks of this guy, he had all the markings of an artist. His dark, slicked-back hair, so carelessly styled and perfectly mussed and his hint of arrogance, written all over his beautifully structured face.

  Yeah, stay away from that, honey.

  Kenzie suddenly became inpatient, tapping her gray Converse-clad shoes on the linoleum floor and glanced around to her other tables. She did not have time for this guy, no matter how good-looking he was.

  But damn, he smelled delectable. It wasn’t overpowering, but the scent was alluring and magnetic. It was already infused in her brain, warming her body like an experience jarred loose from a long-ago forgotten memory.

  His voice suddenly pulled her back. He flipped his hair out of his eyes, turning to look at her again.

  “Huh. I guess the usual, it is, then. And the triple shot, please.”

  She scribbled down his order and was about to turn back to the kitchen when his voice stopped her.

  “Not a very convincing Southern accent, by the way,” he snickered, sticking a toothpick between his lips. “You best keep working on that, sugar.”

  She wasn’t sure what irritated her more. The way his tongue kept peeking out, playing with the pick in his mouth, as he twirled it round and round, making her head swim in dirty thoughts; or the fact that he’d clued in that she wasn’t from around here.

  She wanted to ignore his comment and just get back to work. But, for some reason, she had the urge to snap back at him. Not let him get away with outing her and her thinly-veiled disguise.

  “I don’t hear any syrupy, sweet accent from you, either.”

  Nice comeback, dar-lin.

  The man laughed, as he shifted in his seat and placed his headphones over his ears, effectively shutting her down. “At least I’m not trying to be someone I’m not.”

  Kenzie couldn’t believe his audacity. It didn’t matter that he was closer to the truth than she wanted to admit. She was trying to be someone she wasn’t, or at least, had been in the past. She moved as far away as she could to get away from that person she’d once been, even though she saw her every day in the mirror.

  Mentally shaking it off, she returned to the waitress station to fire up the Espresso machine. Donita and Carlos, the busser, both gave her curious glances. Was it really that strange for someone to order a damn latte around here?

  Yeah, maybe it was. But she was flooded with a wave of nostalgia that brought her back to another time and another place. One that, similar to the person she had been, she wanted to push past and forget.

  Satisfied with the steamy, frothy and very ornate espresso drink that she created, she set out toward her customer’s table, where she found him frantically doodling something in a notebook that was sprawled out on the table in front of him. As she got close enough to set the cup and saucer down, he flipped the book over, obviously hiding whatever he’d written from her prying eyes.

  Not interested, she reminded herself.

  She stood over him expectantly, waiting for him to take his first sip. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of contentment as his lips touched the edge of the cup. She drank him in almost as deeply as he drank in the rich coffee.

  “Mmm…yeah. Now that’s what I’m talking about.” His heavily-lashed blue eyes popped open as a devious smile etched across his face. “This is fucking coffee perfection.”

  Kenzie couldn’t help but smile at his compliment. She let out the breath she’d been harboring and smiled a genuine, enchanted grin. Probably the first of its kind in well over six months.

  The compliment shot through her body, starting at her brain and spiraling all the way down to her toes, lighting her up like a Christmas tree. His approval and obvious satisfaction made her lightheaded - willing her to do his bidding in whatever manner he required to make him that happy again.

  But it was exactly those types of sentiments that landed her in trouble in the past with her ex, Seth. At one point in her life, she had been willing to walk over red hot coals for a guy. To become whatever he wanted and needed her to be. To turn into something she despised. And she vowed that would Never. Ever. Happen. Again.

  “Glad you like it,” she answered, shifting into a cool, aloof tone. “The rest of your order will be up in a bit.”

  He interrupted her just as she turned to head to another table. “I’d guess Seattle or Portland.”

  She jerked her head back toward him, her brows furrowing at his statement.

  “What did you just say?”

  The man laughed. Or more like rumbled. “Well, you’re sure as hell not from around here. Your voice and this fantastic cup of coffee lead me to believe you’re from the Pacific Northwest. And your skin is kind of pale.” His eyes grazed over her bare arms and then back to her face. “So which is it? Seattle or Portland?”

  Kenzie was dumbfounded by both his accurate deduction and his curiosity over her. And a little more than peeved that he thought she was pale. She could get tan if she wanted to, but she just didn’t have the time.

  And how was it that he knew this about her? Was he some sort of private investigator? Did her father send him to track her down?

  There was no way she was going to give this guy any identifying information about herself - although it likely didn’t matter, since she hadn’t been all that vigilant in covering her tracks when she left home. She had, quite ignorantly, used her real name and social for her credentials on her lease and her job application here in Nashville. So if her dad really wanted to find her, he wouldn’t have that much difficulty in doing so. But still...

  “It’s none of your business where I’m from.”

  She knew she was being snippy and rude, but his nosy interest ruffled her. She did not like personal questions.

  “Whoa. Okay. Forget I asked,” he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. His sculpted biceps were clearly on display under his jacket.

  Yeah, he wasn’t scrawny, by any stretch of the imagination. His features resembled a young Chris Cornell from the mid-nineties, beautifully captivating eyes and a chiseled physique.

  He gave her an assessing stare. “But now I know you’re definitely not from Portland. Too prickly.”

  His put down pissed her off. Kenzie sno
rted her response and walked away to attend to her next customer.

  Chapter Two

  Sitting on the tattered and torn brown leather couch, Remy fingered the strings on his vintage Fender guitar, lost in the chord progressions of the tune he’d been working on over the last two days.

  His two month writing dry spell had finally found its end, thanks to the blonde-haired angel at the diner he’d become acquainted with over the past few mornings. He’d gone in the other day on a whim, in search of a little pick-me-up coffee fix and breakfast after the long night he’d spent at the recording studio.

  His exhaustion level was at an all-time high working with this new band, Dirt Roads. The four-piece, country-alt rock group was incredibly talented, but couldn’t quite get their shit together long enough to figure it out. The base player seemed to think he was in a Jazz ensemble, and the lead singer’s vocals kept reverting in and out of the hard country twang.

  He didn’t know what the hell was happening with the drummer, who looked like he was blissed out on something, constantly blowing bubbles with his chewing gum. The lead guitarist was the only one who appeared to have some background and experience with this type of process. They were all cool, but were grating on his last nerve.

  As a recording engineer and producer, Remy’s role was to turn their vocal and instrumental recordings into solid gold magic. It took a highly tuned ear, lots of patience and more diplomacy than he seemed to possess at the moment.

  His career started out in L.A., working under some of the best producers and recording guys in the business. He would forever be indebted to the knowledge they bestowed upon him, as he soaked up everything he could learn about the business.

  Moving to Nashville had not been his idea, but he blindly followed Chyna, his then girlfriend, to Music City, where she thought she’d be more apt to get her just rewards and recording contracts as a singer.