Summer Serenade

by Melissa McClone

  But R.J. had asked him to do this, so Nash wouldn’t quibble.

  He snagged a stool at the pub’s bar. Sitting was more comfortable on his leg than standing near the exit as he’d done yesterday. Anticipation thrummed through his veins.

  A drum kit and amplifiers sat on the small stage area. Those hadn’t been there last night. Was Ivy part of a band, too?

  As if on cue, four men took the stage.

  A knot formed in Nash’s stomach.

  Ivy wasn’t performing tonight.

  Swallowing hard, he faced the bar. No reason to watch now. The music faded into nothing but the bass line and drumbeat. Not country music but rock.

  Not once had he imagined this scenario.

  Which was stupid.

  The thought she might be on tour, and last night her only show in Quinn Valley, had never entered his mind. It should have, because musicians toured.

  Which meant she could be…anywhere.

  Well, within a day’s drive. That was what Nash had done when he organized his own tours in the early days. He’d booked the gigs, driven himself from show to show, and hauled CDs and merch to hawk after the show. That was how R.J. discovered him.

  Nash drummed his fingers against the bar.

  He shouldn’t be bummed. He should be happy another musician was pursuing her passion.

  Yet, a weight pressed against him, making him hunch his shoulders. If only he could say the bad posture was part of his disguise, but it wasn’t. This was because of disappointment.

  He released a loud exhale that could have inflated a beach ball.

  “Hi. I’m Maggie.” A pretty brunette with green eyes and a wedding ring that sparkled as bright as her smile stood behind the bar. “What would you like?”

  “Soda water with a lime, please.” Anything stronger in his current mood would be a bad idea.

  As Maggie placed the glass in front of him, she eyed him. “You look like you lost your best friend.”

  “Not quite.” He half laughed, mostly at himself. Getting amped up over not seeing Ivy tonight suggested he needed more R&R. “I’ll be fine.”

  Nash had no other choice. As he sipped his water, he listened to the band rock out on a song. Not bad, but nothing like last night. He stood, pulling out his wallet to pay.

  A woman on the other side of the pub caught his eye.

  She carried plates of food in the dining area. Because of the low lighting, he squinted to get a better look. He wasn’t certain, so he lowered his sunglasses slightly.

  Ivy.

  His jaw dropped. His heart thudded.

  He blinked to see if he’d imagined her. When he refocused, she was still there. Working as a server, but why? She should be on stage performing not waiting on tables.

  Granted, he didn’t know her story—and everybody had one—but she was a hundred times better than the band performing tonight. She could sing the socks off the opening acts of his tour.

  Someone needed to tell her…help her.

  This had to be a sign he was meant to come back and seek her out. Yes, he wanted a date, but he’d mentored performers in the past. Years ago, he’d guest judged on a reality TV show, and one of his team members had won.

  Whether or not Ivy listened to his advice was up to her. But if she was game, he could help her. Even get her song, or songs if she’d written others, in front of the right people.

  That meant he would stick around.

  He hopped onto the barstool he’d vacated moments before. “I’ll take another.”

  A questioning expression crossed Maggie’s face. “Coming right up.”

  Nash sipped his water slowly. At the end of the song, he clapped, hoping this would be the last one the band played. It wasn’t. They played longer than Ivy had, or at least that was how it seemed.

  Time dragged. On and on and on.

  Nash sneaked peeks at Ivy, doing his best not to draw attention to himself because Maggie kept eyeing him. He didn’t have the best vantage spot, but from what he could see, Ivy’s smile never wavered. She chatted with customers, kept drinks refilled, and cleared empty plates quickly. Too bad he hadn’t eaten dinner at the pub, though who knows if he would have been seated in her section.

  After the show ended, the band packed up their equipment. Rock music played from a sound system. A few people danced.

  Nash drank his soda water. Before he finished, a new full glass appeared. He acknowledged Maggie with a nod. Later, he would show his appreciation with a big tip.

  Finally—not as soon as Nash had wanted—people left the pub. One group after another. The band, too.

  As the place cleared, he opened his wallet, pulled out a hundred, and set the bill in front of her. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks.” Eyes wide, Maggie beamed. “I hope your night turns out as well as mine has.”

  “Me, too.” He slid off the barstool.

  What was the worst thing that could happen?

  Worst-case scenario? Ivy could shut him down again.

  Nope. Not going to happen.

  Nash wiped his damp palms against his jeans before walking toward the dining area where Ivy cleared a table. Something fluttered in his stomach. Man, he hadn’t had butterflies like this since his first time at the Grammys.

  Approaching Ivy as she worked wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t want to wait for her outside and miss her if there was more than one door.

  Ivy picked up plates. She hadn’t seemed to notice him, so he cleared his throat.

  She glanced his way. The dishes she held clanged together. “Oh, it’s you. I mean, hello.”

  Nash had no idea if her surprised reaction was good or bad. The feeling of uncertainty intensified. His breath caught, but he couldn’t stand here silent. “You didn’t perform tonight.”

  Not the most eloquent of openings, but it was a start.

  She eyed him warily. “I only fill in when someone cancels.”

  “You’re better than the band who played tonight.”

  Pride flashed in her eyes but quickly disappeared. She picked up another plate. “Thanks.”

  He didn’t know if she was modest or lacked confidence. “I mean it. You have an incredible voice. Have you written other songs besides the one you sang?”

  Two more plates ended up on the stack she held. She nodded.

  That was great. Being a singer-songwriter gave her more options than if she only sang.

  “I’d like to help you.” The words rushed out. “Want to go out to dinner?”

  Ivy set the plates on the table before straightening. Lines creased her forehead. “You asked me to have a drink last night. Now dinner? How will that help me?”

  Smart woman. She viewed his invitations as come-ons. Which they were. In part. “We can discuss your music. That’s where the help comes in.”

  She raised her chin. Her expression was a portrait in distrust. “What’s it to you?”

  This was the time to pull out the NDA and pen from his back pocket. That would blow his chance with her. He would probably regret this, but he removed his sunglasses.

  She gasped, which told him she must recognize him.

  Good, that would make this easier.

  He would be humble—not his normal MO—but he wanted to talk to Ivy as a fellow musician, not a fan. “I’ve mentored other singers. I could help you.”

  Wide-eyed, her mouth gaped. “Seriously?”

  The disbelief in her voice almost made him laugh, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

  Nash nodded. “You have the talent to go far. I’m happy to share what I’ve learned in the business and give advice.”

  “Unbelievable.” Ivy laughed, a sound as sweet as the songs she’d sung last night. The melody wrapped around his heart, filling him with warmth.

  Man, he could get used to this. Mixing business with pleasure could lead to problems, but he would face whatever consequences arose to see this through with Ivy. “Is that a yes?”

  As her face hardene
d, her eyes grew dark. “It’s a no. I won’t have dinner with you nor do I want to listen to anything you have to say.”

  Wait, what? His chest tightened. His skin prickled. This couldn’t be happening again. “Why not?”

  Her nose scrunched. “You really have to ask?”

  Nash nodded. He didn’t trust his voice not to crack or be full of emotion. A cold feeling unrelated to the pub’s air conditioner seeped through him.

  Ivy stared down her nose at him, reminding him of his fifth-grade teacher who had never liked him. “Because, Mr. Bennett, you gave me advice years ago. As much as you could in two minutes. What you said was the opposite of flattering. I’m not up for another round of devastation. Or you. So please, leave me alone.”

  She grabbed the dishes and hurried toward the kitchen.

  Okay, that hadn’t gone as expected. His head swam. A good thing he’d only drunk water or he might be on the floor given how weak he felt.

  Nash noticed Maggie and a man with similar coloring standing at the bar. Both stared at him.

  Nash put on his sunglasses so no one else would recognize him. Ivy had, except what she said about giving her advice made little sense.

  He’d never met her. He would have remembered someone like Ivy, wouldn’t he?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Nash Bennett.

  As the name reverberated through her head, pounding in her ears, a chill settled over Ivy. Even though her body twitched and her hands shook, she managed not to drop the plates. But the sooner she got them and herself into the kitchen, the better.

  What was Nash Bennett doing in Quinn Valley? At the pub? Talking to her?

  Not that it mattered. Okay, maybe a little.

  All she wanted was to put distance between her and him. She hurried toward the doorway, forcing herself not to run. Maggie and Ryder would be on her if she fell, or worse, ran into a customer.

  Was Nash Bennett still here?

  Ivy didn’t dare glance his way to find out.

  She wove around someone pushing away from a table.

  Oops. That was a close call.

  Even though she hadn’t recognized him last night, when he’d taken off his sunglasses she’d known in an instant who he was. He might be disguising himself with the beard and beanie, but his blue eyes were the same.

  Only tonight, his gaze had been warm and focused only on her. Not harsh and condescending like the last time she’d stood in front of him.

  Ten years ago.

  Forget about it.

  Him.

  She wanted to, but his compliment from last night streamed in her head.

  You have a fantastic voice, and I won’t be forgetting that last song.

  Yeah, right. Her breathing hitched.

  She’d wondered if Nash Bennett ever thought about the singers he’d judged so harshly. Now she had her answer.

  He hadn’t.

  At least not her.

  Nash Bennett had forgotten her. That was why what he’d said yesterday and tonight about her singing were the opposite of what he’d told her when she’d auditioned in Seattle for what was then the hottest talent search on television.

  Only the strong survive in the music business. You’re not ready. You sang off-key for the first half of the song. Your voice was weak and pitchy. Some of that might be nerves, but you never gained control of your vocals. My advice is to go home. Not everyone has the talent to make it in this business. You don’t.

  For ten years, those words had been stuck in her brain, resurfacing at the worst possible times. Like right before a performance. Nothing she did had made them go away. Not even time had let them fade.

  Ivy could accept criticism. She had from music and choir directors, but Nash Bennett hadn’t been trying to help her. His tone had been patronizing and demeaning as if he wanted to hurt her on purpose. Worse, he’d barely looked at her, preferring to speak to the camera or glancing at the other judges, who nodded along as he spoke. One appeared to forget she’d wanted to let Ivy through to the next round. Guess it was easier to jump on the “slam the singer” bandwagon.

  The worst part, however, had been after Ivy walked out of the audition room. She had no one waiting for her. No one to hug her. No one to tell her the judge was a jerk and to ignore him.

  Instead, she’d accepted a squeeze on the shoulder from the host, who said he was sorry. All she’d managed was a nod. Then a production assistant had led her to a separate area where Ivy could be alone.

  Except she hadn’t wanted to be by herself.

  She would have rather returned to the large room where people waited for their chance to audition. Someone there would have understood her devastation. Another singer would have hugged her and told her it would be okay.

  But she was too upset to say no and tell them what she wanted.

  Ivy hadn’t realized a camera crew was following her. When she arrived at the private area and broke down, a camera captured every tear and sob. Then someone she didn’t know asked her questions—intrusive ones that made her cry harder. No one had mentioned she had the option not to be interviewed while she was falling apart, so she answered as best as she could between tears. More than once, she’d needed time to pull herself together.

  The televised segment went viral. Memes and gifs circulated online.

  She’d been a girl who’d had her dream torn apart, but only a few kind-hearted souls focused on that. The rest of the responses had been brutal. Nameless faceless people ripped her to shreds. Not only her singing but her. From the way she looked to how she dressed.

  Opinions formed with no basis in reality. Strangers cast votes saying her crying was better than her singing. One poll asked what her future held—most chose unmarried and knocked up by age nineteen. The second highest choice had been a drug addict and prostitute. The third was a victim of suicide.

  Ivy still couldn’t believe how mean people could be behind the anonymity of the internet. That was why she texted but stayed off social media. To this day, she had no idea if people from Quinn Valley had joined in the melee. She tried not to think about that.

  It had been the second most horrible incident in her life. The first was losing her dad only three months before the audition. She’d needed him when she returned to Quinn Valley, and knowing he wasn’t there had intensified her grief.

  As she entered the kitchen, tears welled in her eyes, clouding her vision.

  Stop.

  Do not cry.

  Ivy had wasted too many tears ten years ago. She blinked to keep the tears at bay.

  She ignored the others working and dumped the plates, not taking the time to separate the silverware. She needed a minute. Or sixty.

  Her rushed breathing matched her pulse. Her anger spiraled.

  Not only at Nash Bennett.

  Ivy hated being caught off guard. Someone should have told her. Not let her be blindsided by Nash Bennett.

  A superstar like him would only stay at one place in town—the hotel. Her uncle Bob owned it, and several of Ivy’s cousins worked there. Yet, no one had warned her.

  That…hurt.

  After wiping her hands on the front of her apron, she grabbed her cell phone from her locker and headed outside without saying a word. She couldn’t wait until after her shift to call. It would be too late.

  Even at this hour, her cousin Roxane, who handled events at the hotel and was pregnant with her first baby, would likely be home in bed. But someone Ivy knew was likely working. She pulled up the number from her contacts and hit call.

  One ring. Two…

  “Quinn’s Hotel,” her uncle Bob answered. “How may I help you?”

  Ivy’s concerns about herself disappeared. Her uncle had experienced a heart issue last fall. He was doing better, but that didn’t keep her from worrying he would suffer the same fate as her dad. “It’s late. Why are you still at work?”

  “Rachel couldn’t be here tonight, and others were busy. Someone needed to work swing shift. I’ll be off in an
hour.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry. I’m feeling fine.” His voice was strong and healthy. No sign of tiredness or lack of energy. “Why are you calling so late?”

  Ivy gripped her cell phone. “Why didn’t you tell me he was in town?”

  A beat passed. And another. “I couldn’t. His people made us—me, Travis, and a few others at the hotel—sign NDAs. He’s trying to keep his whereabouts a secret.”

  “That explains his beard, sunglasses, and beanie,” she said flippantly.

  “This is serious, Ivy.” Uncle Bob’s tone turned no-nonsense. “If we say anything and the public finds out, he could sue us. I know you have issues with him—”

  “How I feel about him isn’t because of issues. The guy is a jerk.” She hated everything about Nash Bennett, but if she said that, her uncle would give her a lecture about hatred as her mom had in the past.

  “You don’t really know him,” her uncle said.

  Her jaw tensed so much her face hurt. “No, but I’ve seen him in action. That’s enough.”

  “He’s not what I expected based on how he talked to you on that show. Yes, he’s a superstar, but he’s more down to earth than I imagined. From what I’ve read, he’s been through the wringer with the press and his record company. That’s why he’s in Quinn Valley.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “It isn’t,” her uncle agreed. “But he’s here to rest and recover without anyone knowing. I’m not sure how you figured out it was him.”

  Uncle Bob wasn’t using Nash Bennett’s name. She was happy to do the same. “He took off his sunglasses tonight. He seemed to want me to recognize him.”

  “I’m surprised he did that.”

  “I wish he hadn’t.” Then she could keep pretending he hadn’t destroyed her dreams and changed her life.

  “Please, don’t tell anyone he’s in town. If the paparazzi inundate Quinn Valley, we’ll have high-priced attorneys threatening everyone who signed the NDAs. They’ll blame us, not him.”

  One text or email to a gossip website and his whereabouts would be broadcasted near and far. Ivy didn’t care what happened to Nash Bennett, but she didn’t want her family or anyone in town to suffer.

  She sighed. “I won’t say anything.”