“And don’t pick any song. I’m a songwriter, too. I’ll know if it’s not your favorite.”
She doubted that was true, but some music resonated with her more. When bands performed original songs at Quinn’s, she could tell which ones did with them. “You make this sound like another audition.”
His lopsided grin made her breath catch.
He cocked a brow. “Maybe it is.”
Not appreciating her reaction to him, she frowned.
“The truth is, everyone is on the lookout for talented songwriters,” he said before she could tell him to leave. “Me, friends. If I re-sign with the label—”
“If?”
Nash rocked back on his heels. “When I do, I’ll record three to five songs by others or co-write them.”
She inhaled sharply. “You might be interested in one of my songs?”
“If they’re anything like what you sang on Friday, yes.”
So this was an audition, but unlike the reality TV show, she had more control here.
“Fine, let me change clothes and I’ll sing one, but then you can go.” She assumed a singer didn’t decide they wanted to cut a song without running it by their producer and likely label. Probably more people had input, too.
After grabbing clean clothes, Ivy dashed into the bathroom to change. She quickly went through her morning routine that included brushing her hair and teeth. All told she finished in less than five minutes.
She went to the small dining table where she found him standing.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You have a lot of songs.”
“I like writing music.” As she picked up her guitar, he sat where she’d been sitting on the bed.
A good thing Ivy couldn’t tell anyone about Nash Bennett being in Quinn Valley because no one would believe he was in her apartment and asking her to sing.
Maybe she was dreaming.
Or would this count as a nightmare?
Ivy didn’t know, but she strummed her guitar anyway. As she sang the first verse, she didn’t glance at Nash. One wrong look from him or shake of his head, and she wasn’t sure how she would react. So Ivy pretended she was singing for herself and Pearl, her usual audience, even though the cat was asleep, dead to the world, because of waking up each time Ivy had.
Her fingers pressed on the strings, each chord change memorized after countless times of practicing. The words were engraved on her heart, which made singing for Nash feel almost intimate. More than once she wanted to stop, but if she made it to the end, he would leave.
She held the final note of the song. When she finished, he sat silent, an astonished expression on his face.
She was afraid to ask what he thought so she placed her guitar into its case without saying anything. Silence seemed to be her MO around him.
“That was incredible.” Awe filled his voice. “Even better than Friday’s song.”
It was, but hearing him say that lit a fire inside her. “Thank you.”
He leaned forward. “Have you performed this one?”
“No, unless I count right now.”
That made him laugh. “How often do you perform the songs you write?”
“Rarely. Most of the songs haven’t been played outside this apartment or heard by anyone except Pearl.” Ivy had approached some music publishers, but no one had been interested at the time. Since then, she’d stockpiled her songs. Though she had copyrighted them because of an article she’d read online. One day, she would muster her courage to approach publishers again. “Customers prefer to hear covers at the pub.”
“Have you considered making this a duet?”
“No, because I perform alone.” She thought about the different stanzas and imagined a two-part chorus. “Though I can see how a duet might work.”
“It will.” He stood. “Let’s try it.”
Wait, what? Her stomach clenched. “You said you’d leave.”
“You said I’d leave. Initially, I said I’d leave if that’s what you want.” His blue-eyed gaze challenged her. “Is it, Ivy? Or would you rather help me see if this song is something I should cut?”
Cut as in record the song.
Her muscles bunched. “You don’t play fair.”
“I’m not playing with you.” His voice was serious. “This is business.”
A part of her wanted to shove him out of her apartment without so much as a goodbye, but if he was serious about her song, she didn’t want to make a foolish decision based on emotions. She shuffled through the notebooks and papers on the table until she found the music. “Here it is.”
He scanned the page before turning on her keyboard. “Let’s switch off vocals. I’ll start, then you come in with the second stanza. Some words need to be changed, but that’s an easy fix.”
Taking control came natural for him. His in-charge attitude was more attractive than she thought it would be. Having him near her was weird, too. She kept noticing things about him like the way his shirt showed off his athletic physique, how his blue eyes had brightened, and how soft his lips looked.
Warning bells sounded in her head.
Once upon a time, when she’d been a teenager, she’d had a massive crush on Nash Bennett. Most of her friends had, too. They’d been drawn to the gorgeous, charismatic performer who made each girl think he was singing directly to her. But he’d obliterated her crush in Seattle, knocked himself off the high pedestal, and proved he was flawed like the rest of them. The last thing she needed was to allow any leftover teenage fantasy to roar to life.
Maybe she should ask him to leave.
“Please,” he added as if sensing her rising doubts.
Ivy didn’t want to sing with Nash Bennett. Her insides screamed no, but if he wanted this song, it could open doors in a way she’d only dreamed about when she was younger.
She swallowed her misgivings. “Okay.”
Missed cues and fumbled lyrics marred the first time through the song.
“This might be better as a solo,” she said, eager for him to go.
“Practice makes perfect.” He played the section where he’d struggled. “I have it now. Let’s try again.”
The second pass wasn’t as much of a mess. The third was better. The fourth gave her chills. As goose bumps prickled her skin, she knew they’d come up with something special.
“That’s it,” he said.
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
Nash’s assessing gaze pierced through her as if he could see her soul. “Do you like the new arrangement?”
“I do.” She sounded husky so she cleared her throat. “I wasn’t sure at first, but the duet works.”
“It’s perfect.” He stared at her as if she was the perfect one.
Her heart thudded. She lowered her gaze to the table. “So what now?”
“Show me other songs you’ve written.”
Ivy gulped. She didn’t have to be at the pub until early afternoon, but being with Nash made her nerve endings stand upright. Flutters filled her stomach. So not good.
“Are you serious about my songs or just trying to make amends?” she asked.
“That’s a valid question.” The directness of his gaze made her step away from the table. “I want to make amends for the pain I caused. If that’s singing one of your songs or finding others who will then great. But I won’t perform second-rate material, no matter the situation. You’re talented, and that’s the biggest reason I’m interested in listening to more of your music.”
“Good answer.” She still didn’t trust Nash, but some of her unease lessened. “What kind of songs would you like to hear?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday morning, Nash woke with a satisfied smile on his face and the best earworm ever—the duet he and Ivy had worked on yesterday. He stretched before getting out of bed. After a quick shower, he dressed, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Ivy.
Playing her songs had been the most fun he’d had in weeks. Maybe months. They’d lost them
selves in the music, allowing the words and notes to take control, where nothing else had mattered.
That used to happen, but the PR nonsense and contract obligations got tiring. The public scrutiny could drive a person to become paranoid or act out. The gossip he tried to ignore sometimes hurt.
Not that he was ready to quit.
Music was his life—his everything—but yesterday he’d rediscovered the joy. Something missing for way too long. He had one person to thank—Ivy.
She may have given up her dreams of fame and fortune, but music was her passion, as necessary to her as oxygen. She wrote and played for herself.
And Pearl.
Nash laughed remembering how the gray cat moved her tail to the beat of whatever song they’d played. At least when Pearl was awake. She’d slept mostly.
For hours.
Until Ivy’s alarm rang, they hadn’t realized they’d skipped lunch. She’d mentioned setting the notification daily because she lost track of time while working on music and didn’t want to be late to work.
Nash knew then one jam session with her would never be enough. He wanted another. His visit yesterday had been to make amends, but she’d helped him more than he’d helped her. When he’d returned to his hotel room, he’d called Mama Aimee. After that, he’d picked up his guitar and wrote a portion of a song.
Wanting more inspiration, Nash left the hotel, drove a short distance, and parked in front of Ivy’s apartment building. The residential street was quieter and less crowded than Main Street, but he still wore the beanie and sunglasses. In his long shorts and retro T-shirt, he looked every inch a hipster tourist, especially with the beard.
Nash ran his fingers over the facial hair. He couldn’t wait to shave.
Standing on her welcome mat, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.
Ivy opened the door. Gasped. “Nash?”
“Hey.”
She looked at him expectantly. “Did you forget something yesterday?”
“No.” But he had a reason for the visit. Someone—he assumed Bob—had shoved her signed nondisclosure agreement under his door. “I wanted to thank you for signing the NDA.”
Man, that sounded better in his head on the way over than out loud. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You’re welcome.” She sounded hesitant. “You have to protect your privacy.”
“Yeah. I have a love-hate relationship with NDAs, but my manager, R.J., demands them now.”
“Did something happen?”
A woman Nash had dated two times had sold a story about their so-called relationship, complete with photos, to a tabloid. She hadn’t been the only one. “People want to make a fast buck or grab their fifteen minutes of fame. They’ll use knowing you to do that. It’s a price of fame.”
Another he could do without, but money motivated many people.
Which complicated dating.
Nash never knew if someone wanted to be with the real him or the country singer who was worth millions. That didn’t stop him from going out with women, but he hadn’t met anyone in a few years who made him want to get more serious. A decision R.J. supported since “bad boys” could also be heartthrobs.
Maybe that was why Nash enjoyed being with Ivy. Yes, she was attractive, and he’d caught her staring at him. But what brought them together was music. He didn’t have to worry about the other stuff.
“I would have called or texted, but I don’t have your number.” Talking to her was harder than it should be. Maybe he should have taken a nap before coming over.
A corner of her mouth lifted. “Is that your way of asking for my number?”
“If something happens with the songs…” Except that wasn’t the whole truth. Ivy deserved that from him. “Or if we wanted to get together.”
She scrunched her nose. “In what way?”
“Music.” Oh, man. He was messing this up. “I had a great time yesterday. I miss playing like that.”
She reached out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
Excitement surged. He unlocked his cell phone before placing it on her palm.
She tapped the screen. Inside her apartment, a beep went off. “Now you have my number and I have yours if we want to do another jam session.”
Nash had a feeling he was grinning like a fool. The funny part? He didn’t care. “Do you have time now?”
He wouldn’t earn points for subtlety or playing it cool, but maybe being honest would get him a few.
“I wish I did, but I have to get over to the pub for my shift.”
He’d bagged groceries in high school, but that seemed like another lifetime. He didn’t know how shifts worked for a server. “Do you get days off?”
“Tuesday and Wednesday.”
Pearl rubbed against Ivy’s leg.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She scooped up the cat. “The last time you escaped, I spent hours trying to find you. You’re not doing that again and making me late to work.”
Nash could take a clue, but he didn’t feel rejected this time. She had somewhere to be. “I should let you get ready.”
Her cheeks turned pink.
“Not that you look bad or anything.” Yep, he’d reverted to a teenager. Great.
“Good to know.” She laughed. “Nice seeing you again.”
“You, too.” Nash wasn’t ready to say goodbye. “Would you want to work with me on one of my songs?”
Her eyes widened. “Sure.”
“Tomorrow night? Say six thirty?” he asked, hopeful. “I have a physical therapy appointment in the late afternoon, but after that I’m free. I can order food so we can eat first.”
“Sounds good.” The cat purred in Ivy’s arms. “I’d just be working on songs here. And this gets me out of cooking dinner.”
Nash wished spending time playing music with him would have been motivation enough, but she hadn’t said no. That was a win in his book. “Great, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Now all he had to do was to keep himself busy until then. How hard could that be?
* * *
An adult shouldn’t have trouble waiting a day to see someone, but Nash was going crazy. Granted, it was Tuesday—afternoon to be exact. He was on a machine to help build strength and improve his balance. Not the most fun exercise, but thinking about playing music with Ivy distracted him.
As he did another rep, his leg trembled. Sweat beaded at his hairline. No pain, though, so that was progress.
“What’s going on?” Travis asked, his voice full of suspicion.
“Following orders.”
“Exactly.” Curiosity gleamed in the physical therapist’s eyes. “You keep glancing at the time, but you haven’t complained once. Something’s up?”
Travis Quinn was the closest thing to a friend Nash had in Quinn Valley, but he was paid for the physical therapy sessions. Not once had the guy brought up being related to Ivy, which given they shared a last name, he surely was. He’d been a professional and nice, when he wasn’t trying to kill Nash with exercises, but the Quinn family seemed a protective bunch. No way did he want to bring up seeing Ivy tonight. If she wanted to do that, she could, but Bob’s reaction on Saturday night had been bad enough.
“I’m meeting someone tonight.”
Travis raised a brow. “You're supposed to be keeping a low profile.”
The guy was as bad as Mama Aimee, but she’d kept him out of trouble. Maybe she would finish out the tour with him so he didn’t mess up again. He would love the company, too. “They’re coming to my suite.”
The brow rose higher. “They?”
“It’s a music thing.”
His gaze darkened, turning serious. “Everything okay? You can tell me. And not only because I signed the NDA.”
Nash appreciated the guy’s concern. “I can honestly say things are better than they’ve been in a long while.”
“Are you getting sprung from lock-up?”
Nash grinned. “No, for the first time, I’m happy I’m in Quinn
Valley.”
Otherwise, he would have never met Ivy.
Travis shook his head. “Okay, cut the bull. What’s her name?”
Nash laughed. That turned to a groan when he did another rep.
“Your reaction tells me my instinct’s correct, and a woman is involved.”
“Yes, but not in the way you think.” Ivy was attractive, but playing music with her made Nash…content. A way he wasn’t used to feeling. Before arriving in Quinn Valley, he was trying to do or be more. Nothing was ever enough, including himself. “It’s not romantic if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“So you’re friends?”
Were they? Nash wasn’t sure.
“It’s…” He hated to say work because he enjoyed himself too much. “Music.”
“She’s a good influence based on your workout today.” Travis glanced at the clock. “You can stop now.”
Nash did before blowing out a breath.
Travis scratched his face. “This is the first time you haven’t asked to stop early. Or argued when I said no.”
“I’ve turned over a new leaf.” For today at least.
“I’ll wait and see how long it lasts.” Travis smirked. “Or I’ll come up with a challenging routine for tomorrow and find out if today is an anomaly or not.”
“Only if said workout is good for me and will help me recover faster.” Nash laughed at the therapist’s shocked expression. “You may have me figured out, but you’re not too hard to read, either.”
Travis tossed Nash a towel. “You’re smarter than you look.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Travis laughed. “Have fun tonight.”
Nash wiped the sweat from his face. “I plan on it.”
* * *
An hour later, Nash had showered and dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. These were the closest clothes to his normal style that Shea had packed for him. Casual, yes, but it was summer, and this wasn’t a date.
Though he and Ivy were having dinner.
One he’d arranged for with Bob and hoped she enjoyed.
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