Page 15 of Lost Love on 6th Street

Both Luke and I stare at Kenny, waiting for more of an explanation. When we don’t get it, Luke presses, “Who?”

“Bobby.”

Seems to me Kenny is trying to ignore the question, but Luke immediately blurts, “Sutton?”

“Yup.”

Jeez, this guy really does know everything about everything around here. Music-wise, that is.

“I had no idea he was running The Lone Star,” Luke says.

Kenny lets out a loud guffaw. “Yeah, and we’d like to keep it that way. Bobby might be a master of the sax, but he can’t run a business for shit. Anyway, he had it that year.”

“Well, thanks Kenny, you’ve been a great help.” Luke swipes the photo off the counter and hands it over to me.

With utmost care, I put it right back where it’s been living in my bag so there’s no possible way for it to crease.

“You’re a liar, kid,” Kenny says. “Now buy something or get out.”

This time, when he says it, there’s a joking lilt to his voice. I can’t help but smile.

“On it, boss,” Luke says and puts his hat back on. I have to suppress a swoon. “Ready, Nor?”

I give him a small nod. “Thanks again,” I say to Kenny before stepping off.

“Yeah, yeah. Any time,” he mutters. And I think he means it, which is sweet and unexpected.

I follow Luke through the main lane of the record shop; when we’re only a few feet from the door, Kenny calls out, “And Wyatt?”

Luke turns his head and lifts his chin toward Kenny in question.

“Make sure you be a gentleman to your friend, huh?” Kenny says—a knowing look in his eye.

My cheeks heat up.

“Have I ever been anything but?” Luke replies with an easy smile.

I duck out of the store before anyone can see me blush.

6

LUKE

Eleanor rushes out of the store, and I follow quick at her heels. “Well, that didn’t go the way I thought it would,” I say, once I’m in step with her.

She throws me a smile, then looks away, her curls falling over her face.

“I’m sorry I was late,” I offer.

“It’s okay.”

“I had to deal with some business. Had a meeting, it ran over, anyway, that’s no excuse,” I say. I hate when I can’t follow through on my commitments. My line of work has my schedule doing gymnastics most of the time. Being late is a cardinal sin in my mind, something my father pounded into my brain when he was alive. A man sticks to his obligations, even if they’re as small as meeting up with a woman at a record store to ask questions about a photo.

Especially when that woman is as intriguing as Eleanor.

“It happens,” she says without fanfare.

She’s making the whole conversation thing a little difficult right now. No problem. I’ll manage. “I hope he didn’t give you too hard of a time,” I say. “He’s rough around the edges but—"

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