Page 29 of Caught Up In You

Carson stands stock-still, her eyes wide, unable to speak.

Dan’s eyes cut to her, sweeping over her all-red outfit, her cheeks growing crimson to match. I’m pretty sure Carson has itbadfor Dan. That or she’s just terrified of him. Maybe a little of both? Danger can certainly be fun in the right context. And from the way his gaze lingers on her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, I wonder if there’s not a little spark of something on his end too. Though using the wordsparkto describe anything about stoic Dan McBride feels wrong. The man carries himself like a Secret Service Agent, only the things he’s guarding are his own thoughts and feelings.

“Thanks,” Dan says, taking the keys from Grace and shoving them into the pocket of his suit pants. He looks at me, then slides his gaze over to Carson before he nods and turns, striding out the door like he’s heading into battle.

“Good talk, buddy!” I call as the door swings closed behind him.

Grace sighs. “Something is going on with him, but he’s a total vault.”

Carson lets out a little puff of breath, shifting from foot to foot like she’s finally coming back online. “That man scares the shit out of me,” she whispers.

“Yeah, but scary can be a little bit sexy, huh?” I wink, and her whole face goes pink.

“As much as I love encouraging my friends to date my brothers,” Grace says, giving me a trademarkstop meddlinglook, “Dan is not for Carson.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because Dan is barely forDan,” she says. “You ladies both deserve to be with men who adore you and treat you like queens. Guys who have their shit figured out. That’s why I think you and Owen would be a perfect match, Wyatt. He would worship you.”

“And while I definitelydeserveto be worshipped, it’s not what I want,” I say gently. “One and done—that’s my motto.”

That’s how you avoid getting hurt.

Grace rolls her eyes, but the pressure releases when a customer walks into the store and she springs into action. Within moments she’s walking the older woman to the romance section, peppering her with questions and pulling selections from the shelves. Carson settles into the overstuffed leather chair in the corner, scrolling through apartment listings on her phone, and I set Eden down on the carpet so she can practice her independent sitting. She still slumps forward, but her core strength is getting there. Soon she’ll be out of the happy little potato phase and on her way to becoming a person.

I can’t wait.

And then a voice coming from the store’s stereo system jerks me into awareness.

I haven’t heard her voice in years, but I know it well. I used to hear it coming out of our tiny bathroom as she washed her hair in the crappy apartment we shared in East Nashville. I heard it during closing at the dive bar where we worked, singing Dolly and Patsy and Reba and Shania as she placed chairs upside down on the tabletops. I heard it as she wrote her own songs, strumming her battered old Martin on that gaudy floral chair we found on the side of the road.

We always talked about what it would be like, hearing one of her songs on the radio for the first time. How we’d take a bottle of champagne to the Bluebird, toast, and pour out a glass on the stoop as an offering to the country gods.

And now there she is, clear as a bell, singing about all her worst mistakes.

I know those mistakes better than anyone.

I know that voice like it’s my own.

And I haven’t heard it since that day I left Nashville.

“Wyatt, are you okay?”

Grace is looking at me, brow furrowed, and I don’t think it’s because Eden is about to shove the corner of the Mötley Crüe memoir into her gummy mouth.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “Just zoned out for a second.”

Through the speakers, the satellite radio DJ announces Romy Maxwell’s debut single, “All I Done Wrong.”

Eden squirms in my lap, but I can’t move a muscle. Because the DJ isn’t done talking.

“Romy Maxwell’s hitting the road this summer, opening for country superstar Griffin Stone on the Midwest leg of his US tour. You can hear that single and the rest of her debut album,Bad Mistake, which is rapidly climbing the charts, in Milwaukee, Chicago, Detroit, Indianapolis, and Cincinnati. So head to Griffin Stone’s website for tickets.”

She’s coming to Indianapolis. My former best friend has finally achieved country stardom and is touring with my ex-boyfriend, the man I caught her kissing right before he wrote a song about me and hit number one with it.

CHAPTER 11

MARCH 21 AT 9:21 PM

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