Chapter Four
Coffee. I need coffee.
Actually, Deacon could use something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee, but he’d given up the hard stuff when he was fifteen. So, caffeine it was. Shuffling through the bowels of Gillette stadium on autopilot, he headed toward the stash of New Orleans brewed Community he kept on the bus and went over the new set list again. Committing it to memory, and trying to forget what prompted it to begin with.
It didn’t matter that this was how the show should’ve been set up originally. Kicking off with their biggest hit, “Rain Dance,” anchoring the middle with fan-favorite, “Next Time,” and ending on their latest number one, “Steel Blue,” made sense—but it wasn’t what prompted the change. Nope, that’d be him. Or, more accurately, his shitty playing in Providence opening night.
Deacon raked his fingers through his mop of hair. He’d screwed up. Missed two cues and played tight. This wasn’t him. He didn’t choke when the game was on the line. Zoning out everything else and being good in the clutch was the one thing Deacon was good for. The rest of his life was a veritable mess, but he performed when he had to. At least, that had been the case up until a couple days ago.
Of course the guys downplayed it. Charlie said it happened to all of them the first time they played for a huge crowd, and Miles reminded him this tour was the band’s biggest yet. Nate swore the fans couldn’t tell the difference. But none of those things mattered because Deacon knew, and he held himself to a higher standard. He had to because he had so much more on the line. Besides, the new set list proved it was a bigger deal than Tyler had initially let on.
“Afternoon, Mr. Latrell.”
A young guy in a black T-shirt, dark jeans, and Blue baseball cap held open the exit door, entering the stadium around the same time Deacon was leaving. Deacon jogged ahead and waved two fingers in salute as he passed through the doorway. “Thanks there, Brad.”
The young roadie’s head jerked up in surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the newbie to know his name, but Deacon smiled as he turned, walking backward so he could continue talking to him. “And hey, call me Deacon, all right? Mr. Latrell was my granddad.”
The bags growing under his eyes from lack of sleep may’ve made him look like a grandfather, but Deacon damn sure didn’t want a guy two years his junior last-naming him.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Deacon,” Brad called back with a smile, and Deacon chuckled under his breath. Eh, close enough. “Break a leg tonight!” With that, Brad ducked inside the stadium, and Deacon shook his head.
“Break a leg.” It was such a weird expression when you thought about it. Almost morbid. As a rule, Deacon had never gone for any of those pre-show superstitions, whether it was a basketball game or his early days singing karaoke. But right now, he could use all the good mojo he could get. Crossing himself twice and pointing in the air, he spun back around and beat feet toward the tour buses.
The back of the stadium was utter chaos. Crew members zipped around, setting up media tents and corralling set pieces. As he passed, Deacon made it a point to say hello to each and every one of them…and, just like with Brad, they all reacted with shock when he called them by name.
It was a damn shame. The way he saw it, these guys were the heart and soul of the tour. They were the ones who kept everything running, made the rest of them look good, and they deserved his respect. Another roadie at least twice his age walked by, calling him Mr. Latrell, and Deacon laughed to himself.
Now if only they’ll stop making me feel ancient at twenty-five, he thought with a grin.
Over the sounds of male camaraderie, a female laugh broke out. Deacon glanced toward the row of buses and saw a bright yellow cab idling. Standing just outside it, Charlie held Ella in his arms, his head buried in her neck, making her squeal. Deacon looked away, wanting to give them privacy, but for some reason, his eyes quickly swung back. A pang of envy hit him in the chest.
He was glad for his friends. Charlie and Arabella both deserved to be happy, and anyone within a mile radius could see they were. They’d had a few stumbles on their way, but they were doing better than ever. Arabella glanced up and caught his gaze, and she smiled and waved before dragging Charlie inside the cab. They were off to explore Boston, since the band wasn’t needed back until five.
Tyler had ducked out right after sound check ended, scooping up Sherry and Lizzie so they could go to the New England Aquarium. As for Nate and Miles, they both opted for naps, forgoing sightseeing now for the wild bar scene after the concert.
Like they had the previous nights, Deacon expected they’d invite him along, and just like every other night, his answer would still be no. Even with someone to watch Max, that scene wasn’t for him. Getting drunk, partying, that was his past. He didn’t want or need that in his life anymore, not since he’d met the Fishers. Now given the choice of a cheap high or the real thing, he’d rather spend his time with the people who mattered.
Deacon broke out into a jog. Balance wasn’t something he was good at. He’d always been an all-or-nothing sort of guy—stubborn, hardheaded, and independent, too, if anyone was taking inventory—so it wasn’t a surprise he’d struggled the last week. It hurt like hell leaving every morning, knowing his son was off having adventures in new cities without him. Deacon wanted to be a part of those memories he was making, and he didn’t want to miss a second of Max’s life. Nightly early dinners and their sacred story time just weren’t enough.
The only thing that helped was knowing Hannah was there during those other times. She was the one person Deacon trusted to care for his son the way he would. In many ways, the last few days felt like it had just after Max was born, back when the three of them had been a family of sorts.
That first year, Deacon wouldn’t have survived without her. She’d brought Max to the daycare where she worked during the day, came back to their place and made dinner at night, and he’d taken over for bath and bed. Most nights she’d even slept over, pitching in with middle-of-the-night feedings. He’d grown so reliant on her steady presence that he’d allowed her to put her own life on hold…and that was where he’d failed her. His selfishness had gotten in the way of what she’d needed, which was why she’d left the country just to get a little space.
Of course, she’d claimed she wanted to expand her wings and try something new, but he’d known better. Hannah left because he’d taken advantage of their friendship. When the opportunity had arisen for her to join them on tour, Deacon promised himself he wouldn’t make that mistake again. This time, she’d know how grateful he was to have her in his life, and he wouldn’t take a single second for granted.
Reaching the bus door, he tugged it open and bounded up the steps, eager to see Max’s devious grin—
And came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a pert ass thrust high in the air.
A pair of dark jeans was molded over gentle curves like a second skin, and Deacon bit back a groan as a flood of unwanted images bombarded his brain.
So much for not picturing his best friend naked again.
“Almost got it,” Hannah murmured, stretching her arm farther under the couch, and thus wiggling her ass higher in the air. “Man, some really got back here. But don’t worry about it, buddy. No use crying over spilled Goldfish.”
She laughed at what he assumed was a joke, but the wiggling and thrusting had Deacon too preoccupied to get the punch line. Instead, he was wrestling with his body’s reactions to the visions that wouldn’t stop.
Fisting his hands by his sides, he turned to his old reliable. Basketball statistics had yet to let him down.
Brice Johnson scored seventeen points per game.
Joel Berry and Marcus Paige both scored twelve.
As far as stats went, the 2015 Tar Heels was a good choice. Those last five minutes of the Championship game alone were normally enough to torment him to distraction—but not this time. Nope, for the first time ever, the guaranteed trick didn’t work. Evidently, there was no diverting from Hannah’s ass.
Had it really been that long since he had a woman that his mind grabbed hold of the first pretty thing in front of him? Not even caring that it was Hannah?
Maybe I should go out with Nate and Miles one night, after all.
Swallowing another groan, Deacon turned away and focused on his giggling son. Max was sitting on the sofa, watching the credits of a familiar cartoon, and kicking his legs in the air. Deacon’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
A sudden bop followed by a muffled, “Ouch!” from below the couch met his question, and from the corner of his eye, Deacon glimpsed Hannah’s body wiggling out.
Max thrust a finger in his nanny’s direction and said, “Pretty.”
Assuming his son wasn’t referring to Hannah’s gently rounded rear—seriously, since when did she have curves?—he asked, “What’s pretty, Max?”
“This,” Hannah said, popping up from below the sofa and blowing a mess of curls off her face. She held up a handful of cheese crackers. “Pretty,” she explained. “After nap time, Max had his snack while Dora and Boots held a parade with rainbow confetti. Our boy here was clearly enamored. With no streamers within grabbing distance, this smart stinker decided to improvise and make it rain with his snack instead.”
Blowing at that stubborn strand of hair again, Hannah grinned.
Relieved at the welcome hint of his old friend, the one who’d always worn her hair up in clips and messy ponytails, Deacon’s gaze caught on the pile on her head, and he stifled a laugh. He leaned forward and plucked the debris from her strands. “Any chance you fed my son grass along with Goldfish for a snack?”
Hannah’s cute nose wrinkled in confusion, but her eyes widened when she glimpsed what he held. “Oh. That.” She took the leaves and sticks from his hand and shrugged. “Nah, no earthly refreshments today. This was from our morning jaunt to the park. Max wanted to try out his new tricycle.”
The teasing grin fell from Deacon’s face as a sharp pain hit him in the stomach. He swallowed hard and swung his attention to Max. “Really?” he asked flatly.
Max nodded, his tiny face beaming with pride, and Hannah said, “Well, uh…yeah. I hope that’s all right. The kids were extra energetic this morning and accidently ripped one of those silly throw pillows I brought for their roosts. I went down to the luggage compartment to find my sewing kit, Max saw the trike, and he begged to take it for a ride.” She hesitated before asking, “Was that not okay?”
Deacon heard the uncertainty in her voice, watched his son’s happy smile diminish, and felt like an ass. Neither of them had done anything wrong. This was all on him.
“No, that’s fine,” he answered, forcing himself to smile and mean it. Hannah would see through it otherwise. “I’m just sorry I missed it, that’s all.” Bending down, he scooped Max into his arms and fell back onto the sofa.
With that as an opening, Max broke into an animated retelling of their morning, gushing about how hard riding the trike had been until Hannah found a mountain. At that, Hannah quickly broke in to explain the mountain was actually a very gentle hill and completely safe. But it did make coasting down easier. Then Max continued on as if he hadn’t been interrupted, gushing about how fast he’d gotten by the end.
Hannah watched Deacon for the entire story, a worried frown marring her face. She knew him too well for him to hide anything, but how was he supposed to explain that he was jealous? Even thinking it sounded stupid and immature. But…jealous he was.
He wanted to be the one to teach Max how to ride that tricycle. He wanted to be the one to teach him everything. Or, at the very least, be there to witness it. Learning to ride a tricycle was a huge milestone, and he’d missed it.
Telling Hannah about his feelings, though, would be selfish and make her feel guilty. She was only doing what he’d asked her to do. What the band was paying her to do. The only choice Deacon had was to celebrate his son’s progress and try not to miss anything else.
“Wow, buddy, that sounds awesome! I’m so proud of you.” Deacon ruffled Max’s spikes, dislodging a few blades of grass of his own while he was at it, and smiled. “Looks like you were rolling in the dirt today, too.”
“Actually,” Hannah cut in, “I’m pretty sure that’s from our grass angels.”
She said it so matter-of-factly he was sure he’d heard wrong. “Grass angels?”
“Yup. You know, like snow angels, only on grass.” She shrugged. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeated.
Raising his eyebrows, Deacon looked down at Max. He tried not to break, he really did. But a chuckle escaped anyway. He mouthed the words Grass angels, and Max giggled, too. Hannah rolled her eyes with a sigh and waltzed over to the garbage, dumping the cheese crackers confetti before dusting her hands on her jeans and cocking her hip.
“I see you judging me, Judgey Mc-Judgerson,” she said, pointing a slender finger in his direction. “But I dare you to be full of creative juices after a long morning with Precocious One and Two. The park down the street helped get some of the wiggles out, but after the trike and running around, my usual tricks stopped working. I had to think on my feet.”
“And grass angels were what came to mind.” He grinned like the smart-ass he was. “What I wouldn’t give for a peek inside that noggin of yours.”
Hannah stuck her tongue out, then said, “Honestly, grass angels weren’t even the strangest thing I came up with.”
Now Deacon laughed for real, a full body laugh, imagining the other craziness Cherry had thought up. Hell, just picturing her on the ground making “grass angels” with the kids had the previous guilt and anger melting from his body. She was a breath of fresh air in his life, balancing out his constant overthinking and pessimism.
Exhaling, he reached out and snagged Hannah’s wrist, tugging her down onto the couch beside him. She landed with a soft bounce.
Smiling, her eyes scanned his face, and when she found what she needed, her smile brightened. He wrapped his arm around her in a loose hug, and she tucked in close, grinning down at Max before subtly gesturing toward him with her chin. Deacon winked, and on the count of three, they began tickling his belly in earnest, their laughter filling the bus as Max squirmed and cackled between them.
Deacon soaked in the sound, breathing free and easy for the first time in days, and vowed to find that elusive balance he’d been searching for. This moment right here was all the motivation he needed. This tiny sofa on this grand bus held his entire world, at least for now, and without this, all the success in the world would be meaningless.
As Max’s giggles subsided, Deacon leaned down and pressed a grateful kiss against Hannah’s head. A sharp poke met his lips, and he chuckled as he tugged yet another twig from her hair.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said, scooting sideways with Max still on his lap. He looked between them both and said, “What do you say we make up a picnic lunch and take it down to this park of yours. Max here can show me his awesome tricycle skills, and then the two of you can teach me the mysterious art of the grass angel?” He jostled Max in his arms. “That sound like fun?”
Max whooped and shot to his feet. Hannah’s face filled with quiet pleasure. It was all the answer he needed.
…
“Ouch!”
Wincing in pain, Hannah jerked her head up and stared hard at the roosts. As she cursed her throbbing heel and the Lego Woody culprit, she hoped with everything in her that the sleeping children hadn’t heard her.
She’d just gotten Max and Lizzie down, and quite honestly, she didn’t think she could handle another round of stories, songs, and requests for water. She was tapped out. Mentally, emotionally, and physically drained of energy. Visions of a glass of wine and sitting in silence had been dancing in her head for the better part of an hour, and if something as trivial as a little pain-by-Lego kept it from becoming a reality soon, she might just cry.
Statue-still, she waited for a sign. A wiggle or a sigh, the sound of a sheet rustling that hinted at awake children. With the nonstop vortex of enthusiasm the two had expended today, Hannah had expected Max—or at least little Lizzie—to pass out over an hour ago, but she’d been wrong. Her charges defined the words “precocious,” as well as “precious,” and she wouldn’t change that for the world… She would, however, like just a few hours of downtime.
When a few more seconds went by without a peep from their roosts, Hannah bowed her head and raised a fist into the air, opening her mouth in a silent roar of gratitude. The bus was officially hers. Scooping up the mutinous Lego, she tiptoed toward the kitchen and smiled the smile of the free.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy. Being Blue’s nanny was turning into a dream come true. Max had always held a special place in Hannah’s heart, and over the last week, Lizzie had claimed another large chunk. She loved both the little buggers to pieces, and she couldn’t get enough of their giggles.
As for the guys, all Hannah had to do was keep the children happy, fed, and out of too much mischief, and they acted as though she’d hung the moon. The housework was minimal—picking up toys, washing a few dishes, and keeping Sherry stocked in muffins, all things she’d have done anyway. Everything about this gig was a breeze, and after adding in the incredible music at every stop and time spent with her best friend, Hannah never wanted to leave.
“Which is good,” she murmured with a slight chuckle, “since I plan on staying forever.”
Planning was only half the battle, however, and with that thought, Hannah uncorked the bottle of wine she’d set aside for tonight. Sherry was snoozing away in the back bedroom, and the band had a string of interviews before their concert. She’d have the bus to herself for at least a couple hours, which was more than enough time to review how her plan was going—or how it wasn’t going, if you wanted to be technical about it. Either way, doing so required provisions.
Hooking the stem of a wineglass, Hannah moseyed over to the dining table. She placed the glass and bottle of Cabernet on the wood surface, then reached into the cabinet holding Sherry’s secret stash. There was one certainty in life—chocolate cured all. Everything was better with sugar.
Hershey’s in hand, Hannah released a happy sigh and plopped down onto the bench, folding her legs like a pretzel. As she tore into the candy bar, she said aloud, “Let the depressing review begin.”
She’d start with the negative and end on the good. So far, Deacon was proving harder to crack than she’d anticipated. She couldn’t decide if the man was oblivious or if he really couldn’t see beyond her role as his childhood friend, but everything she’d tried so far had resulted in a big old pile of nope. She’d tried placing her hand on his arm when they were talking. Staring into his eyes longer than necessary. Leaving her lingerie lying on her bed in plain sight…
Hannah winced. Okay, that last one reeked of pathetic, and it had only happened a couple hours ago, which meant the sting of embarrassment was potent. But hell, she’d been desperate! Nothing else she’d tried had seemed to work, and at least her panties had caused a reaction in her bedroom before they left town. Maybe if Deacon saw them again, he’d remember the heat of that moment and they’d finally make a little progress.
Unfortunately, the wrong person discovered the panties first, and lust was the last thing on Deacon’s mind when Max came barreling down the hall with French lingerie on his head, yelling out, “Yo ho, let’s go!” like he was from Jake and the Never Land Pirates.
Evidently, red silk panties make awesome pirate bandanas.
Hannah blew a raspberry with her lips. At least that stunt did create a reaction, and while amusement wasn’t exactly the mood she’d been aiming for, hey, it was something, right? Right? Maybe she could build on that horrific moment and offer to play Wendy to Deacon’s Captain Hook?
Snorting at that ridiculous thought, she poured a more than generous amount of wine into her awaiting glass.
Nope, nothing about this mission was going as planned. Even in the beginning, when she’d first returned from Paris, Hannah had stumbled. Flying in a week early and rerouting her arrival to Magnolia Springs had been a surprise. Partly it was because she’d feared chickening out, knowing she was finally putting herself out there, but she’d also wanted to see Deacon’s true reaction to her after all that time. Of course with her theatrical background, it had all played out like a movie during the long plane ride and even longer layovers.
In her mind, Deacon found her on his doorstep and swept her into his arms. As the sun set behind them, he’d twirled her around his front lawn, realizing how much he needed her and how much he loved her. In that way. Then, to seal the deal, he planted a kiss to end all kisses on her lips, just like in her favorite movies: Never Been Kissed, She’s All That, and Can’t Hardly Wait, where the nerdy outcast finally found their happily ever after.
Hey, it worked for Hollywood, right?
Only, Hannah should’ve known better. In her world, reality and fantasy very rarely met. Instead, when “real life” Deacon found Hannah on his front step, he’d stared at her like she was some sort of mirage. He’d blinked in confusion for what felt like forever before relief finally flooded his face. Then he’d yanked her into his arms, just like in her vision, which she’d been silly enough to hope was a good sign. Alas, that was where the fairy tale faded.
Reality Deacon gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead, instead of the romantic dip she’d imagined, and he’d followed that up with concern over the dark circles under her eyes. Talk about swoon.
Hannah lifted the glass of Cabernet to her lips. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this seduction stuff after all. Maybe it’d be smarter to cut her losses now before she did something that truly embarrassed them both. Or worse, ruined their friendship. She’d already been burned once before, seeing feelings where there hadn’t been any, and the memory of that sting still haunted her. So much so that a part of her had wondered if they’d even be able to be friends again.
Frowning, she took another deep sip of California’s best, then set down the glass a bit more forcefully than she’d meant to.
“Or—” She touched her lips to cover a hiccup. “Maybe I need to step up my efforts.”
That sounded a lot better, and as if the universe agreed with this plan, the tour bus door suddenly flew open. She jumped and hiccupped again as an out of breath Deacon appeared in the doorway, hoofing it up the bus steps.
Hot damn. Hannah glanced at her half-empty glass. Sure, she was a little giddy and perhaps a little toasty, but she hadn’t drunk nearly enough to hallucinate. Which meant her best friend really had just randomly appeared in front of her—and he really did look that good.
She groaned softly. It simply wasn’t fair.
Dressed for the stage, Deacon’s normal well-worn denim was replaced by dark blue jeans that appeared as though they were made for him. Considering Blue’s stylist was one of the best in the business, they very well might have been. Molded to his long legs, distressed in artful ways, and showcasing his strength, Hannah had never seen a pair of jeans worn so well in her life. Her tongue felt swollen and funny in her mouth, and she swallowed hard as she raised her eyes.
The view above was even better.
Long-sleeved white cotton stretched across the hard planes of Deacon’s chest and were pushed up on his thick forearms. The V-neckline had two buttons undone, revealing the smooth skin of his throat. Hannah had it on good authority—expert testimony—that the skin there smelled of his cologne. Spicy, sort of woodsy, and all male. It was her favorite place to bury her nose during one of his long hugs, nestled there and storing that delicious scent in her lungs.
Next came the best part. Above the five o’clock shadow that stretched long into evening, and the styled, tousled mess of dark hair that had her fingers itching to touch, Hannah finally met his gorgeous eyes.
Only instead of the warm affection she was used to, or the matching simmering lust she longed for, Deacon’s eyes were opened wide and dawning with guilt.
“I missed it, didn’t I?”
Hannah’s forehead scrunched. “M-missed what?” she asked, ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
“Story time.” Deacon exhaled heavily, and now that she wasn’t sizing him up like a dog in heat, Hannah realized he was out of breath. And sort of sweaty. “I swear, I ran out as soon as the interview was over, but I didn’t leave soon enough.” Closing his eyes, he lowered his head. “I tried, Cherry. I swear to you, I tried.”
Hannah frowned. Maybe she’d had more wine than she thought, because for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what on earth he was talking about. Tried to do what? Why did he look as though he’d single-handedly ruined Christmas?
Then, all at once, the events of the morning came flooding back.
Max had been clingier than normal at breakfast. After they’d eaten, he’d spent the hours before sound check tagging along in his daddy’s shadow, playing Legos, riding his trike, and picking up picture book after picture book. Deacon must’ve read a dozen of them, multiple times. When it was time to go, Max heard Tyler ask Deacon if he was ready and the poor boy had flown into a small meltdown. Grabbing onto his father’s leg, Max had begged him not to leave, and Hannah had never seen Deacon look so lost or overwhelmed. Her heart had liquefied right onto her shoes.
Scooping Max into her arms, she’d promised Deacon that it’d be fine. Kids got like this sometimes, but it almost always passed quickly. And it had, too. Just a few minutes after the band left, she’d had Max happily distracted, and he spent the rest of the afternoon and into the night playing Ninja Turtles and running her ragged.
Unfortunately, Deacon hadn’t been there to see any of that.
“Sweetheart, you’ve got to give yourself a break.” Pushing up out of the bench seat, she walked over and grabbed his arm, this time not to flirt or to push any boundaries, but to offer comfort. “Max is fine. I promise. That meltdown only lasted the time it took for you to get inside the arena. He had a great day. He and Lizzie went nonstop until they finally crashed out twenty minutes ago.”
She smiled to alleviate the tension in his rigid shoulders, but Deacon didn’t see it. His head was still bowed, his arms bulging over hands clenched tightly around the countertop. Hannah felt helpless. Obviously, the man was drowning in guilt, but she didn’t know what to do.
“Do you want me to wake him?”
Deacon shook his head. “Nah, he needs his sleep.” He scuffed a boot across the floor and released a breath. “It’s just…I promised myself I wouldn’t miss anything else, you know? I can’t be here with him all day like you are, but early dinners and story time, that was our thing.”
“And it’s still your thing. Deacon, before you left today, you must’ve read that kid a hundred stories. It doesn’t matter what time you read them, only that you do it. That boy knows you love him. Don’t ever doubt that.”
When he didn’t respond or even look at her, Hannah pushed up onto her toes and angled her head right under his. Wary green-gray eyes stared back. “You’re an incredible father, Deacon. I couldn’t be more proud of how you are with him. But you’ve got to trust that I’ve got this covered when you’re away. I won’t ever let anything happen to that kid. I love him as much as you do. So, when I tell you that he’s okay, I need you to believe that he’s fine. We’ve got this.”
She sank back down onto her heels, smiling softly as the hard lines around his mouth softened. “We’re a good team, you and I,” she told him. “Max is surrounded by love and he’s having the adventure of a lifetime. You’re giving him that, Deacon. You. But you can’t be in two places at once. You’ve got to cut yourself some slack.”
Placing her hands atop his, she tried jostling his arms to lighten the mood, and Deacon’s pinkie fingers latched onto her own. He stared at her for a long moment, his slowly warming eyes doing the talking until he rested his forehead against hers with a soft exhale. Minty breath fanned across her lips.
“Thank you.”
Two words. Deacon didn’t need to say anything more. She knew he was thanking her for what she’d said, thanking her for accepting the job with the band—hell, he was even thanking her for loving Max as much as she did. But what he never seemed to understand was that he didn’t need to thank her for those things. Hannah was exactly where she wanted to be. Where she’d always wanted to be.
Where she was meant to be.
Another moment of silent communication passed, giving and offering strength, and Hannah had an understanding of her own. This was her moment.
Any second, a roadie or Arabella would come knocking on the door to bring Deacon back to the arena. Hannah had literally just told herself not ten minutes earlier that she needed to step up her efforts…and here was the perfect opportunity.
They were alone.
A slight buzz warmed her veins.
And for once, Deacon’s guard was down.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Hannah closed the shred of distance between them. A twinge of confusion passed over Deacon’s face as his body went still against her. Boldly, she lifted her hands and placed them on his firm chest, right over the steady heartbeat that pounded under her fingertips.
As she stared into his eyes, refusing to shy away, his hands slid hesitantly to her waist. The thick knot in his throat bobbed in a swallow, and his eyes tracked back and forth between each of hers…
Then, they fell to her mouth.
A halleluiah chorus broke out in heaven. Hannah’s breath stuttered and stalled, but with her pulse roaring in her ears, she lifted onto her toes, gliding her hands up and onto his shoulders, crushing her chest against his. The muscles in Deacon’s arms turned to stone around her. He stood there like a frozen mansicle, wariness and another emotion she couldn’t quite name chasing across his features.
For one long, delicious moment, Hannah didn’t breathe. She didn’t push for more but simply let herself be held, waiting to see which way Deacon would play it.
Would he acknowledge her as a woman?
Would he finally see past the childhood pal he clung to in his memory?
Or would he continue acting as though she hadn’t changed? That together they were still the same old Superman and Cherry they’d always been. Best friends and nothing more.
As the seconds stretched, Deacon didn’t push her away, but he didn’t pull her any closer, either. His eyes darted back and forth between hers, his muscles hard beneath her hands and his breaths still a little uneven. His hands were clenched tightly around her hips. Slowly, almost reluctantly, his gaze dropped to her mouth again and held.
Hope lit up her veins in a warm, ticklish rush.
A kiss told you everything you needed to know. Her mama, along with many wise Motown singers, proclaimed that very truth, and Hannah firmly believed it. While far from an expert, she had been kissed before, and even had a handful of boyfriends in college…yet, she’d never once been passionately kissed. Not like in her favorite books or movies where time stopped and everything else faded away. She’d never been the reason a man lost his head, or had her own spin like a Tilt-a-Whirl. Somewhere in the back of her mind Hannah had always known, This isn’t Deacon.
But that wasn’t the case now. The arms around her were Deacon’s. The firm mouth a hairsbreadth from touching hers was his, too. An exhale parted her lips, and Hannah licked them in anticipation. This was the moment. The moment that could change everything.
Suddenly, the grip on her hips went lax.
Stepping back, Deacon shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the ground, his lips moving almost imperceptibly like he was saying something under his breath. In the dim lighting of the bus, his normally expressive eyes were unreadable.
Disappointment and hurt crashed over her in waves, but as a muscle jumped in his jaw, Hannah fought every instinct she had to run away. Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she focused on the pain of that instead of the rejection, refusing to do the expected.
Deacon knew her better than anyone. He was probably betting on her shying away, pretending the moment between them hadn’t just happened. But it had. Unlike that miserable night so long ago, this time she didn’t think she’d misread the hint of interest in his eyes, or the way his hands had tightened around her waist.
Boldly, Hannah lifted her chin. No, this wasn’t another embarrassing repeat of the past. He’d thought about kissing her. She’d seen it in the way he looked at her mouth. Sure, he hadn’t acted on it, but the idea had been planted.
When he raised his head, she met his questioning stare with a confident one of her own, deciding right then and there that she could play this game for as long as it took. Because for the first time ever, she had more than a sliver of hope.
Her mouth twitched with a smile. A real, honest-to-goodness almost kiss?
That was enough to boost her sails for a while.
“Uh, sorry. Am I interrupting?” At the sound of Sherry’s voice, Deacon jumped to the side. He stepped away like they’d been caught doing something wrong, and although it didn’t feel good, even that couldn’t completely damper Hannah’s spirits. She was practically floating.
“Not at all,” he answered gruffly. He coughed once to clear his voice, and Hannah fought back a smile. “I better get back to the arena. The show should be starting soon.”
Sherry smirked as she leaned her head against the wall. “Tell my music man I said knock ’em dead.”
Deacon rubbed his palms against his jeans and briefly met Hannah’s gaze. An apology was there, mixed with confusion, and then he ducked down the stairs and out the bus door, muttering a good night.
Hannah waited until the door sealed shut before she released a shaky breath.
Well, that kind of sucked. Apologetic was not the emotion she wanted him to end on, but at least there had been a small glimpse of promise.
Turning on her heel, she walked back to the table, her mind a jumble of questions and half-baked plans of attack. With this encounter under her belt, should she push harder the next time she saw him, or should she hang back and let the experience marinate?
Sherry joined her at the table, her face expressionless as she reached for the untouched chocolate bar. The thought was there to ask the would-be matchmaker her opinion, but Hannah couldn’t bring herself to go there.
As she stewed, Sherry broke off a chunk of candy and brought it to her lips. She chewed quietly, nodding to herself while glancing between her and the recently vacated door. Hannah’s cheeks warmed under the perusal, but she said nothing, not yet ready to admit how strong her feelings for Deacon were. She couldn’t let go of the possibility that she’d been wrong once before.
Besides, knowing Sherry as well as she now did, she’d go full-blown Cupid in an instant, and Hannah wasn’t sure she was ready for all that would entail.
Unfortunately, her readiness might not mean squat because a bright, smug smile suddenly curved the other woman’s lips, and with a mouth still full of chocolate she proclaimed, “Just friends, my ass.”