CHAPTER THIRTEEN
November, present day
“Pass me that spool of ivory satin,” Summer said, pinching the base of the orchids she was making into a corsage. She hated making corsages because they took an enormous amount of time for such a small reward. Summer much preferred helping her sister create big, lush bouquets designed to grace pulpits or casket tops.
“So what’s he like?” Maisie asked, jabbing a wire between her lips and tossing the spool toward her older sister.
“Who?”
“You know damned well who,” Maisie muttered around the floral wire.
“Rhett? Oh, he’s fine.”
“I’ll say,” Maisie said, managing a smile around the wire. Or she had gas.
Maisie took the wire and wrapped it around the base of a white rose. Summer hated white roses. They made her think of death.
Summer’s sister may have been seven years her junior, but she didn’t look it. The recent divorce had weighed heavy on Maisie, and the young mother looked tired and worn. Which was why Summer was quick to pitch in when Maisie needed help. Her sister had someone who ran the front of the shop and handled deliveries, but when there were multiple big events like homecoming or a large funeral, she needed an extra set of hands. Summer wasn’t necessarily talented at creating floral displays, but she could trim stems and make bows.
“He’s not like he is on television,” Summer said, not wanting to talk about Rhett, mostly because, like years before, she couldn’t seem to get him out of her mind, but if she avoided the fact that late night’s favorite son was staying next door, Maisie would be suspicious.
Yeah, he’d been on her mind too much. So what?
Lord, the sadness in his eyes haunted her, and, God help her, she wanted to make that better for him. Problem was, she didn’t know how, and she had no right to want anything when it came to Rhett. She’d learned that long ago. There had been something between them even back then, but it was not romantic in nature. More of an understanding, an acknowledgment that each could see through the bullshit life shoveled their way. Had nothing to do with the erratic beating of hearts or breathless kisses . . . at least not on Rhett’s behalf. “I mean, he’s charming and funny, but he’s not dazzling. Eh, I take that back. He’s dazzling but real. That’s it. Rhett’s still a golden boy, but not so shiny you can’t look at him.”
“Wow, you’ve really thought about this,” Maisie said, tossing a quizzical glance her way.
Crap. She’d overshared, and now Maisie might glimpse the former longing that had made a strong comeback. Fine. She could admit it to herself—she’d never really gotten over the crush on Rhett. He had always been her ideal, but she was also reasonable enough to understand that she’d built Rhett up in her head. Sure, he was a good guy and a Hollywood celebrity, but he was just a guy. He scratched himself, forgot to recycle, and probably didn’t tip the bag boy at the grocery. Everyone had flaws. “No. I’m just saying.”
“‘I’m just saying’ is everyone’s cop-out when they don’t want to admit something.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
“That’s because I’m seeing one,” Maisie said with a grin. She then jabbed the rose into the large spray, making it look somehow perfect. Summer’s sister was definitely talented and had become the go-to florist in town. There were a few other florists, but none had as artistic an eye as Maisie. “Can you date your therapist? ’Cause I think Dr. Weaver is really doing it for me.”
“I think that’s against some law or something.”
“Damn.”
Her sister’s teasing was almost enough to make her forget about her nosing around about Rhett. Maisie hadn’t laughed much over the last year.
“You think you’re ready to date?” Summer asked.
“Maybe. No. I don’t know. It’s still weird that I’m single again. With kids. No, two little demons. Isn’t that the kiss of death on dating sites?” Maisie asked.
“I don’t know. I only tried a dating site once. Had my profile up for a month before I realized I didn’t have time to date. What about Brad? Is he still with the bimbo teeth cleaner?”
Last fall Maisie had left the twins with their grandmother in order to surprise her husband at his dental implant conference in San Diego. She’d left him a sexy note at the front desk, put on a slinky dress, and waited at the bar for him. But the surprise was on her when she got tired of waiting, knocked on his hotel room door, and Brad’s hygienist answered wearing nothing but a robe. Then Brad walked out from the shower, wearing a towel around his hips.
“That’s what I hear from the kids. Noah and Paul like her. Which pisses me off. She’s an effing home wrecker and they’re all, ‘Geena let us make pancakes,’ or ‘Geena bought us a new movie.’ I want to say, ‘Geena is a two-bit skank who got you kids a broken family and a father only every other weekend.’”
Summer watched her sister grow agitated. Then do some breathing exercises. “It might be time for you to focus on you. Get a profile up on Match.com or something. Try online dating. Hell, ask the shrink out.”
“Nah, I’m laying off anyone who calls himself ‘doctor.’ Maybe a football coach or an accountant?” Maisie picked up the “Thinking of You” ribbon and attached it to the arrangement.
“Don’t football coaches have a bigger ego than dentists? Try the accountant. Surely people who deal with the IRS don’t have egos . . . but lots of patience. The right kind of patience for twin four-year-old boys,” Summer joked.
“I know some nice football coaches,” Maisie said, putting her hands on her hips, “but I’m not ready to be out there. But you are. Like beyond time to get back into the dating world.”
“My life feels pretty full.”
“But you’re not getting laid,” Maisie said.
“Neither are you. Besides, sex is overrated. I have a kid, a life, and a gig tomorrow night. And I have a really good vibrator.”
“You do? I mean, you use one?”
Summer rolled her eyes. “Guess I know what to get you for your next birthday.”
“Oh my gosh, Sum. But don’t give it to me in front of Mother.”
“Who do you think recommended the one I have?” Summer couldn’t help it. Joking around with her sister felt good.
Maisie recoiled, her eyes wide. “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I am,” Summer finally conceded with a giggle. “Couldn’t help it. Your reactions are priceless. Don’t enter any poker tournaments.”
“Oh yeah? You think you have a poker face? Let’s talk about Rhett Bryan some more. And that giant torch for him you’re toting around.”
Bull’s-eye.
How did Maisie know? She thought she’d gotten better at hiding the longing for Rhett. “I don’t have a torch for him. And if I did, who cares? Half of America has a thing for him. He’s cute.”
“But it’s more than that for you. I mean, Nessa once told me you were totally in love with him in high school.”
“I had a crush on him in high school. So did every other girl. And when did you see Nessa?”
“She came home a few weekends ago. You had a gig in Columbia, remember? She’s doing good. Nominated for preschool teacher of the year in her district, and her twin girls are so cute.”
“I missed Agnes and Bess?” Nessa lived in Charleston and came home a few times a month to see her parents. She and Summer’s sister had become good friends when Maisie lived in Charleston while Brad was in school. That they both had a set of twins bonded them even further.
“Don’t try to change the subject. I’m just saying every time I bring up Rhett’s name, I can tell. You’re still into him,” Maisie said.
Damn it to hell. “Fine. Once upon a time, I had a thing for him. But that torch has been extinguished. What you’re sensing right now isn’t about having a thing for Rhett. It’s just he’s an easy guy to like, and we’ve always been friends.”
“Okay, I believe you.” Maisie lifted a thin shoulder and flattened her mouth. “But if the opportunity arises to, uh, skip the vibrator in favor of a real live man, go for it. Those Hollywood types sleep with anyone, right?”
“Thanks.” Nothing like being “anyone” to a man.
“You know what I mean. You won’t have to worry about, you know, him bringing emotion into the equation.”
“I’m pretty sure everyone feels emotion, even celebrities.” Summer turned toward the collection of blooms resting in metal buckets and selected a pale-pink flower to bring depth to the rose. She didn’t want to have this conversation, mostly because Rhett tempted her in ways she couldn’t explain. The rational part of her knew there was no way Rhett would see her in such a light, and even if he did, having sex, letting herself fall back into love with him, would leave her with nothing but a memory. Somehow having Rhett and then losing him would be worse than never having him at all.
“I’m not saying he’s a robot or incapable of love. I guess I’ve read too many tabloids over the years. Celebrities seem to switch their partners around frequently. Still, why not? You deserve something good. You always put yourself last. It’s like you don’t think you deserve good things.”
“That’s not true.”
Maisie’s eyes held doubt. “You carry around an inferiority complex.”
“Do you want to do this psychoanalyzing thing? I know my flaws, but I like the way I’m living my life. I’m not a martyr, but I’m not going to jump Rhett Bryan’s bones.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” Because her sister had dug a needle into the painful blister of rejection that plagued Summer. Not being good enough. Hell, she’d dragged that notion with her all the way from her high school days. She knew her propensity for doubt, she fought it, but somehow her self-confidence flagged when it came to grabbing the brass ring.
Maisie snorted but didn’t say anything more. She knew she’d crossed a line.
“Look, I know myself. But, first, Rhett would have to be interested. He’s not, Maisie. We’re friends. Besides, he’s a celebrity and going back to California. I don’t want to . . . it’s just not going to happen.” She understood what her sister thought about Rhett. Maisie saw a gorgeous, charismatic host. She hadn’t seen him on Summer’s couch, looking so lost. The clouds in Rhett’s eyes made Summer want to take away the pain, give him comfort and peace. To her, he wasn’t just a lay to brag about. He was Rhett.
Maisie also didn’t know what had happened the night of senior prom. The ship carrying the thing she’d wanted most had sailed, and Summer wouldn’t turn the boat around. She didn’t want to spend time thinking about the past—what had happened, what could have happened, what should have happened. Summer had grown accustomed to not getting what she wanted, and that was okay. She accepted her life as it was and loved it in spite of the disappointments.
“I think you’re being closed off. Don’t bind yourself with an expectation of failure. Don’t hold yourself back from joy.” Maisie narrowed her eyes and moved a piece of something that looked like a weed to a new position. Again, it made the arrangement look ten times better.
“I’m not closed off. Or joyless. I’m a realist. There’s a difference.” Summer shoved the corsage into a clear plastic container and took it to the giant walk-in fridge. “Besides, if you were really worried about my relationships, you would accept the goodness Mr. Happy brings me.”
“Mr. Happy?”
“My special friend who has three speeds,” Summer said, desperate to take their conversation back to lightness. She didn’t have a vibrator, but teasing Maisie deflected talk of Rhett.
“TMI,” Maisie squealed.
“I’m kidding. I don’t call him Mr. Happy. I call him, ‘Oh, yes.’”
Maisie threw a clump of sunflowers at her. “Stop it, weirdo.”
Summer jumped back and nearly tripped over the fan Maisie used to keep the work space cool. “I better jet. As fun as this sex talk is, David will be home soon, and I have to nag him about homework, taking a shower, and staying off social media. That’s part of the job, you know. And I have to Skype Jim. Greyhound Blue has a gig at the Sundown Tavern tomorrow night.”
“How’s that, by the way? You’ve been getting more and more gigs. Jim’s wife’s been bragging about how y’all are going to be the next big thing.”
“Jim’s wife is delusional. We’re doing fine for a local band. That’s it.”
“I hate to see you wasting your talent.”
“I’m not. I’m working on new songs. Just finished one that Jim’s tweaking the arrangement to. We’re going to play it tomorrow night. Why don’t you come by? Maybe Mom can watch the kids. It would do you good, and I can tell the bartenders to keep the losers away from you.”
Maisie brushed back the ginger locks that had escaped her clip and looked self-conscious. “For all my talk about doing my shrink, you know I’m not ready for that scene.”
“What scene? It’s the Sundown. Nothing fast about that place, though occasionally someone gets a little bent out of shape over fantasy football. I’ve seen one punch thrown, and that was by Fred Frye, who thought Ben Pringle was looking at his wife’s dumpster.”
“That’s understandable. You can’t avoid looking at her ass. It’s so big it envelops the organ bench at church. In fact, Paul asked me one Sunday if ‘that woman ate that bench.’”
“He’s so adorable. But, really, there’s no scene at the Sundown.” Summer washed her hands in the big metal sink and dried them before riffling through her purse for her phone. She had several texts. Hunt. David. And a number that was probably Rhett, if her knowledge of area codes still held up. They were eating barbecue and would be home in an hour.
Summer should stay and help her sister, but Maisie looked to have everything under control. Besides, a hot shower, a glass of wine, and some Netflix sounded like heaven. If she left now, she could at least have the wine and shower.
“I’ll see you later, Sum,” Maisie said, drying her hands against her apron. She moved around the worktable and gave Summer a half hug. “Thank you for helping me . . . and making me laugh. Sorry if I got too personal. I just love you and want you to be happy.”
Summer bussed a kiss against her sister’s head. “Ditto, kiddo. And vibrator jokes are what big sisters are for.”
When Summer slipped out the back door of the shop, inky darkness met her. Stars winked overhead, and she could see the outline of her breath in the air. Thanksgiving was upon them, and Christmas would arrive on its heels. Holidays had always been a nonissue when it had been just her and David. Sometimes they’d drive in to go to church with her parents and pick at her father’s overly dry turkey. But many times, they’d stayed in Nashville because Summer had to work. She’d worked damned hard to get nowhere. Okay, not exactly nowhere, but not where she wanted to be.
One of her friends had joked at her Nashville going-away dinner that Summer had cashed it in and was giving up. Sometimes it felt as if that were true. Years ago, she’d put all her eggs in one basket, banking on a manager who’d driven her to near bankruptcy. He’d mismanaged her band, ignored decent offers in pursuit of ridiculous producers, and stolen money from other clients. His reputation became her reputation. Wasn’t long before she felt like the guys in the mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap, playing backup to puppets at state fairs. And she didn’t even have an amp that went to eleven to save her.
She’d sold some songs to get back on her feet, but by then she’d been making more as the manager of the Branding Iron Steakhouse than she did playing gigs. A few band members escaped to greener pastures, and it seemed silly to hire replacements when opportunity had dried up. But in the end, she’d walked away because of David. Because he’d started hanging around the wrong kids and sneaking out to do God knows what. He needed guidance and a parent home at night.
Parenting wasn’t for egomaniacs. Putting her child’s welfare above her own was pretty much a standard clause in the parenting contract she’d signed the moment she became one.
The moon played peekaboo through the trees as she drove the bay highway toward where her boy waited, barbecue-heavy and no doubt too tired to study for the civics test he had the next day. Occasionally, when her car pierced the thick oaks and palmettos and met a clearing, the reflection of the moon on the water invited deep, twisty contemplations. Song lyrics wove in and out of her head, always flirting with her, begging her to make them into something more.
Summer had been henpecked by melodies and lyrics her entire life. Much like she’d been haunted by Rhett Bryan. Seemed silly to allow an adolescent crush to follow her, raising its head every time she caught his show, every time Pete mentioned his grandson had phoned. Wasn’t as if she hadn’t had successful relationships with other men. Okay, not totally successful, or she’d be with someone right now. But good. Mostly. Rhett Bryan was a fantasy she’d hidden from the world, with no real hope of ever having him.
Summer rocked down the pitted road to the Nest and rounded the bend that would take her to the snug cabin. As she swung into her drive, her headlights caught Rhett in the beams. He stood on her stoop with his hands in his pockets, a T-shirt clinging to his lean torso and a smile that suggested possibility.
Hadn’t someone once said, “Nothing is impossible?”
Um, yeah. The Bible. All things are possible through Christ who strengthens me.
But as impossibly angelic as Rhett looked with his golden glow and sugared smile, he could probably lead the most reverent down a slippery slope of unobjectionable sin. If Us Weekly was to be believed.
Summer rolled her eyes at her thoughts and put the car into park.
Rhett opened her door like a valet. “David’s studying for civics. How about a moonlit walk?”
What was his motive? Did he truly want a walk? Or was there something more? Maybe he needed advice. Maybe he merely wanted to have company. Maybe it didn’t matter because Rhett was asking her to walk with him. She contemplated the dark road toward the gated community. “You know there are gators and snakes out there.”
“I like a challenge.”
She laughed. “I had a glass of wine and a bath in mind, but I guess I’ll risk losing a limb to walk with you. Sacrifices must be made.”
“Hey, you’ll still look pretty with only one leg.”
“Thanks. And it will save me money on shoes.”
Rhett’s smile made all the angst over everything in her life melt away. Such power existed inside this man—the ability to make her let go of practicality and pursue what she could not have. That made Rhett dangerous.
More dangerous than alligators.