sometimes endings aren’t the end
endings are beginnings
Avery
Thanksgiving Eve
I’ve never been so nervous.
Not the day my parents moved me to Nashville at the young age of eighteen to start at Vandy where I knew not a soul.
Not the first of many interviews I had with Nico to babysit his children.
Not when Dr. Nancy Eubanks ripped my head off in front of the entire class for the first time. Although, that hasn’t happened since the day Link introduced her to me as his mother. I’m not sure if it’s because he threatened her or she genuinely seems to be trying to make an effort to repair her relationship with her son. Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it. Link and I are scheduled to have dinner with his parents this weekend, and compared to this, I’m not nervous about that at all.
My insides weren’t even a tornadic flurry the night I tried to fake-ID myself into Link’s bar to hear my music performed live for the first time like they are now.
No, at this moment, I think I’ll puke or pass out.
Tonight’s a big night. It’s the grand re-opening of The Knot. Finishing touches are still being made to the back entrance, but the bar passed inspection a few days ago, thanks to Mayson Construction. Asher and his crews delivered early and Link is back in business.
But tonight, the band who’s a friend of a friend of mine, is back. They told me they’ve been playing the hell out of my song at every gig and the crowds go crazy for it. I’m standing on the balcony outside of Link’s glassed-in office with Link and a representative from a record label. The rep also brought a friend who’s an agent in the business.
The agent was a surprise.
I feel Link’s lips brush the skin under my ear where he whispers, “Relax, little one.”
If only. And him telling me to relax when I really want to puke earns him an elbow to the gut.
He gifts me with an ass squeeze in return, but whatever.
The band is halfway through my song and as much as I’ve tried not to look at the record label rep or the agent, I can’t help myself.
They’re standing there with beers in hand, gazing down at the crowd and band. I have no idea what they’re thinking.
When it’s done, we move back into the semi-sound-proofed area that makes up Link’s office and I contemplate running to his private bathroom to lose the contents of my stomach. Before I can escape, the record label rep states in a way he might as well be talking about eating a boring hot dog, “I like it.”
I can’t breathe. I mean, that’s better than hating it, right?
But it’s also not as good as loving it.
His lips tip on one end and he adds, “A lot.”
Oh. That’s better, I guess.
Thank goodness Link grabs my hand because my body lists and I settle into his thick arm.
“I do, too,” the agent concurs, business-like. “It’s the most original sound I’ve heard in a long time. If we weren’t in Nashville, I wouldn’t even know how to classify it. It’s soulful-country with an edge. It’ll make the listener sit back and think about the last ten years, either feeling like shit or proud of themselves.”
I nod, not intending to make anyone feel like shit, but whatever gets my foot in the door.
“What are you doing Monday morning at nine?” the rep asks.
Fuck. Dr. Eubanks’ class is Monday at nine.
“She’s free,” Link says, sealing my fate with his mother the Monday following his family dinner where I’ll be attending as his date.
Not that I’d miss this meeting for anything—even an ass-chewing from Dr. Mama will be worth it. I finally speak up. “I’m free on Monday.”
“Great.” He pulls a business card out of his pocket and hands it to me. “That’s my office address. I’ll see you then—oh, and bring everything you’ve got. I want to hear what else you can do.”
I look at the card and still can’t believe it. “Thank you. I’ll bring everything.”
“Link, good to meet you. You’ve got a great space, here. Maybe we can talk about booking some of our clients.” All the men shake hands and, just like that, Link and I are alone.
He grabs me, pulling me to the sofa where he sits, and drags me onto his lap. His blue eyes are as warm as the month of July and his expression is a mix of smugness and fascination. “Proud of you, baby. They see what I know. Won’t be long before the world knows it, too.”
I lean into kiss him. “Thank you.”
His hands move on my body, pulling me close. “I’d do anything for you.”
“Yeah.” I smile and snuggle into his lap. “You’ve proved yourself in that area.”
He sinks into the sofa, taking me with him. “Tomorrow’s our first Thanksgiving.”
“It is,” I agree.
“We’ve got a lot of firsts coming. But do you know what I’m looking forward to most?”
I shake my head. Just when I think I’ve learned everything about Lincoln Forester, I find another layer that makes me love him more.
Love.
Even though I know I’ve had a crazy fascination with him from the moment our eyes met, with every day that passes, I know it to be true.
I love him.
He rolls me to my back and shifts on top of me. “Seconds, thirds, fourths … and I’m not talking about turkey. I’m talking about life with you.”
Taking his face in my hands, I lift and put my lips to his. “I love you.”
He freezes and, for an instant, I regret my words.
Until his lips crush mine, his bulky weight pressing me into the sofa, his hips pressing between my legs—showing me the effect I have on him.
He yanks up my shirt and his hand splays over my heart in the middle of my chest. “Love you, too, baby. So much.”
I thought so, but to hear him say it makes everything perfect. And it’s a good thing, too.
“Hey, Honest Abe?” I call for him as his hands start to roam on me.
His nickname doesn’t faze him as his head dips and his lips come to my collarbone where he hums, “Hmm?”
Bringing my hands to his short hair, I state, “I’m glad you love me.”
He stops and lifts to look down at me with a frowny-smile. “I’m glad you love me, too.”
My eyes go big. “I bet I’m more glad.”
He grins, shaking his head. “Love you, baby, but you’re strange sometimes.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not strange. I’m pregnant.”
He freezes.
“I’m not sure why you’re surprised,” I add. “I’ve tried to be responsible and you’ve done everything in your power to distract me.”
His face thaws and his voice dips. “You’re having my baby.”
“No,” I contend. “I’m having our baby. You didn’t do this all by yourself, you know. I was there, too.”
A smile bleeds onto his beautiful face and he asks in a way it’s more of a statement, “Dealing with your sass—this is going to be the rest of my life, isn’t it?”
“It’s my mother’s fault,” I offer before letting my eyes go big. “But she’s nothing like your mother.”
He ignores all conversation about our mothers. “You happy? Because you’ve made me really fucking happy.”
I lean up to kiss him. “I should be upset about being pregnant before I can legally get into a bar—but I’m just not. The joy is too much. I just need to figure out how to tell my parents.”
“You can tell them after you tell them we’re married.”
My eyes go big. “I didn’t know how you felt about marriage since your mother doesn’t believe in it.”
“I can’t fucking wait to marry you. In fact, it can’t happen soon enough. And lucky for you, I’m nothing like my mother. I want to tie us together in every way possible. A baby is just the beginning and the sooner you’re wearing my ring the better.”
“Big day, huh?” I whisper.
“Best day,” he corrects me and he’s right.
Life with Link. The best is only beginning.