When the call popped up on his screen, Ash’s heart lodged in his throat.

Jesse’s number was only a few digits off from Tommy’s old one, and he’d nearly answered with his best friend’s name. That would have been an uncomfortable way to start their second conversation in ten years.

Ash checked his GPS to make sure he hadn’t missed a turn. He’d had casual plans for the evening, but nothing he couldn’t back out of. He, too, was anxious to get this project underway, and the more they talked about concepts and expectations, the more comfortable he’d feel creating a plan of attack.

Working with Chance had been a breeze. With a signature sound established long ago, he knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. He’d been open to input, but producing the three singles had been a team effort, with Ash probably receiving more credit than he deserved.

Working with Jesse would be a much different experience. Not that Chance’s album hadn’t come with plenty of pressure—tasked with relaunching his career after a very public downfall—but the job ahead had the potential to decide Jesse’s fate in the industry. The days of an artist being granted the time and support required to develop and build a following were long gone. Now you had to burst onto the airwaves with instant buzz, an overnight success that in reality was many years in the making.

The Honkytonk Daisies had established a respectable following and would have likely continued to gain momentum had they been given the chance. Jesse had been the majority songwriter on the Daisies’ album, which meant their sound stemmed from her sensibilities, and that gave Ash a solid place to start.

The GPS said to turn left ahead, and Ash followed the order, pulling into a suburban neighborhood of large brick homes and tailored lawns. The houses weren’t completely cookie-cutter, but close. There were a ton of these sorts of neighborhoods surrounding the city, most in areas like this—little towns in bordering counties populated by folks looking for a more family-friendly area to settle down. Many endured the grueling commute for good, if overpopulated, schools, manicured parks, and generic shopping centers that offered box stores and chain restaurants.

Budding families got more space close enough to enjoy the benefits of Nashville, yet far enough away to avoid the bright lights and noise of the city. But the lights and noise were what Ash loved.

Unless you were down on Broadway, where the tourists and locals gathered to sample the latest microbrew or scoot their boots while an underappreciated dreamer belted out cover tunes, Ash’s adopted city was actually pretty normal. He knew his neighbors, held cookouts on the weekends, and attended a sporting event now and then.

The only difference was that most of his neighbors also worked in the music industry—which turned cookouts into jam sessions—and sporting events typically came with box seats courtesy of this label or that publishing company.

Nashville might not be small-town America, but the city was more down-to-earth than an outsider probably expected, due in no small part to the transplants who brought their small-town ideals with them.

Locating the house number, Ash pulled into the long driveway to park behind a burgundy Jeep—the type of vehicle he would never own again. Phone and keys were slipped into his jacket pockets before he grabbed the bottle of wine from the passenger seat and made his way to the porch, noting the quiet setting. No horns blowing in the distance. No neon as far as the eye could see.

“I don’t know how people live this way,” he muttered, reaching for the doorbell.

Seconds later, the door swung open, and a young girl with dark eyes and a head full of tight curls stared him up and down.

“Who are you?” she asked, nose crinkled as if she were greeting a skunk instead of a freshly-showered man.

Great. He’d gone to the wrong house. Ash stepped back. “I’m sorry. I must have gotten the address wrong.”

“Hold on!” yelled a voice from somewhere behind the child. A blonde woman pulled the door open wider, and the smell of grilled peppers filled the night air. “You must be Ash?” she asked with a European accent. Her pale skin and sunshine-colored hair stood in stark contrast to the child’s warm brown tones.

Relieved, he nodded. “I am. Is this Dana’s place?”

“Technically, it’s my place, but Dana lives here.” She extended a hand. “I’m Ingrid, and this is Angelica. She belongs to our neighbor, who had to make a quick run to the store.”

Accepting the greeting, Ash nodded. “Nice to meet you both.”

Ingrid escorted him into the foyer and closed the door as Angelica continued to give him the stink-eye.

“Are you Ms. Jesse’s boyfriend?” the little one asked.

“No, ma’am. I’m her producer.”

“Good,” she replied, the crease between her brows softening. “Ms. Dana says Ms. Jesse’s boyfriend is an asshole. Mama says that means he isn’t a nice man.”

Ash had met Ryan Dimitri on two occasions and agreed with Dana’s assessment. When he’d heard the news that Jesse was dating the arrogant artist, he’d nearly broken his keep-his-distance rule just to shake some sense into her.

Ingrid slid her hands into her pockets as pale brows arched. “Angelica is in the repeats-everything stage.” To the child she said, “Your mama also told you not to use that grown-up word, didn’t she?”

“Yes, ma’am. Can you not tell her I said that?”

“I’ll let you slide this time.” Patting the wild curls, Ingrid added, “Run and tell the others our last guest has arrived.”

The youngster took off into the house, sliding across the hardwood floor and darting out of sight.

“She’s quite a character,” Ash said. He volunteered with a mentor program for young kids and recognized the spunk and intelligence that would someday serve the little girl well. “I’m sorry if I kept you all waiting.” Jesse had said six thirty, and he’d arrived right on time.

“No worries. We’ve just been sitting around talking about you.”

He expected her to laugh and say she was joking, but her expression never changed. Unsure how to reply, Ash held his tongue and followed her into the house. High ceilings made the open space feel even larger, and the island to his right more than earned the name. An enormous slab of granite glimmered beneath a modern light fixture that would look even better over a pool table.

Five sets of eyes turned Ash’s way, and he felt as if he’d invaded a private meeting. Jesse broke off from the group to greet him, though she looked confused about how to do so. Once upon a time she’d have run full-tilt and leaped into his arms, and then they’d sneak off for a more intimate greeting.

Shoving the image out of his mind, Ash held up the bottle of wine. “I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

Jesse took the bottle and passed it off to Ingrid. “You didn’t have to do that, but no wine goes to waste in this house.”

“Amen to that,” muttered Ingrid.

An awkward silence took over until Ash leaned down to drop a kiss on Jesse’s cheek. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for coming,” she replied, not meeting his gaze. “Let me introduce you to the group.” He followed her to the island where the rest of the gathering hovered in silence. “Everyone, this is Ash Shepherd, the man I plan to blame if this album flops.” The joke broke the ice, and everyone seemed to relax. “You’ve met Ingrid and the terror next door, Angelica. Then we have bass player extraordinaire, Dana Mills, whipping up a batch of tasty fajitas at the stove.” The cooking musician waved a wooden spoon. “Silas, whom you met this morning. And Reggie Summers, the best drummer in town, with his wife Phoenix.”

“Reggie and I know each other,” he said and moved in for a shake and a pat on the back. “Been a while, man.”

“Yes, it has.” The drummer pointed to Jesse. “This is my girl, now. You’ve got to help her make this album unstoppable. We’re counting on you.”

No pressure there. “I’ll do my best.” Ash turned to the others. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

When she’d said friends were gathering to celebrate, Ash had imagined a larger crowd. The music community was a tight-knit group, and Jesse had been in the mix long enough to build a significant crew. Even one of Ash’s spontaneous cookouts brought out twice as many people, and something told him the lack of attendees was due to the fallout from the Honkytonk Daisies breakup.

Duos were like marriages, and when they didn’t work out, friends were forced to choose sides. Lucky for Ash, his and Ronnie’s divorce had been so amicable that their core group of friends had remained intact. Clearly, that hadn’t been the case for Jesse.

“I have a good feeling about you.” Silas smacked Ash on the back. “You’re the one to take care of my girl.”

A task Ash had undertaken long ago. “I’m looking forward to working with her,” he said, and he meant it. Just being in the same room again made the ever-present hole in his chest a little less cavernous.

“Dinner is served!” called Dana from her side of the kitchen, and the attendees hopped into action. As Silas waddled off, Jesse stared up at Ash with a serious expression.

“I guess this is going to feel awkward for a while.”

She always had been honest to a fault. “A little. Nothing we can’t get past, though.”

Jesse smiled, but the sentiment didn’t reach her eyes. “I hope you came with an empty stomach because Dana makes the most amazing fajitas.”

He gestured for her to lead the way. “If it tastes as good as it smells, I believe it.”

Stepping into line behind the others, they waited to fill their plates from the array of ingredients spread across the counter, and Ash caught the scent of vanilla and orange blossoms. The scent brought back memories of warm nights in the back of his Jeep and cold mornings behind the school that had resulted in both of them being late for class.

Out of self-preservation, he stepped back, blinking the flashbacks away.

“You good there, buddy?” Reggie asked, reaching past him for extra napkins.

Ash tried to answer but had to clear his throat to find his voice. “Sure. Yeah. I’m fine. The peppers are a little strong, that’s all.”

Reggie chuckled. “You think they smell strong? Wait until you taste them.”

The drummer walked off with his bounty, and Ash reached for an empty plate, reminding himself that Jesse wasn’t his to sneak off with anymore. That pleasure belonged to another lucky bastard who didn’t deserve her in the least.

Everyone loved Ash.

Due to him ignoring her for the last ten years—for reasons Jesse didn’t like but now understood—she’d altered her image of him in her mind to one of a pompous ass who’d found success, and then couldn’t be bothered with the little people he’d left behind. In one casual meal with her friends, he’d replaced that tarnished image with the kind, generous boy she remembered.

“Dana, that was amazing,” Ash said, leaning back from his empty plate and wiping his mouth.

“I’m glad you liked it,” she said, collecting Ingrid’s and her own plates as she rose to her feet. “Did anyone save room for dessert?”

Groans echoed around the table as Angelica yelled, “I did!”

Ash flashed a full-on smile at the little girl, and Jesse was transported back in time to a Sunday afternoon in the Rheingold house. Tommy occupied the chair to Jesse’s left while Ash sat to her right. The boys were picking at one another like an old married couple, and Jesse was caught in the crosshairs, as usual.

She hadn’t thought about those days in a long time, but reuniting with Ash brought them roaring back. The good times. The laughter. The heartache. The loss.

“Time to take the party outside,” Ingrid said, snapping Jesse back to the present. “Reggie, you’re in charge of the fire pit.”

The past summer in middle Tennessee had been brutal and long, making the cooler October nights a welcome reprieve. One by one, attendees carried their dishes into the kitchen, and then filed through the sliding glass doors out to Jesse’s favorite part of the house.

The sprawling patio, the fairy lights draped around the white pergola and the winding concrete walk that led to a fire pit surrounded by five Adirondack chairs combined to form the perfect outdoor retreat. Musicians were supposed to be most content on stage, but this suburban oasis was Jesse’s happy place.

“I call the swing!” Angelica shouted, dessert forgotten as she rushed for the hammock chair hanging from a hook stand at the edge of the patio. Standing before it, she clutched the seat. “Can someone help me get in?”

Ash did the honors, sweeping the little girl off her feet and plopping her into the swing. Much giggling ensued as dark eyes looked up adoringly. Watching the two interact, Jesse thought about what a great dad Ash would be. She knew firsthand how good he was with kids. They’d volunteered at vacation Bible school as teens, and he’d been endlessly patient with all of the little ones.

When his career took off and she started hearing his name more and more, Jesse did a little digging and learned that Ash had gotten married. For several seconds after reading the news, she’d sat numb, her heart breaking all over again. But then she read that the marriage hadn’t lasted a full year. Jesse wasn’t proud of her reaction to that little tidbit, which landed somewhere between ha! and serves you right. To be fair, back then he was still the rotten jerk who’d abandoned her without so much as a have a nice life, so she gave herself a pass.

Watching him now, Jesse couldn’t help but admire the man Ash grew up to be. In their youth, he’d been tall and lanky with a boyish face and pretty hazel eyes. Ash was still tall, of course, but the once-thin frame had filled out nicely over the years. The once-spindly legs were now firm and muscled beneath the dark denim that accentuated the rather delectable bottom he was currently pointing her way.

The man was freaking gorgeous.

“You look deep in thought over here,” he said, lowering into the chair beside her. Jesse had chosen one on the patio instead of near the fire pit, as the smoke bothered her. “What’s going on in that dangerous little mind of yours?”

Jesse feigned innocence, not about to admit she’d been admiring his ass. “Me? Dangerous?”

“Yeah, you. The girl who put a whole jalapeno in a brownie, and then handed it to me without batting an eye.”

She would remember Ash sticking his mouth under the kitchen faucet for the rest of her days. “That was payback for you filling the sugar bowl with salt and letting me put it on my cereal.” Jesse would remember that awful taste for just as long.

“There was no proof that was me.” Shifty eyes said otherwise. “So what had you looking so serious?”

Searching for a less-embarrassing answer than the truth, she said, “You look different.”

A dark brow arched. “Different than what?”

“Than back when we . . .” Finishing that sentence would only make things worse so Jesse rephrased. “Than the last time I saw you.”

Hazel eyes narrowed, and a corner of his mouth tilted up. “Is it a good different?”

The sexy grin dazed her enough to hinder her ability to lie. “Very good.” Hearing the breathy tone in her voice, she looked away, certain that her cheeks were quickly becoming the shade of her hair.

Voice low, he said, “You look good, too, Jesse.”

The words knocked the wind out of her, and she leaned forward in her chair, eyes locked on the concrete between her feet. “Thanks.”

Emotions tangled into a knot she didn’t know how to unravel. Grasping for a lifeline, she reminded herself that there was a man in her life. A man who loved her. A man who was much too far away in that moment.