Chapter One
Packing made Hannah’s head hurt. She’d never been very good at making decisions—well, other than ones involving triangular crayons, chicken nuggets, or fun-filled bubble wands—so when it came to choosing outfits for several days and an undecided variety of events, her anxiety level shot through the roof. What if it rained? What if the humidity level rose out of control? What if she woke up incredibly bloated and irritated and decided everything looked utterly horrid?
There were simply too many unknowns to consider.
However, as Hannah stared at not one but three empty suitcases splayed across her childhood bed and contemplated the surreal notion of traveling the continent with country music’s hottest band for months on end, she decided she actually wasn’t anxious. Nope. That emotion had sailed, and now, she was in a full-blown tizzy. The itinerary Blue’s manager, Arabella Stone, had sent her included television appearances, stadium concerts, outdoor festivals, and even a ritzy bash at the Grand Ole Opry. How did she even begin to prepare for such a trip? Everything about it was so far out of her league, she couldn’t even see the ballpark. Would people care what the band’s nanny wore? More importantly, would Deacon?
That, of course, was the real dilemma…hell, it was always the dilemma…and the all too familiar chuckle of a certain fiddle player floating through her bedroom window did squat to ease the nerves hopping like trapped crickets in her stomach. Unfortunately, when it came to the undisputed, unrequited love of Hannah’s life, very little ever did.
Biting her thumbnail, she glanced at the window. Now really wasn’t the time for a break. She’d yet to make a dent in her lengthy to-do list, and those suitcases weren’t going to fill themselves. Blue’s itinerary had them meeting in Charlotte at five thirty in the morning, which meant battling with early commuter traffic coming in from Lake Norman. She had a million things to do and zero time to do it in. But in the end, heart won over logic. Hannah never claimed to be reasonable.
Quietly, as if they’d hear her below, she padded across the hardwood floor. With each soft footfall, she recalled a similar afternoon ten years ago—an afternoon that ended up changing her life.
Unlike that long-ago day, this window faced Hannah’s backyard as opposed to the street, but after she pulled back the billowing gingham curtain, the view below made her heart beat every bit as wild as it had back then.
“Base!” A little boy with chocolate-brown spikes slapped a pudgy hand on the double swing. The same swing his daddy had helped Hannah’s father build in high school. “Me the winner! Me the winner!”
Even from a floor above, Hannah could see amusement shining in Deacon’s eyes. “Wow, I see that!” Swiping a hand across his mouth, he covered a smirk and shook his head. “How did you get to be so fast?”
Her favorite two-year-old giggled in pure toddler delight, and the smile that stretched his sweet face beamed with pride. “I not know!”
Max climbed up on the gently rocking swing, all soft elbows and rounded knees, and Deacon’s broad shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Buddy, that was sure impressive…but I’m not sure you understand how chase works. See, you were supposed to chase me.”
Max huffed in exasperation. “I know dat.”
The “no duh” was all but implied.
Hannah bit back a laugh as Max plopped his bottom onto the seat of the swing and wiggled until he found a comfortable spot. Then, from beneath enviable lashes, he gazed up at his father with hero-like affection. “Push, pwease?”
Tenderness flooded her best friend’s face, and Hannah’s belly bottomed out.
Her lovesick sigh? Completely involuntary.
The truth of the matter was Deacon Latrell did things to her. All he had to do was breathe and he affected her, but the unmistakable love that shined in his eyes whenever he looked at Max, or his sweet, happy smile whenever he was with her…they were both her kryptonite.
Deacon sauntered behind the swing, covering the distance with his long-limbed grace. It really wasn’t fair. Half the time Hannah tripped over her own two feet, yet Deacon made walking look like some sort of dance. His gait was loose and his steps fluid, disguising the weight he’d always carried on his shoulders. Then again, so much had changed in the last couple of years.
Some days it felt like they were picking back up exactly where they’d left off before she’d left for Paris, and others, it almost felt like they were strangers. While she’d been away, her best friend had formed this entirely new life without her. Joining Blue had changed him in many ways, and fatherhood had settled over him like a well-worn coat. Deacon now had a sense of confidence and purpose, and being a daddy to Max filled a hole that basketball, Hannah’s constant encouragement, and even music never could.
For that, she supposed, she should thank Max’s mother.
A shiver ran through her. Nope, she wasn’t going there. Krista had taken far too much from Hannah as it was. She wasn’t about to let old memories steal today’s joy, too.
Refocusing on her boys, Hannah watched Deacon nudge the swing higher, and a new memory took over—an afternoon when she’d been the one swinging, her best friend in the world standing behind her as he replaced their classmates’ cruel taunts with inside jokes and silly banter. Stitching her back together with each strong push.
Back in those days, Deacon’s golden-brown hair had been shaggier, more wild and rebellious like the boy. As the wind tousled it now, Hannah had to admit his current style was just as sexy. Long on top, cropped short on the sides, Deacon’s hair shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Hannah’s fingers itched to slide through the soft strands.
Trailing her gaze down farther, she felt a pull low in her stomach. A barely there beard showcased his sinful mouth, just enough scruff to tease her whenever he kissed her cheek. Well-worn denim hugged his long legs and narrow hips, and a plain white tee stretched across his muscular chest. Around his neck swung a lone dog tag, a graduation present Hannah had scrimped and saved to buy for him. There was so much to love about Deacon, but seeing that engraved Superman pendant, knowing that it symbolized how much their relationship meant to him, too, made Hannah fall for him even more.
A soft grunt came from behind her, and Hannah turned her back to the window.
“Returning from one trip,” Mama remarked, toting a piled-high laundry basket, “packing for another. Guess I should be grateful to see you at all.” She grinned as she plopped it onto the dresser. “Well, you and your frilly unmentionables. Can’t say I’ve ever seen underwear that fancy before. Certainly brightened up my laundry room, I’ll tell you that.”
Almost afraid to look, Hannah peeked at the wicker basket. Sure enough, her more scandalous Parisian purchases sat on top of the heap, and an instant flush scorched her fair cheeks. She’d known she should’ve done her own laundry.
Fourteen months away equaled a lot of clothes. Along with her old wardrobe, she had the new things she’d bought for the plan. Hannah had fully intended to launder them all once she returned home, but after a stop to visit Deacon in Magnolia Springs ended in a surprising new job offer, things kept popping up. Between filling in at the church daycare, gathering supplies for the tour, and being mentally frazzled from “the mission,” her mountain of laundry had slipped through the cracks. Finally, with no time left to procrastinate, she’d lugged it down this morning only to have Mama shoo her away, going on about proper fabric settings and service in love. To be honest, Hannah hadn’t put up that much of a fight. Giving in had seemed a whole lot easier.
Now, she was paying for her laziness.
The lingerie in question had been an impulse purchase—an impulse that had then led to an epiphany. As an au pair, she’d had one day off a week to spend as she wished, and Hannah usually spent that time taking long walks around the city. About a month before her return to the States, she’d passed a lingerie boutique, and on a wild whim, decided to step inside.
Blush and jade. Satin and lace. Toile and mousseline…the colors, styles, and textures had been overwhelming. Trying them on, well, that had been extraordinary. The silk had felt decadent against her skin, almost forbidden, and so unlike anything she’d ever worn before. Living an ocean away from everyone and everything she’d ever known, nursing a broken heart, it had been exactly what Hannah had needed.
Initially, she’d fled to Paris to get over Deacon, but more than that, she’d been fleeing the woman she’d sadly become. A woman who sat on the sidelines of her own life. For far too long, she’d allowed other people to dictate her happiness, and that realization, coupled with naughty lingerie and a few glasses of spectacular wine in an adorable bistro, had birthed her new mission. Hannah liked to call it, Operation Joie de Vivre…or Operation Find My Happy.
Her mission was threefold.
First up, no more hiding. Hannah’s bad habit of shying away from experiences simply because they made her nervous was over. Now, she would be bold. Adventurous. Outgoing. Anything from forming friendships to speaking her mind was fair game, with the number one rule being no more skulking in the shadows. Paris had awoken a desire to start truly living—and to stop putting her dreams on hold.
Secondly, Hannah wanted to find her place in the world. The tour with Blue was a perfect opportunity to explore a new option. So far, her contract lasted only through the national leg, with the idea that they’d extend her stay through the international section once she’d gotten past a short trial period—a test she intended to pass with flying colors.
At twenty-four, she was excited to settle into a career where she could make a real difference, and while she hoped to find that in this position, she was open to just about anything. Band nanny, au pair, or a preschool teacher, they all sounded wonderful. As long as she could make a real contribution, it would fit the bill.
Lastly, but perhaps most importantly—
She was putting her heart on the line, once and for all.
Lingerie may’ve kicked off her mission, but it was the hope of Deacon that gave it life. Denying her feelings all these years hadn’t changed them. Neither had leaving the country. The only thing that would, or so she’d decided, was pushing the boundaries of their friendship. Flirting (an activity with which Hannah had zero experience) and letting Deacon know she was ready for love were all part and parcel of her new plan to get her best friend to finally see her as a woman.
Distance had given her perspective on that embarrassing night fourteen months ago. What had seemed romantic and inevitable to her, viewing things as she did through love-tinted glasses, had been just another night for Deacon. The lit candles she’d thought set the mood were purely practical in a storm. As for the kiss she’d felt certain was imminent, well, he’d found it a better time to talk about their friendship…and how lucky Max was to have his “aunt” Hannah in his life.
Yeah, that part still made her wince.
It had taken a trip across an ocean to realize her mistake. In all her mooning, she’d never once given Deacon a chance to think of her differently. She never hinted at how she felt, much less told him straight out, and ran around town in shapeless tees and mom jeans—at twenty-two! No wonder he’d never fallen for her charms. She’d looked, sounded, and acted like his same old, familiar, safe childhood friend. Like a sexual nonentity.
That was why this job was so perfect. As Blue’s nanny, she’d have ample time to show off the new Hannah. The older, better dressed, slightly more confident version. Soon, they’d be living together in a tiny house on wheels, breathing the same oxygen, with plenty of opportunities to flirt and push those boundaries. And if, after the tour was over, Deacon still didn’t feel that way about her…well, then that would suck. But at least she’d finally know. She’d no longer stay up late night after night wondering, what if.
“Oh, to be young again,” Mama mused aloud, snapping Hannah’s attention back to the present. “It does my heart good to see you living your life, off buying nonsense undies and traveling the world.”
Walking over, she cupped Hannah’s cheek with a weathered hand. “But I admit it makes me even happier knowing Deacon will be with you for this next adventure. The two of you are at your best whenever you’re together. Besides, that boy always did look out for you.”
Hannah sighed. That he had. Deacon had beat up bullies, slayed dragons, and wiped away her tears for years. It was why she called him her Superman. But all that protecting had also solidly cemented her place in their friendship—a girl not quite his equal.
“Well, he can retire the cape,” she replied, stepping back from her mother’s touch. “Living in Paris changed me, Mama. For the better. I’m not the same girl I used to be. Deacon doesn’t have to save me anymore.”
“Hmm.” Her mother pursed her lips and considered her a moment. “The way I remember it,” she said slowly, “you two saved each other.”
She shifted her gaze to the ribbon board, and Hannah followed the motion, scanning the series of old photos secured on her wall. A thousand perfect moments hit her at once. Deacon saying hey the day that they’d met. Him holding her hand as they walked the halls his first day of school, staring down anyone who dared look at her wrong. His strong, sure voice in her ear whenever mean girls and asshats gained laughs at her expense. Him teaching her self-defense in the backyard, “just in case.”
Strolling over to her favorite picture, Hannah smiled at what an unlikely pair they’d made back then. Deacon in an ill-fitting leather jacket, Hannah in her Pollyanna clothes, they’d both been total misfits, only in vastly different ways. No one had seen their friendship coming. Least of all her.
“No,” Hannah said softly, tracing a finger over the intense look captured in Deacon’s eyes. If she’d only known what a risk he’d taken inviting her to stay that first afternoon. “Deacon saved himself.”
Gentle footsteps fell across the floor, and then Mama slid an arm around her waist. She hummed in agreement. “That boy always was a force of nature.”
“Still is,” she replied, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I used to pray that some of that bravery would rub off on me,” she confided, chuckling at her own past ridiculousness. “Or soak in through osmosis.”
Mama hummed again, a sound that conveyed disagreement. Her mother could have an entire conversation in hums. Hannah lifted her head, and she pinned her with a knowing look. “I reckon it did.”
Stepping forward, she slipped the picture Hannah had traced from the ribbon board and then walked over to the bed, placing the old photo in an open suitcase. When Mama lifted her eyes again, they were glazed with moisture. “Your daddy and I are so proud of you, baby girl. Never, ever doubt how strong you are. How strong you’ve always been.”
Matching tears welled in Hannah’s eyes, and she dove forward, covering the distance between them and burying her face in her mother’s neck. The scent of rosewater filled her head, comforting her, and as she realized it’d be months before she breathed it in again, she inhaled deep, already missing home.
Could Mama be right? Was she brave? If she were, Hannah certainly never felt like it. So many nights she’d spent lying out on the roof beside Deacon, wishing on falling stars that never came true…or at least, so she’d thought. Now with her mother’s words ringing in her ears, she realized that she had left the comfort of home to live abroad, and was now embarking on an adventure with an international music sensation. Furthermore, she had a plan to win over Deacon’s heart and finally put herself out there.
What do you know? Maybe there was a bit of courage buried in her after all.
A muffled beep echoed up the stairs, followed by her daddy’s voice calling out, “Sweetheart?”
Mama sniffled. Leaning back, she gently ran her fingers through Hannah’s loosened curls and then hollered back, “Be right down, Bill!” loudly enough to wake the dead.
Grace and fire, that was Mama.
Hannah grinned, and her mother squeezed her hand. “Pot roast and mashed potatoes sound okay?”
Dear Lord, her knees went weak. Parisian food might be amazing, but it didn’t hold a candle to her mama’s home cooking. Paired with a tall glass of her delicious sweet tea? “That sounds incredible.”
Mama winked. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
Once her mother was headed downstairs, Hannah turned back to the bed, her spirits renewed. Grabbing a favorite scarf, she gently wrapped the old photo of her and Deacon and placed it back in the suitcase before dumping her entire wardrobe from the laundry basket, sans lingerie, on top. Easy enough. She placed her new silk purchases in the smaller carry-on, then, with a nod at her handiwork, decided only a few essentials were left.
Singing a silly ditty about meat and potatoes, and the need for a double portion, Hannah waltzed to the dresser. She grabbed a couple of extra pairs of jeans and her favorite fuzzy sweater, and when she bumped the drawer closed with her hip, she spotted a swash of green silk lying on the ground.
“Hmm. Must’ve fallen out of the basket.”
She set the jeans and sweater on her bureau, then bent and scooped up the garment. Holding it out, a grin swept her mouth as she thought back to the day she’d bought the dainty nightie trimmed in luscious lace. It had felt so gloriously wicked.
A gruff exhale came at her back. “Dear God, woman, tell me you’re not bringing that.”
…
Good Lord. Cherry was trying to kill him.
Right there, in his best friend’s childhood bedroom, Deacon was having a heart attack. Gripping his chest, he swallowed thickly and tried to force his gaze away from the scrap of silk and lace held high between Hannah’s fingers—but his eyes refused to budge.
Visuals fired in his mind, enticing images that he had zero business picturing. Visions of Hannah sauntering toward him, her sea-green eyes filled with heat as her long red hair bounced around her creamy shoulders. Her slender body draped in that wisp of high-cut silk. Lace playing peek-a-boo with what lay underneath.
Biting back a curse, Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose. When the bite of pain didn’t stop the blood rushing south, he started reciting last year’s Tar Heels statistics, figuring cold, hard facts would knock some sense into him, but even the glow of last year’s championship win didn’t stem the tide.
He was going to hell.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
Deacon blinked, wondering if he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. “You’re what?”
“Bringing this on the road,” she clarified, brandishing the nightie with a huff. “In fact, I’m bringing them all.” She motioned toward the bed where, indeed, a plethora of options were piled high in an open suitcase, available in a rainbow of colors, too. Awesome.
“They make me feel sexy,” Hannah went on, shocking him even more. “And…and I’m a woman, so I should feel that way. Cosmo says feeling sexy leads to acting sexy, which makes men think about sex.”
At that, Deacon’s eyes snapped back to hers, and he watched as the pale skin of Cherry’s throat turned pink. The familiar sight of her sweet and innocent blush—the reason, along with her red hair, that he’d christened her with the nickname years ago—reminded him that it was, in fact, his best friend talking. But the words coming out of her mouth didn’t compute.
Hannah bit her thumbnail and rocked back on her heels. “Does um…does it make you think about sex?”
Deacon nearly choked on his spit. No way in hell was he answering that one.
What had gotten into her? Ever since she arrived on his Magnolia Springs doorstep a month ago, Hannah had been acting differently. Almost unpredictable, which was unsettling, since he looked to her to be his constant. Paris seemed to have altered her in hundreds of tiny ways he was only starting to get a glimpse of—and now she wanted to talk about sex? There weren’t enough basketball statistics in the world.
He held his palms skyward. “I plead the fifth.”
Hannah frowned, which only confused him more, and shoved the silk and lace temptation in her carry-on with the others. So, so many others.
Bouncing his gaze to the floor, Deacon grit his teeth.
It’d been too long since he’d taken a woman to bed. That explained the inappropriate images in his head. When was the last time he’d even seen a woman in lingerie, or a sexy pair of panties discarded on his floor? A year? If the band wasn’t rehearsing for the fall tour, then he was hurrying home to be with Max—throwing together dinner, giving his son a bath, and crashing into bed before waking up to do it all over again. Casual hookups didn’t fit into that.
Unfortunately, his monk lifestyle now had him reacting to his friend like a dog in heat.
Linking his hands behind his neck, Deacon exhaled in frustrated self-disgust, and Hannah tossed him a look over her shoulder.
“Oh, please,” she said with a snort. “Don’t act like you’re scandalized by women’s panties. I’d bet the pairs tossed your way since you joined Blue could fill a Victoria’s Secret.”
Amused at how very wrong she was, he raised an eyebrow and leaned his hip against the doorjamb. “Exactly what part of single dad and fiddle player slash keyboardist do you think warrants panty dropping, Cherry?”
She shrugged with a distracted smile, an expression he’d seen a thousand times, and he figured that was the end of that. Good. Maybe there was more of the old Hannah in there, after all. But then her chin lifted, even as her blush spread up her throat, and Deacon braced himself for impact.
“Maybe the uh…musician with talented fingers part,” she murmured, glancing up through thick eyelashes and biting her plump lower lip.
Holy hell. His mouth fell open. For a second, Deacon considered the possibility that he was in the middle of a bizarre dream, or even had fallen into a parallel universe—but everything around him screamed Hannah. The antique ballerina jewelry box, the ribbon board filled with old photos, and the tall vase of fresh freesia. This was her room, and Deacon was almost positive he was awake. Which meant this conversation really was happening.
Also, she really was trying to kill him.
Looking closer at Hannah, he realized it wasn’t just her attitude that had changed. Her whole appearance was different. Her curls were loose and soft around her face, her makeup more noticeable, and her clothes actually fit her body. She looked more like a woman and less like the childhood friend he’d always known.
That unsettling sensation twisted his gut again.
Deciding to play off her comment like a joke—mostly because he hoped like hell that was exactly what it was—Deacon chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably. “Watch it now, or you’ll make me blush.”
Hannah scoffed again as she placed a sweater into her suitcase. “You’ve had girls eating out of your hand since preschool. I’d bet my last tub of Ben and Jerry’s that you’ve never blushed a day in your life, Deke Latrell.”
Well, she’s not wrong, he thought with a smirk. Girls, like basketball and music, had always come easy to him. There were three areas where Deacon almost felt he had some level of control. A sliver of belonging. Of course, he knew better than to trust that feeling, but it was still nice.
“Tell you what,” he said, pushing off the wall. “Once we get on the road tomorrow, you and I are sitting down and going over everything that happened in Paris. Skip the highlight reels this time. I want every detail, every conversation, every thought that went through that pretty little head of yours, because I’m getting the feeling you’ve left a few things out.”
A small grin curved her mouth, and she pushed aside a suitcase as she sat on the edge of the bed. Tucking her chin like she did whenever she was embarrassed, she murmured, “Well…maybe a few things.”
The glint of happiness he caught in her eyes eased the pressure in his chest.
God, he’d missed her. FaceTime had been a poor-ass substitute, and the time difference between them had straight up sucked. Everything they talked about had inevitably happened hours before, and it drove him crazy not being able to share life with her as it happened. She’d missed his audition for Blue. He’d missed whatever led to her new look. Now he was learning he’d missed even more than that—apparently, a few things.
Deacon’s smile fell as his curiosity took over. What sort of things? Had she met someone over there? Was that the real reason behind her new attitude and appearance?
As he sat down beside her, she shifted toward him on the mattress, and Deacon imagined her sharing that same sweet smile with another man. Making him laugh with her silly random songs. Heat raced through his body.
It wasn’t jealousy spiking his blood—at least not in the traditional sense. Deacon wanted Hannah to be happy, but while she’d gone out with a few guys in college, she’d never found anyone really worth her time. He didn’t think she’d seen anyone past a couple dates. Selfishly, he hadn’t minded that fact because it let him keep her to himself…until that selfishness sent her running, that is.
But Hannah hadn’t mentioned dating in Paris. Then again, he hadn’t asked, either. Honestly, he hadn’t wanted to know. He’d spent half their friendship protecting her from assholes, and the other dreading the day she met someone who wasn’t an asshole.
With a woman as kind and giving as Hannah, it was only a matter of time until she met the one, which was why her coming on tour with him was so important. This was his chance to make things right between them. To store up more memories, to laugh and play music, and get back to being Superman and Cherry.
Deacon traced the familiar, reassuring features of her face with his eyes and asked, “What would I do without you?”
Hannah slid him her patented look that said he was being ridiculous. “Well, first off, you’ll never find out because I’m never leaving you.” She shoved his shoulder with a grin, but a quiet voice reminded him, she already did. “And secondly, you’d be just fine. Look what happened when I was four thousand miles away and you nailed your Blue audition. You certainly didn’t need me around for that, now, did you?”
Her eyebrows tugged downward, as if she honestly believed that were true, and he bent low so he could look into her eyes. “If you hadn’t taught me to play ‘Chopsticks’ in high school, there’d be no Blue.”
“Right,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Because it was totally my mad teaching skills that made that happen, and nothing at all to do with you being a natural musician. When are you finally going to see what everyone else sees, huh? You’re talented, Deacon. I knew you were gifted the moment your fingers first touched the keys.”
The way her eyes lit up at the memory of them sitting together in front of her mama’s old piano made something in his chest ache. Hannah looked at him like he was special, like he meant something… He never knew what to do with that.
“You also made your granddaddy’s fiddle sing the first day you picked it up. I, on the other hand, make it sound like two cats fighting to the death.” She scrunched her nose, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
He took her hand and told her honestly, “You’re the one who brought music into my life, Cherry. If it weren’t for you, I’d just be some loser playing basketball alone.”
She shook her head with a tender smile, playing off her goodness like she always did. Refusing to admit she saw him through rose-colored glasses. Since the day they’d met, Hannah had seen him for what he could be, rather than what he was—a screwup whose own parents didn’t want him. Even back then, he’d known he didn’t deserve her kindness, but he’d taken it anyway. Hannah Fisher had been his angel then, and now she was saving him again.
“But what I meant was, what would I do without you for the tour? If you hadn’t stepped up when the other nanny fell through, I wouldn’t be headed off to play rock star tomorrow. It’s because of you I get to live my dream.”
The reality was, without childcare, Deacon wouldn’t have been able to go on the road and likely wouldn’t have a career. As it was, his contract was only good until the end of their current tour—a headache he’d make sure to solve over the next few months. But even if he had family who would’ve volunteered to watch his rambunctious two-year-old, Deacon wouldn’t have left him. That boy was all he had.
No doubt reading his mind, Hannah linked their fingers together and squeezed. “We’re family, Deacon. I’m here for you anytime you need me. Always. You know that.”
He did know. Hannah was everything honest and pure in his world. Her goodness fought back the demons of his past. It was wrong, how much he relied on her, but he couldn’t help it. She made him better.
Brushing a wayward curl behind her ear, Deacon told her, “And you can count on me.” His fingertips skimmed across the soft skin of her cheek as he cupped her face in his hand, the same way he always did when he comforted her, and their eyes locked. “No matter what.”
Hannah closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, and the strange sensation that stole over him when he first walked into her bedroom swirled under his skin. He swallowed hard, and for some reason, found his gaze falling to her parted lips. A wayward thought floated through his head, wondering what they tasted like.
It was enough to have him instantly draw back his hand.
What in the hell was happening? Apparently, Hannah wasn’t the only one acting differently, because his own brain had gone rogue, forgetting that this wasn’t a woman to lust after. This was Hannah, his Hannah. Even if he was attracted to her—which he wasn’t, because she was his friend…his best friend—he’d never act on it.
Love and romance weren’t in the cards for him. In his world, the people he loved either rejected, forgot, or gave up on him. The one and only exception to that rule seemed to be Hannah and her parents, because he’d yet to chase them away. He planned on keeping it that way for as long as he could.
“I should go.” Clearing his throat, Deacon wiped his palm against the rough denim on his thigh. “When I came up here, Max was playing cowboy with your dad. Knowing him, I better make sure the living room’s safe.”
On cue, a crash sounded below. Luckily, it was followed by his son’s high-pitched giggles and Bill’s deep chuckle, which meant the damage couldn’t be all that bad, but Deacon pushed to his feet anyway. “See you down there?”
Hannah grazed her hand along her gingham bedspread, eyes down and her shoulders rounded. “Yup. Just, uh…need to finish packing.” Slowly, she raised her head and gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
He hesitated at the door. Somehow, over the last few minutes, an uncomfortable distance had sprung up between them. They were finally back in the same space, the same damn zip code, and things were suddenly getting screwed up. He blamed himself.
Rubbing a hand over the scruff at his jaw, Deacon searched for something…anything…that could make things right again. Put that easy smile back on her face and their friendship back on track. Strangely enough, his gaze fell on the lingerie still visible in her suitcase.
“You know, I’m no Cosmo or anything,” he told her, taking a small step toward the hallway, “but I find flannel underwear very sexy.” He rapped his knuckles on the wall with a solid nod. “Thermal’s pretty hot, too.”
Hannah tilted her head, completely baffled. “Thermal?”
It’d been a long shot. A definite Hail Mary. But as he watched her mouth form the word “thermal” with such a look of confusion, his lips twitched…and when the soft skin between her eyebrows scrunched, and those sweet, innocent eyes met his again, he couldn’t hold back the smile. He chuckled devilishly, and Hannah’s face pinched in a fierce scowl before she twisted around and grabbed a pillow from the bed.
“It gets cold in Maine,” he teased, ducking into the hall seconds before the pillow hit the wall where his head had been. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t want you freezing on tour!”
“You’re not funny!” she hollered, but the laughter in her voice gave her away.
Deacon smiled to himself and hollered back, “Of course I’m funny. Everybody thinks so!”
No one thought so, which explained the second round of giggles coming from the bedroom. If anything, people complained he was too serious, which was why he and Hannah made such a good team. She made him lighten up, gave him a reason to smile, and he watched out for her. Always.
Headed for the stairs, he took them two at a time as Hannah’s colorful commentary on his lack of humor and thermal’s rustic appeal trailed behind him. There was a definite bounce in his step. Things almost felt normal again. Once they got on the bus, and they got used to being around each other after so long apart, they’d find their way back. They had too much history between them not to.
“Now if I can never again picture her naked,” he muttered to himself, “we’ll be all set.”