Friends Don't Fall in Love(64)

Honestly, it was the easiest album I’ve ever worked on. Even if I didn’t miss the hell out of seeing her naked, I would still jump at the chance to record all her records. She’s a professional through and through and primed and ready to take back what’s been owed her.

I don’t know if country music radio will accept her. They’d be fucking idiots not to, but that’s out of my control. What I do know, with absolute certainty, is it won’t matter in the end. Because everyone else will accept her.



* * *



I’m closing up the studio alone. Lorelai is headed to the airport to pick up Maren and I’ve already sent Arlo home for the night. He and Dr. Josh have started their prenatal parenting classes at the hospital so they can learn how to change diapers and … well. Other important stuff, I’m sure.

My phone rings and I grin, answering right away. “Hey, D, what’s up?”

My nephew hedges, “Nothing much. Just felt like calling to say hi.”

I turn off the lights to the studio and lock the door behind me before heading for my still-lit office at the end of the hall. “Everything okay? You sound a little down tonight. Too much Fortnite?”

“Maybe. I’m bored.”

I bite back a snort. Oh, to be bored. What that must feel like.

“Ah. Let me guess. Your mom told you to hit me up for entertainment.”

My sister’s muffled voice in the background confirms it, but I don’t mind.

“Kind of. I was watching this show on TV and they do pottery and stuff and Mom said you have a studio. I was thinking I wanted to try it and maybe you could teach me.”

I sink into my chair and work to swallow around the tightness in my throat, a little baffled at my own reaction. Then again, wasn’t this exactly how I was twenty-five years ago? Calling up my great-uncle and begging to go out to the cabin with him? It was about art, sure. But it was also about wanting to spend time with a man I admired. Besides, what I lacked in pottery skills I made up for in fishing, and Uncle Huck never cared.

Fucking a. I swipe at damp eyes and clear my throat. Hell, it’s been a long month.

“Yeah, D. I do. It’s pretty rustic out there, though. Like camping, basically. You sure you don’t want to try a nicer place in the city?”

“Um. Well. I guess I don’t care, but I don’t mind camping,” he offers, sounding excited. “That could be fun.”

“Okay then, I’d love that. Let me check my schedule for the next couple of weekends and I’ll call up your mom to let her know I’m kidnapping you.”

“Okay, but just us, though, right? No girls.”

This time I snort aloud. Preach it, kid. “No girls, my dude. And no moms,” I clarify, just in case. “Just us and the kiln and the lake and the bears.”

“Are there bears?”

“Only if we’re really lucky.”

“Thanks, Uncle Craig.”

Christ. It’s like my throat is swelling up. I swallow hard and clear it once more. “You got it, buddy. Thanks for asking. I can’t wait.”

I hang up the phone and drop it on my desk, shaking my head and staring at my calendar. The next few weeks are pretty busy and I’ll have to rearrange some stuff, but I’ll figure it out. My sister is an amazing single mom who’s raised a household full of respectful and smart kids. But D’s the youngest by a lot, just like me, and the only boy. He’s probably getting to the age where he’s going to need a masculine presence in his life for some things.

I should step up more. Prioritize him.

A knock startles me out of my reverie and I look up to see Drake Colter standing at my door.

I sit back in my chair and gesture to the seat across from my desk. “I was wondering when you would show up. Figured if I ignored your lawyer’s emails long enough, you’d find your way eventually.”

“You won’t sign off.”

“Nope.”

Drake presses his lips together and runs a hand through his glossy magazine-mussed hair, agitated. I’ll tell you what. This guy’s never been to Burl the Barber. “Are you gonna tell everyone about the other songs, too?”

I cross my arms over my chest and bounce lightly in my chair, letting it creak in the silence. “And what would I tell them exactly?”

Drake huffs impatiently, shifting in his seat. “Fuck off, Boseman. Are you going to out me or what?”

“Are you going to add my name to ‘Best Worst Case’?” I counter.

“You know it’s too late. The nominations are already up.”

“Interesting how you sat on that for months until it was too late to add my name. I think I’ll just wait and see how this all plays out. But I know one thing for sure. You won’t be using any more of my songs after this. You’re on your own now.”

“I can’t write. You know that. Not like you do.” His jaw clenches and he narrows his eyes. “I’ll pay you for them. I know you’re writing for other people now. Lorelai and that fucker Coolidge…”

“I am.”

“So write for me. I’ll pay you. Give you full credit from this point on.”

“No.”

Drake sputters, leaning forward, his hands on my desk, and like several other times over the last few weeks, I try valiantly not to think of the way Lorelai looked, bare naked and spread out across it. The thought of his hands touching where her body had been—