I listen through once on the bench and twice more on the way to my loft. I hit my door and lock it behind me, tossing my keys on the counter and shrugging off my leather jacket. I drape it over a barstool and pull up her number to hit call.
“So? What do you think?”
“How fast can you get here?”
“Really? You aren’t bullshitting me because we’re friends?”
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see them. “I don’t bullshit about music, Jones. Not anymore, anyway. Give me a little credit here.”
“I have more. A lot more,” she says, sounding a little breathless. “I’ll need a few days, but I can come up this weekend? Do you have the studio space?”
“I’ll make it,” I say, already mentally reconfiguring my clients.
“Okay! Wow! Um, great!”
“I have some thoughts, but I’m not organized yet. You’ve fucking rattled me here. So send me what you have as you go, unless you’d rather polish first?”
“No! I mean. Um, I’m not worried about polish. We can polish together. I’d love your thoughts. I miss working with you, honestly. So I’ll send as I go this week, so you do your magical brainstorming thing and I’ll call you when I’m in town.”
“Do you need a place to stay?” I ask before cringing. God. Did I make it awkward? “I mean, I’ll have to shuffle some of my girlfriends around, obviously. Toss a few over to Arlo’s place, but … Clarissa already knows she’s on the outs. I’m about over my rebellious Yankee vegan stage.” Which is only a half-truth. Clarissa was six months ago at least. It’s been a bit of a dry patch since I became the big boss. It’s a lot of fucking work and stupid long hours to be me these days. My hips barely leave the sound booth.
“Clarissa the Yankee vegan, huh?” Sea-salt-dry amusement filters through the phone speakers. “I think I’ll just get a hotel for now. It’s not fair to put out all your girlfriends on such short notice. But thanks. Really.” Her voice goes soft, and I can hear the smile. “See you this weekend, Huck.”
I say goodbye and hang up and an hour later, I’m still grinning like an idiot.
Lorelai Jones is coming back to Nashville.
2
LORELAI
BETTER MAN
（PRESENT DAY）
“I’m not going to miss my flight,” I tell Shelby, my voice raised to be heard clearly over speakerphone as I pack. “I signed up for TSA PreCheck.”
“You mean Craig signed you up for PreCheck.”
I zip my suitcase with a flare and flop down on my bed, bouncing my phone as it buzzes with another notification like it’s been doing all morning. I continue to ignore it. “I mean Huckleberry McSmartass showed me how to sign up for PreCheck after lecturing me about living in the dark ages for a solid thirty minutes. The man inherits one measly fortune and all of a sudden he’s Mr. Professional.”
I can practically hear the smirk in Shelby’s tone. “At least you’ll listen to him. I’ve been trying to get you to do it for over a year. There’s no reason for you to be waiting in lines when you fly back and forth as much as you’ve been doing, something your agent should have advised months ago.”
I pick up the phone and turn off the speaker, holding it up to my ear, and ignore my best friend’s tone. It’s no secret she thinks my agent is useless. I might not disagree, but beggars can’t be choosers. “I like to people-watch,” I tell her. “Anyway, I should get going. My ride’ll be here any minute. I’m all packed and I’m…”—I scrunch my face up, considering—“eighty-five percent sure I haven’t forgotten anything.”
Shelby’s tone is arid. “The wedding’s in Michigan, not Antarctica. I’m pretty sure we have three Targets within a ten-mile radius if you need to run out for self-tanner.”
I snort. “Please. I haven’t voluntarily used self-tanner since high school.” I flip on my belly. “Gut check. How’re you feeling? Nervous? Excited?”
Shelby releases a long breath. “Starry-eyed and ready. I’ve been waiting for this day since I was ten years old. I just want to be married to him.”
My lips spread in a wide smile, knowing that’s not an exaggeration. Shelby and Cameron first met when they costarred on a popular kids’ show as tweens, and while the road has been long and windy, my friend has long insisted she fell ass over chin for him on the very first day. Seeing them together, I believe it. Everyone believes it. It’s like watching a miracle come to life. Baby kittens, unicorns, Mitch McConnell voting in the interest of climate change … that kind of thing. “I can’t wait to see it, babe. I miss the fuck out of you guys.”
I hear the front door and hop up from the bed. “My ride’s here. I gotta go.”
“Okay! Be safe! See you tonight!” Shelby chirps. I end the call, dragging my suitcase off the bed with a heavy thud. Passing my vanity, I grab a pair of Ray-Bans to stick on my head before stuffing a tube of lip balm in my jeans pocket.
I realize belatedly that the commotion at the front door is knocking, which is weird considering I’m expecting Huck and he could just use his key.
“Coming!” I yell, for no good reason since the outer walls of the duplex are old brick and extra dense. They look cool as hell and insulate perfectly so the neighbors aren’t treated to any private concerts when I can’t sleep. Which is admittedly often. Fortunately, my landlord slash upstairs neighbor is a night owl as well as a music fan because I swear I can hear when the man so much as sneezes.
I take one last quick look around to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything obvious, and fling open the door. “Sorry, I’m rea—Drake?”
Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have ignored his texts all morning, but to be honest, I’m extra not in the mood for his special brand of bullshit today.
My ex-fiancé—as well as the current pain in my ass—Drake Colter is standing at the door, hand raised and ready to bang again. The midmorning sun glows behind him, painting him in a laughably ethereal light. Time has been too kind to him. His formerly round cheeks are artfully stubbled, and his designer T-shirt hugs his tattooed biceps. He removes his sunglasses and flashes a winning grin.
“Hey, Lore.”
My glasses slip down my forehead and I drop my lug gage with a clunk in order to free my hand to nudge them in place before crossing my arms over my chest. “What do you want?”
His brows furrow, creating a little crease. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s hurt at my sharp tone. Luckily, I know better. I lean a hip on the jamb, waiting. “I’m on my way out, Drake.”
“To Shelby and Cam’s wedding.” His casual use of my best friends’ names raises my hackles. “I know,” he says eagerly. “That’s why I’m here.”
I blink, wondering if I have enough time to brew a third cup of coffee. Clearly I’m undercaffeinated after staying up too late working through a tricky stanza. “Elaborate.” Behind him, I see a familiar dark Subaru pull up and amend, “Quickly.”
I’m aware Drake’s lips are moving, but I can’t hear any words over the buzzing in my ears once I realize he’s not even trying to hide the designer label weekender bag at his side.