The Girl He Used To Love. Amy Vastine
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An even better dad.” Sawyer sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. His gaze fell to the floor. “It’s been six months and I’m still not used to him being gone. It’s like I keep waiting for him to walk through the door and tell me what needs to get done around here.”
Dean knew that feeling all too well. It was a big reason for not wanting to be in this town. He imagined seeing Addison at every turn. She used to love hanging out at Gibson’s Five and Dime, spending her allowance on candy and teeny-bopper magazines. How many times had she begged Mrs. Lam at the salon to dye her strawberry-blond hair a different color?
He’d never understood why she hadn’t been satisfied with the way she looked the moment she turned fourteen. Maybe it was a girl thing, but Addison hadn’t been the kind of girl who needed anyone’s approval. Addison had always done what Addison wanted.
“You okay?” Sawyer asked.
Dean nodded and shook off the memories of his baby sister. “I was just thinking about how hard you must have to work around here. If it’s anything like the summer I was on staff, the work’s never done.”
“Faith and I have been working our butts off to keep Helping Hooves in business. It hasn’t been easy,” Sawyer admitted. “We’re in the process of getting accredited by this equine therapy association. If we pass inspection, we’ll have a better shot of paying our bills and expanding the services we provide. Faith understands it all more than I do. I just do what I’m told. Being a grown-up is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
“Is this what you see yourself doing the rest of your life? Keeping the farm running?”
Dean watched Sawyer think it over. It wasn’t a simple yes-or-no question for him. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead. I like to focus on one thing at a time or else it gets too overwhelming. Right now, the only thing Faith lets me think about is the hundred pages of requirements we need to meet in order for Helping Hooves to get accredited.”
Dean didn’t like the sound of that. He needed Sawyer now, not later. “I get that the farm is your priority, but I have to believe you’ve thought about what it would be like if you could write and perform music for a living. You’re too good not to have thought about it at least once.”
Sawyer sat back. “I may have thought about it once or twice. But those were just daydreams.”
“Well, I’m not here to make you any promises,” Dean said, leaning in. “I don’t make promises, I offer opportunity. I’d love to hear some more of your songs, and if the rest of them are as good as what I heard tonight, I’d love to offer you the opportunity to record some of them.”
“But that would happen in Nashville?”
“Everything happens in Nashville. I can get you studio time there. I can introduce you to some other musicians. I’m telling you, once we get some things recorded, it can all move real fast. I’ll have you singing in front of crowds a whole lot bigger than what comes into the Sundown.”
Sawyer scratched the top of Scout’s head. “That sounds like quite an offer.”
“It is. I’m the guy who turns dreams into reality.”
“I’m sure most people would say it was an offer they couldn’t refuse.” Sawyer paused. “But I’m going to need some time to think about it and talk to my sister. Just because I haven’t thought about what I want to do with the rest of my life, doesn’t mean I want to leap without looking.”
“Fair enough.” Dean could respect his need to make an informed decision. “Trust me, I don’t want you saying yes and then backing out in a month, either. I want artists who are committed. If you sign with me, I can promise you that I will be committed to you.”
“I thought you said you don’t make promises.” One side of Sawyer’s mouth curled up. He was all too pleased with himself for catching Dean on that one.
“That’s the only promise I’ll make to you. Loyalty is that important to me.”
Sawyer yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m going to hit the hay. I’m not usually home this early and I think I better take advantage of the extra hours of sleep. I put a couple blankets and a pillow over there.” He pointed to the chair in the corner. “The couch doesn’t make too bad of a bed. I’ve fallen asleep there a few times.”
“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Thanks again for putting a roof over my head tonight.” Dean really did appreciate the kindness.
“Just don’t mention any more of this Nashville stuff to Faith,” Sawyer said, getting to his feet. “She never really recovered from losing Addison, and now with Dad gone... She puts on a brave face but I know she’s having a real hard time. I’m all she’s got right now.”
Dean’s heart lurched at the mention of his sister’s name. He knew how close the two of them had been, but sometimes it was hard to find sympathy for Faith. Things could have been so different if she hadn’t opened her mouth to Addison.
This wasn’t about Addison or Faith. This was about Grace Note. Sawyer was exactly the kind of artist they were looking for. Bringing him to Nashville was imperative. Landon needed some proof that Dean could help the company rebound after the latest Boone Williams debacle.
Dean knew the music business and nurturing the talent in an artist was what he did best. In his mind, he was already booking shows in all the right places and setting up appearances that would benefit Sawyer and the label the most. He knew exactly who to hand off some demos to and which radio personalities to start buttering up.
Sawyer was going to be the next big thing. Dean just needed to figure out how to convince him that his dreams could be a reality.
* * *
DEAN WENT FROM dreaming about platinum records and big wins at the Country Artist Awards to fantasizing about chocolate-chip cookies. Why was he dreaming about cookies? They smelled so good. If they tasted half as good as they smelled, they’d be the best cookies he’d ever eat in his life. He rolled to his left and instead of being sprawled across his pillow-topped, queen-size bed, he fell like a ton of bricks to the floor.
“What the—?” Dean sat up and took in his surroundings. He hadn’t fallen out of his bed. He’d fallen off the couch, a couch that belonged to Grace Note’s next chart-topper.
The rain was still falling but the dark skies of night were now a cloudy-morning gray. Dean pulled himself up and sat back down on the couch. Rubbing his neck, he worked out a kink. The couch hadn’t been his worst night’s sleep, but it wasn’t what he’d consider good, either. On the coffee table sat his clothes—clean, dry and folded in a neat pile.
Dean tried to come up with a plan for fixing his tire and getting out of town before his parents found out he was here. His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the beeping of a timer. The sweet smell of fresh-baked cookies meant that it was probably attached to an oven. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since the fast food he’d inhaled in Birmingham.
Dean let his ears, nose and stomach be his guide. They did not lead him astray. The kitchen’s soft butter-yellow walls were so much brighter in the hazy morning light that streamed in through the windows in the cozy breakfast nook than they were last night. On the kitchen table were cooling racks covered in dozens of perfectly golden-brown, chocolate-chip cookies. He could almost taste the melted chocolate, brown sugar and something else he couldn’t quite identify.
The only thing that could pull his attention from these tempting cookies was the woman who’d made them. Faith slipped another cookie sheet into the oven. Her hot-pink apron was tied around her slim waist. Again, he was struck by how grown-up she looked. Where had the time gone? What would Addison have looked like at thirty years old?
He shook off thoughts of his baby sister. He couldn’t go there. Not when they threatened to unleash feelings he had successfully boxed up and put away years ago.
“Do I smell whiskey?”