Summer Love by Piper Rayne
Chapter Eight
The day had been a disaster. No way to sugarcoat that.
Ian was lying on a bed in yet another generically luxurious hotel, staring at the ceiling. There were perfectly good artworks on the wall he could stare at. Also, a well-stocked minibar and giant screen television. But the blankness of the ceiling suited his mood.
The band had played an outdoor music festival that afternoon. It had been hot—and not in a good way. Hot in the way that hell was supposed to be hot. Hard to play a guitar with a river of sweat dripping off his fingers. The audience had dropped like flies, too. From the stage, he’d seen medics pushing their way through the crowd and carrying people out.
I wouldn’t pay money to see my own band in that kind of weather.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. Halfway through their most recent hit, Alex had switched to a drum fill from a different song. It took thirty seconds of the entire band taking turns glaring at him before he realized what he had done. The crowd applauded what they assumed was some sort of clever musical “in” joke.
One time could be laughed off. If Alex were to make a habit of spacing out in the middle of sets, though, it would become unfunny very quickly.
On the nightstand, his phone buzzed with a text, sending his heart soaring at the prospect of some small communication from Mai. He had texted her every day for the past three weeks. And she’d replied. Most days, anyway. She was busy—he got that. He wasn’t entirely sure she really wanted to hear from him, but her replies were always pleasant, polite. She was too sensible a woman to chase after the likes of him. On paper, he was a bad bet for a serious relationship. He got that, too.
On the other hand, she hadn’t ghosted him or blocked his number, so there was still a glimmer of a chance—right?
He rolled onto his side and dragged the phone from the nightstand onto the mattress. The message was from Dave, who clearly knew that calling Ian was not a good idea at the moment.
Interview request from New Music Now. You should take this one.
He shoved the phone away. Sitting for an interview was on the ever growing list of things he never wanted to do again. Along with playing desert music festivals, appearing on stage with Alex without a note from Alex’s doctor, and drinking the crap coffee that even five-star hotels served.
And anyway, he had nothing new to say to anyone, nothing that he hadn’t said a million times already. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old millionaire who plays in a band. Why do people want my opinion on climate change? Or where is the music industry going? What is the secret to writing hit songs?
Hell if I know.
He didn’t even know where he was going to be six months from now. What hotel? What city? What country? Or would he be twiddling his thumbs in his rented condo while Alex struggled to dry out again?
The only thing he really knew was where he wanted to be in six months. Scratch that—where he wanted to be right now. He wanted to be in a particular small town on the Chesapeake Bay. In a particular bed above a charming coffee shop. In the arms of a particular woman.
Mai with an I.
He picked up the phone. It was ten o’clock on the east coast. Her shop was closed by now. He called and listened as the call rolled over to voice mail. He ended the call without leaving a message. He’d made his interest clear to her, but he wasn’t going to be a nag.
Two minutes later, his phone rang.
“Hi there,” the voice on the other end said. Her voice, that was as lovely to his ears as any song could be.
“Hey. What are you up to?” He pictured her puttering around her apartment, mug of coffee in hand.
“I’m on the world’s most boring date.”
He sat bolt upright, nearly choking on air. She was dating? Oh no no no. Suddenly, everything was crystal clear.
“Where are you?”
“I’m hiding in the ladies’ room, so I could return your call. How did the show go?”
“It could have been worse. But not by much. Don’t look it up online.”
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
“My voice is shot from the show.”
“Still.”
“How long have you been dating this guy?”
“This is the first date. And the last.” She sighed. “Ian, you can’t keep asking me to wait. To give us a chance. I want a life you can’t give me.”
* * *
From a small stage erected in the parking lot at Secret Beach, Mai looked out over the crowd assembled for the official celebration of St. Caroline’s 300th anniversary. Beyond the crowd, out on the bay, a barge filled with fireworks waited. Despite the evening’s heat, the metal microphone felt cool in her hands. She watched as the high school band director settled down his students. After a minute, he turned and gave her a nod. She took a long breath and then lifted the microphone.
“O say can you see …”
Normally, she could sing the national anthem without even thinking about it. In any case, she could forget half the lyrics, fall off the stage, and still get a rousing round of applause from everyone in St. Caroline.
That might actually happen tonight—because a tall figure had just separated from the back of the crowd. Even in the fading light of sunset—and even though all she could see were his head and shoulders—she recognized him. Improbably enough, Ian was here. In town. Listening to her sing.
“... that our flag was still there …” The band picked up volume as the crowd joined in for the last two lines. Ian was walking toward the stage, causing a few double takes as people recognized him. Fireworks lit up the sky as the crowd’s collective voice crested over the finish line. By the time Mai seated the microphone back into its stand and hopped down from the temporary stage, Ian was there.
“What are you—?” Her question was stopped by his kiss. A long, leisurely kiss that left Mai unable to tell whether the sizzling noises she was hearing came from the fireworks or the electricity zinging down her spine.
“Do you have to stay for the rest?” he murmured into her lips.
She shook her head, unable even to get out the word, “no.” Ian was here. Unless she was dreaming—which couldn’t be ruled out, because she dreamed about that night with Ian all the time.
“Then I’ll walk you home.” He laid his arm across her shoulders and tucked her in against his ribs.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on tour?”
“Last date was yesterday.”
They reached a street corner, where he stopped and kissed her again.
“I’m not going another day without you in my life.”
“Umm … how’s that going to work? With the band and all?”
“I quit the band.”
“What?”
“Alex needs a much longer stint in rehab. And I’m tired of that life.”
“So … just like that? You left?”
He nodded. “Just like that. I told Alex he could replace me. He can continue using the name, if he wants. But I’m out.”
“And so you came here?”
They stopped at the next street corner and kissed again. She tallied up the number of street corners left until they reached Two Beans.
“I promised Simone I would do an album with her. Which will be far more interesting than anything Pulse is doing. And I promised a certain coffee shop owner that I would be back.”
She was definitely dreaming. “Your timing sucks, though. I swore off men after that last date.”
“You swore off other men. There, I fixed it for you.”
Two more street corners. Two more kisses.
This can’t be happening.Ian came back. For her.
They stopped in front of Two Beans. The sandbags were long gone. She looked up at him, hesitant to ask him in. It might be the thing that broke the spell and—poof!—he’d disappear. She’d wake up the way she’d been waking up for weeks—to find herself alone in her bed.
“There’s only one problem,” he added.
Ah, here comes the kicker.
“I need a place to stay.”
“Simone doesn’t have a guest room?” she parried.
“She does, but she’s a newlywed. I doubt she and Douglas want me hanging around.”
“I hear the Chesapeake Inn is nice.”
“Booked until October. Also, the coffee isn’t as good.”
“I won’t tell them you said that.”
“I’m sure they already know.” He cupped her chin in his hand. His face was all seriousness now. “And just for the record, I am offering you whatever life you want. Marriage, kids, white picket fence, small-town fireworks, a chance to sing something other than Francis Scott Key.”
“Small-town fireworks. Is that code for …?
“Shagging you six ways to Sunday? Yes, it is.”
His grin was goofy, hopeful, and entirely un-rock-star-like. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, then traced the curve of her neck until he reached her sternum. He tapped the spot over her heart. “Invite me in, Mai with an I. We’ll figure out the rest along the way.”
She fished a key from the pocket of her skirt and unlocked the door.
* * *
If you enjoyed Stormy Hearts, please check out the rest of the St. Caroline Series. You can start the series for free with Hearts on Fire!
