A Moonlit Serenade Read online

  She was the linchpin of the album—her original lullaby, “A Moonlit Serenade,” added the emotional depth and richness I needed to bring the project to Hayden’s level. Asher agreed.

  Positive critical feedback on the EP would give me my own standing in the musical talent pool that made up Jackaroo. More importantly, though, it would provide the funds needed to set up my other dream: a gallery to showcase up-and-coming artists; a springboard to their first success.

  I smiled at my drawing—Ryn holding her guitar, making a funny face at one of the children. Lionel, his name was. Cute kid with a good set of pipes. She brought that out of him, much as she made my heart beat faster each time she sang.

  She wanted me near as much as I wanted her. With patience and perseverance, I’d win Ryn over. No matter how much effort I needed to exude, my gut told me Ryn was worth the time—professionally and emotionally.

  I closed my sketch pad and stood. I’d just have to make the deal too sweet for her to pass up.

  5

  Ryn

  Dinner with Dez’s family always left me nostalgic. I smiled as I pulled into the drive, thankful for all the memories that tumbled out and around me—not unlike the three of us when Dez, his twin sister Sam, and I were younger.

  I walked into the house without knocking, just as I always did. But this time, for the first time in years, that action felt off. Like I didn’t have the right.

  Because of Jake?

  He might be interested in me, but I’d brushed him off. Too bad I couldn’t stop thinking of him.

  “Ryn!” Joyce exclaimed, wrapping me in a tight hug that soothed me even as guilt flooded my chest. “We’ve missed you, honey.” She pulled back, brushing my hair back and cupping my cheeks. “Aren’t you pretty as a picture? Dez always did say you were the most beautiful girl to grace any room.”

  Her words hit my chest like a sledgehammer. I closed my eyes, unable to look longer into my mother-in-law’s.

  “I miss him,” I whispered.

  She hugged me again, tighter. “We all do, sweetie.”

  “Hey, Ryn. Good to see you,” Sam said as she wandered into the room.

  “Where’s Ted?” I asked.

  “Finishing up some paperwork. He said to tell you hello and he’s sorry he missed you tonight.”

  I nodded as Sam slouched against the mantle that held a minishrine to Dez—pictures of us in our wedding finery, Dez, so young and handsome in his dress uniform. The flag that had wrapped his coffin leaned next to the photo Joyce took of Dez at his graduation ceremony. On the other side sat the last photo we knew of him—a quick snapshot from one of his buddy’s phones. In it Dez, held his rifle, his eyes trained on some far-off threat that ended up killing him mere hours later.

  “You girls hungry? We should eat before it gets cold.”

  I turned away from the memorial, more confused than I’d been when I walked in the door, and followed my mother-in-law and sister-in-law to the dining room table.

  Jake didn’t call me that night. I’d expected him to, stressing about the possibility throughout dinner with my in-laws. Neither did he stop by the next day during classes—though I found myself listening for him.

  After my three o’clock class, Linda brought me a large bouquet. My eyes widened as I asked, “What are those?”

  “Looks like shakers and stickers.”

  My heart melted and pooled into my chest cavity as I touched the PAW Patrol stickers. Hundreds of them bound together into the “stems” to the flower-shaped plastic shakers. Jake had seen how much the kids enjoyed both the first time he came to my class.

  “Man pays attention.”

  I nodded absently at Linda. “Was there a card?”

  She handed it to me, a smug smile gracing her face.

  I want to get to know you better.

  Jake

  I was in over my head. Already. In just three days the blasted man managed to irritate me more than anyone I’d ever met and, now, he’d managed to worm his way into my good graces.

  I pulled one of the shakers out. It was bright red, bigger than the ones we normally used. The kids would adore them.

  I bent over my phone. Taking a deep breath, I replied to his note with a text.

  I love the bouquet. It’s the best one I’ve ever received.

  “Okay. I said thank you.”

  I slid my phone into my back pocket. Linda stood there, an expectant look on her face. It morphed into surprise when kids’ voices slid down the hall toward my room.

  “That’s it?”

  My phone pinged before I could respond. I pulled it out as the first of the kids slammed into the room, their voices bright with excitement when they saw the bouquet Linda settled on my bookshelf under the large window.

  Glad you like it. You’re doing amazing work with the children, and I wanted to help in some small way.

  My hands shook as I stared at the screen. He was good. Shakers and compliments about my work. Dez said working with toddlers was a “cute way to pass the time.” But Jake…a world-class musician, called it amazing.

  I glanced to see the moms moving around the bouquet, smiling at its uniqueness.

  “Who gave you these?” Calla, one of my longest-attending parents asked. “They’re awesome!” She grabbed one of the butterfly shakers, her eyes alight with laughter as she danced around her four-year-old son.

  “Her boyfriend,” Linda answered as she sailed toward the door.

  My phone pinged again as the moms exclaimed over the sweetness. I glared, willing my cheeks not to flush with pleasure and embarrassment.

  Spend time with me. Get to know me. Please.

  Before I could second guess myself or even think it through completely, my fingers typed out a message and hit “Send.” Dinner tonight? My place. 7:30.

  Oh no. I stared at the screen, horror creeping into my chest. What had I done?

  His response popped up on the screen in an instant.

  No place I’d rather be.

  Oh. Oh, dear. My breath caught. Jake was dangerous. He was famous, sexy. I was neither of those and never desired to be. He’d hurt me. That was why I’d tried to brush him off that first meeting.

  But now that I’d talked with him more, I yearned for another hour of his time. For a real kiss, where his lips fitted over mine.

  From the brief contact, I knew, deep down, Jake Etsam had the capacity to own my body.

  I bit my lip, ignoring my shaking hands and got down to the business of teaching class.

  Why had I suggested dinner? My tiny apartment wouldn’t impress a man who made the kind of bank Jake Etsam did. And cook? I had to follow a recipe at least thirty times before I was confident enough to make it for someone else. Which meant I made basic food like roasted chicken.

  Jake had traveled around the world. Even if he said he liked simple dishes, chicken was ridiculous to feed to a man who’d been served at Versailles. Yes, I googled him after the lips-to-cheek incident yesterday—only to stare at myriad pictures of the two of us together.

  The one where he’d saved me from the speeding car was both the best and the worst. His hand was splayed across my lower back, snugging me close to his broad chest. My hand was high on his shoulder, almost slung around his neck—as if we were embracing. As if he wanted to kiss me. Which he had. On the cheek. A friendly gesture. Urbane even. But not sexual, like I’d been fantasizing about since he’d placed his lips against my overheated skin.

  I settled on my only other potential dinner recipe: pan-seared scallops. I’d yet to mess them up, and thanks to Pike Place Market, I knew the scallops were fresh. I also purchased a huge boule of rustic farm bread, high-quality olive oil, and the fixings for a green salad. While the meal was simple, the bottle of wine should dress it up nicely. I’d gnawed at my fingernails as I worried over Jake’s alcohol of choice. I was terrible with mixed drinks—never learned to make one. Which left wine and beer. After an extended debate, I’d added a six pack of craft beer to my ca
rt. Dez drank beer—Miller Lite was his preference. But Jake was older, more sophisticated than Dez. He struck me as a man who liked high quality even if he did go for simple.

  He better. I’d blown my entire week’s grocery budget on this one meal. After putting the groceries away, I scurried to my shower, still shivering from the cold December air that had riffled through my coat on the walk home. I needed to warm up and rinse baby drool off my body. Much as I liked holding the little ones—mainly so I could be wrapped up in their sweet baby smell—at the end of the day, I didn’t end up as sweet to sniff as they were.

  Granted, the trip to Pike Place had taken longer than usual because a reporter followed me through the stalls glittering with fairy lights and fragrant with the scents of the season—the fresh pine was my favorite. Unfortunately, I didn’t savor the experience today, as I normally would, because the reporter continued to pepper me with questions about Jake.

  “How long have you known Jake Etsam? When did you start dating? Do you have long-term plans? Are you in his brother’s wedding?”

  I’d made the mistake of glancing over at the young man as I said, “No comment.”

  Maybe he’d sensed weakness—or my newness to being questioned. Whichever, the questions came faster. “Why did you step in front of that car? Did Jake save you? What’s it like to be a widow at twenty-four? Do you have any thoughts on the war? What do you think about the new military spending bill working its way through Congress?”

  I tossed on a nice tunic and some leggings, my stomach knotted from the memory of the journalist’s intensity. I pulled my comb through my unruly waves when someone knocked on my door. I despaired the person’s timing. Jake should arrive in ten minutes, and my hair still dripped down my back, and I hadn’t put on any makeup. I shouldn’t have stayed late to help Linda work on her latest composition.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, freaking out about who would be on the other side. Please, not another reporter. My smile faltered. Jumping jelly jiggles. This was worse.

  “Lauryn,” Sam said.

  “Hello.” I sucked my lips back into my mouth, unwilling to say more after taking in the tightness of her expression and the angry defiance in her eyes.

  “Why are you all over the Internet?”

  “A slow day, obviously.”

  She slammed the door behind her. “Are you seeing him?”

  I scooted back, a mistake, because she took the movement to pounce.

  “What? You come to dinner last night and don’t think to mention you’re gallivanting around with some . . . some . . .”

  “I’d be very careful about what you say right now.” I kept my voice firm. “Jake is my friend.”

  “Looks like a shitton more than friendship with the way he’s holding you on that sidewalk.”

  “Stop it. You don’t get to come over here, shrieking like a banshee.”

  “Dez is barely dead! And you’re now dating—”

  “I’m aware of when Dez died. I was the one who got the knock on the door.”

  Samantha wilted, her face crumpling into tears. “You don’t miss him at all?” she asked, her eyes filled with tears.

  I ran my hand through my wet hair. “Yes, I miss him. I always will. But he asked for that deployment.” That was Dez—ready for action, adventure. Ready to help others.

  Leaving me behind.

  I gripped the door frame at that revelation. Dez left me—he didn’t have to go, not on the last deployment.

  Sam rubbed her leaking nose on the back of her hand. With a shudder, I walked over and grabbed her a couple of tissues. She wadded them all up and swiped at her nose. Not much better.

  “Why have you moved on so fast?”

  “It’s been over two years since Dez died. Almost three since he left me for that last tour.” Wow. Anger simmered, hot, forming a hard knot in my chest. I’d never been angry with his choice before—devastated but never considering his actions selfish.

  “You’d been together forever.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Maybe that was part of the problem.”

  “What?”

  I dropped my head back and rotated my neck, trying to ease the tension Sam’s words and shrieking produced.

  “I didn’t make Dez volunteer for that deployment. He did that without asking me. I don’t know what he was thinking. He didn’t talk much after he came home from his second tour.”

  Sam swiped at her eyes. “Because you pressured him about kids?”

  I dropped my chin to my chest and gave her a long side glare. “I met you and Dez when I was four years old. You both knew what my home life was like. You both knew I wanted children of my own long before we were through puberty.”

  Sam scoffed, but she couldn’t refute my points. She’d known me the same number of years as her brother. That’s the problem with twins—I was supposed to be Samantha’s friend, but I’d always been more drawn to her brother.

  “Are you planning to turn this rocker into your baby daddy?”

  “Stop it, Sam.” I slumped onto a barstool and dropped my head into my hands. “I can’t handle the antagonism anymore. I just can’t.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have—”

  “What? What exactly should I have done differently?” I snapped, patience gone.

  Sam drew herself up, her mouth twisted in that ugly sneer that meant she planned to let me have it.

  Another knock sounded on the door. I stood, drained. “That’s Jake. We’re having dinner to talk about a project.” I enunciated the word.

  “Think about how much my family loved you when your parents wouldn’t.”

  I winced because Sam hit her mark.

  “You can’t throw away years of caring for a…a…rock star. Mom’s never going to approve.”

  Right. That’s why I hadn’t brought Jake up last night during dinner with Joyce and Sam. I stopped right in front of her. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I tried not to feel the deep cut of rejection when Sam flinched back. I failed. “Dez made his decisions. He paid for them with his life. That’s the reality we live in.”

  Samantha wrenched from my hands and opened the door. She threw a tearful glare at Jake before stalking down the hall.

  Jake stood in the doorway, rocking back on his heels. He wore brown-framed rectangular glasses. Gah! I loved a man in glasses. Especially tall, broad men in gray button downs, sleeves rolled up enough to show strong forearms. I stared at him staring at me.

  Those flutters filled my belly. Maybe Sam was right. Jake was so far outside my league—his lifestyle so beyond my ability to comprehend—we couldn’t possibly synchronize.

  “You ’right?” His voice was soft, his concern palpable.

  Good gravy, I was in trouble. Because, even with our differences, I wanted him.

  “Truth?”

  He nodded.

  “No.”

  “Figured.” He stepped back, easing into the hall. “I can come by another time.”

  I darted forward and gripped his wrist, ignoring the sensations searing up my arm, the flutters in my chest, seeping down into my belly. “Get in here. I have way too many scallops to cook for one person.” My chin wobbled so I bit my lip, hard. “And…and…I don’t want to be alone.”

  He stepped through the door and wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on the top of my head. I huffed into his chest. My arms curled up his back, holding him tight.

  “Bad day?”

  “Not until Sam came over and told me I was being unfaithful to her brother. Oh, and to ask if you were going to be my baby daddy.”

  Jake’s chest muscles stiffened, but he didn’t drop his arms. “Er. I’m not really ready for that yet.”

  “What is it with men and not wanting any responsibility?” I wailed.

  “I’m good with responsibility, but there’s a difference between paying bills and changing nappies.”

  “But you wear glasses!” I jerked from his arms as I pointed at them, some
how both fuming and nearly in tears. What was wrong with me? I’d never been this tied up over a guy before. Ever. And I’d just met Jake.

  “I lost my contacts,” he said, dropping his eyes. “Fell out in the shower.”

  “Can you stop?” I placed my hand on my chest, over my racing heart. “I can’t think of you naked. You wear glasses…but you don’t like babies.”

  “Never planned on having any.”

  I stiffened, my eyes searching his—as my heart cracked at his casual words. A child—a family of my own—was my life goal. My dream since I was six. “What?”

  “Ryn, I like you and all.”

  He rubbed his hands up and down the soft denim of his jeans so the material molded to his thighs. I swallowed hard and forced my eyes way, but not before a deep ache built in my middle.

  “I know I’m the one who pushed to see you again, but right now? You’re freaking me out.”

  Still, even as his eyes darted around and he stuttered through the last few words, he stepped forward to knead the tense muscles in my shoulders. I dropped my head to his chest and moaned when he hit a particularly sore spot.

  “You’re right. I’m a mess. Sam does that to me.”

  “I thought your—er, he’d been dead a while you said.”

  I nodded, my cheek wrinkling the soft linen of his shirt. “Twenty-seven months. Thanks for the hug.”

  “Looked like you needed a cuddle.”

  I laughed. “I did. Are you always such a teddy bear?”

  He stepped back fast, his cheekbones brimming a dusky red. “Never offered my services before.”

  My heart squeezed at the look on his face, caught somewhere between mortification and consternation. “I meant it as a joke. I really appreciate the hug, Jake. And I’m sorry I went semipsycho on you there.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment, his gaze trailing across my high-ceilinged, industrial-style main room. The space wasn’t huge—just cozy—and housed my newish, brown twill sofa and love seat, a red leather club chair, a four-seater dining table in a rich mocha I adored, and the functional kitchen with white cabinets. His eyes lingered on the exposed red bricks and the stainless-steel appliances. “Nice place.”