The Wedding March. Tara Randel
avoided those particular songs on purpose.
Twenty minutes later the band took a break. Cassie waited for Luke to be alone, but one of the band members was talking his ear off. She should wander over, start another conversation with him, but she couldn’t seem to leave the chair.
Even though he’d made it clear he didn’t talk about the industry, Cassie couldn’t take no for an answer. Her chest constricted, the noose of her future pulling tighter. She could do this. She’d gathered enough information about Luke to make small talk while she bided her time to get to the root of her dilemma. She just had to wait for a chance to grab his attention. Luckily, she was a patient woman.
She swore he’d looked directly at her during one of the numbers, but the lights were too low to know for sure. Her imagination? Hopeful wishing? She sat through two more sets before the party began to wind down and the band finally performed their final number.
To her surprise, the band members took off quickly, leaving Luke to break down the equipment.
Taking a deep breath, she approached the platform.
“You guys sounded great tonight. Been playing together for a while?”
“Couple years.”
“So...I wanted to apologize for my father.”
Luke shot her an amused glance. “Overprotective?”
She’d have laughed out loud at the notion if it wasn’t so sad. “No, more like too much interference in my life.” She moved closer, silently high-fiving the fact that Luke wanted to engage in conversation. “We aren’t exactly close.”
He nodded. “No offense taken. I stopped worrying about what people think a long time ago.”
If only she could adopt the same mantra.
“My sister tells me you teach high school English.”
“I do.” He unzipped his case and gently laid the guitar inside. She admired people who took special care of their instruments. “Never thought I’d impact any kids, but it’s turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life.”
“Did you take over for Mrs. Trumbull?”
“No. She was gone before I arrived. She did leave a legacy behind.”
Cassie shuddered. “Of fear. I remember sweating out the Shakespeare semester. Her assignments were killer.”
Luke chuckled. “I sure hope my legacy isn’t that negative.”
“As long as you don’t pull your hair back in a severe bun, narrow your eyes at your students and make everyone uncomfortable, you should be fine.”
He patted the back of his head. “I never considered a new hairstyle. Maybe a man bun would up my cool factor and keep the kids in line.”
She laughed, delighted by his sense of humor. He didn’t need a bun to be any more good-looking in her eyes.
He snapped the latches on the case and faced her. “Did you do well on the Shakespeare assignment?”
She squinted, thinking back. “B, maybe? I have to say, she laid down a really good foundation. The subsequent years of Shakespeare weren’t so horrible.”
“Not a fan of the bard?”
“I can appreciate the work that went into writing his tales, but translating old English is like math. I’d rather not work that hard if I don’t have to.”
“You sound like the majority of my students.”
“Then let’s hope you make learning fun, not a session in terror.”
“I go over Shakespeare, but throw in other more contemporary works for my students to read.”
“Writing isn’t as easy as everyone thinks.”
“I’m sure my students would agree.” Taking hold of the handle, he lifted the case and stepped down from the platform. “It’s been nice talking to you.”
Cassie’s stomach dipped. She had to keep him interested. “Same here.” She glanced at his case. “You really know how to play.”
“Years of practice.”
“I didn’t get serious until I was in high school.”
He took a step back. “Well, I need to take off.”
By the shuddered look in his eyes, she could tell he’d checked out of the conversation. Drat. She’d lost him.
“Well, I’ll be in town awhile longer. Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
“Anything is possible.”
“I’d love to talk to you about your songwriting days. You’ve been—”
He held his hand up “Let me stop you right there.”
She blinked. His sudden displeasure indicated she’d gone too far.
“I’m not going to talk about music careers, songwriting or whatever you have your mind set on.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. I just need you to know I’m not available for whatever it is you want.”
Her heart sank as he turned and crossed the room. Good night to you, too, Luke Hastings.
* * *
LUKE STEPPED INTO the mild spring night, his face hot, his chest tight. Upset? Him? Right, not much. Slowly, he eased the pressure of the fist holding the guitar case handle, letting his breath out in slow degrees.
He stopped. Shook out his arms. Tilted his head back.
The dark sky was clear, stars twinkled above him. Cicadas buzzed, hidden beyond the empty golf course. A lonely frog belched nearby. The air, still warm even after the sun had set a few hours ago, held a hint of something sweet, like flowers. In the distance, the sprinkler system sputtered and hissed as it turned on.
All in all, a beautiful night to just let go and not think at all.
If only he could oblige.
He’d gone at least six months without the anger and despair building up. All it had taken this time was an attractive woman with expectation in her eyes to reduce him to this state.
It was clear Cassie wanted something from him. She’d floundered getting to the point, but once she admitted it was to talk shop, he couldn’t handle it. He didn’t have it in him to go back in time, to the place where another woman selfishly bent on fulfilling her dreams had squashed his.
He hated that he wasn’t stronger. But the truth was as clear as the night sky. He hadn’t forgiven Tracy. Was afraid he never could.
He continued walking to his black two-door BMW, his footsteps steady against the pavement. It had been two years since Tracy’s betrayal. Shouldn’t he be over it by now?
Get a clue, Hastings. People will always let you down.
As he unlocked the trunk and laid the guitar case inside, he wondered once again for the millionth time, what was wrong with him. Whoever said time heals all wounds hadn’t been cheated on by an ex-wife.
“You’re leaving kinda late.”
At the sound of a voice in the darkness, Luke froze, until a figure materialized, stepping into the circle of light provided by the overhead fixture. He recognized his cousin, Dane Peterson, a local hotel owner, decked out in a button-down shirt and pressed slacks, his hair cut in his usual short fashion.
He let out a long breath as he slammed the trunk closed. “You want me to have a heart attack?”
Dane held a hand up. “Sorry. Thought you might have noticed me.”
“No. I was thinking.”
“Yeah,