The Girl He Used To Love. Amy Vastine

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СКАЧАТЬ 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?” he asked, finally putting his finger on the mystery scent.

      Faith jumped, clutching her chest and shrieking loud enough to be heard for miles. Before he had the opportunity to apologize, she whacked him with her spatula.

      Dean tried to protect himself. “I’m sorry! Stop. Stop!” he pleaded.

      She gathered her wits and appeared remorseful. “Oh, my gosh, I’m sorry.” Then quickly added, “But you really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

      Keeping a safe distance, Dean tried to explain. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you. You didn’t even give me a chance to say good morning before you went postal on me.”

      She pushed some stray strands of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. “I’m not used to people walking around the house like mice. Sawyer whistles everywhere he goes, so I always know when he’s coming.”

      “Well, I apologize for not being a noisier guest. I’ll be sure to stomp through the house so you hear me coming from now on.” He reached for a cookie, figuring she owed him that much for attacking him. He was so hungry and the smell was so mouthwatering...

      Faith smacked his hand with the spatula before he could grab one.

      “Ow!”

      “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks turning red. “Just don’t touch my cookies.”

      Dean was ready to wrestle that spatula from her hand. If she swatted him one more time, that thing was getting tossed outside as far as he could fling it. “You make cookies for breakfast, but I can’t have one?”

      “These are for Mr. Middleton and the church bake sale tomorrow. Not for you. If you want a cookie, you can buy one tomorrow at church.”

      “You made cookies that smell like whiskey for the church bake sale?”

      There were dark circles under Faith’s eyes. “It’s my thing. I make cookies with a kick. I’ll have you know that the people in this town love them and come to the Sundown every Friday night to get their hands on them.”

      “You sell cookies at the Sundown?” Temptation got the best of him and Dean reached for a cookie. Tennesseans sure did love their whiskey, and Dean was no exception.

      Faith raised the spatula, but he gave a warning of his own. “Put that thing down before one of us gets hurt. And by ‘us’ I mean me or that spatula.”

      She set her weapon down and stepped back toward the oven. “My Salted Whiskey Chocolate-Chip Cookies happen to be my biggest seller. If you eat them, you are stealing from the church. You wouldn’t want to do that, now, would you, Dean Francis Presley?”

      Using his middle name was unkind. His mother was the only one who used it. When he was younger, it had been said quite a bit. Addison and Faith СКАЧАТЬ