A Song For Rory. Cerella Sechrist

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      Sawyer had to admit that the exterior of the place didn’t look anything like he remembered back when Rory’s dad had owned it. The Rusty Anchor sign had been replaced with a sharp, pub-style design, and the name had been changed to the family one of Callahan’s. The place had a cozy but classy feel to it, from the redbrick facade to the black-trimmed window frames. His gaze skipped upward, toward the second floor. He wondered if Rory was up there now or if she was already down below in the restaurant. Either way, his stomach somersaulted at the thought of her being nearby. He was close. So close.

      He was a ball of mixed emotions, excitement and nerves competing for first place. What would she think of him showing up here? Would she recognize it as an effort on his part to make things right? Or would she merely see it as an intrusion?

      He guessed there was only one way to find out. With another tug on his baseball cap, he drew a deep breath and headed inside the restaurant.

      * * *

      WHEN RORY CLOCKED in for her shift at Callahan’s that afternoon, she prayed there would be no discussions about Sawyer’s Artist of the Year award. Given that he was a hometown boy and she and he had been known so long as a couple, it was often impossible to dodge his name in conversation, especially from those who didn’t understand that Rory was no longer a part of his life. She had become adept at pat responses: “No, I don’t know what he’s up to these days. He’s so busy recording and touring, you know.” Most people missed the sarcastic edge to her words, but occasionally, someone would cock their head and make their apologies before blessedly changing the subject.

      She grabbed her apron from the back room and said hello to Rafael. He mumbled an incoherent greeting in response, his attention fixed solely on the washing machine he was attempting to fix. Rafael had been with the restaurant well before it had become a highly rated, popular establishment. As one of the few original employees, Rory was fond of him, in large part because of his longtime loyalty to her brother. Now that Callahan’s had become a success, Rafael had been promoted from busboy and occasional line cook to maintaining the restaurant and property.

      Tying her apron in place, Rory left Rafael to his work and headed back through the kitchen to check what section she’d be working that evening.

      Twenty minutes later, she had settled into her server’s routine. She’d topped up the beverages at all six of her tables, provided a fresh bread basket to table eighteen and put in the appetizer order for table sixteen. She approached the computer to tabulate the bill for her four-top at table twelve and noticed the hostess seating a lone diner at table fifteen on the outer edge of her section. It was a slightly isolated table by the window, and one that was sometimes requested by customers dining alone.

      Vanessa, the hostess, caught Rory’s eye and hurried over. “I just seated a cute guy at table fifteen.”

      “I saw,” Rory replied as she stuck table twelve’s bill into the receipt folder. “I’ll get to him in a minute. I have to finish up with twelve.”

      “Okay, but I wanted to give you a heads-up—he asked to sit in your section.”

      That got Rory’s attention. She raised her head and zeroed in on the newcomer. He was slouched over the menu, a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. His posture was relaxed, but she noticed him drumming his fingers impatiently on the tabletop.

      Her stomach clenched. She’d seen that gesture a thousand times over the years, in the back rooms of bars before they’d gone onstage, in the airport before he’d shipped out for army basic training, and the day he’d sat her down in a restaurant not nearly so nice as this one to tell her about the record deal from Nashville...right before he broke up with her.

      She knew every emotion that accompanied that gesture—excitement coupled with adrenaline and just enough nervousness to keep him cool under pressure. Her entire body tingled, and she wondered if she should try to pass off his table to someone else.

      She immediately dismissed the thought. He’d asked for her section. He knew she was here.

      Drawing a deep breath, she headed for his table, dropping off table twelve’s check and promising to return for the payment shortly. Ten steps later, she was at his side.

      He was facing away from her, looking out the window and over the water. She debated how to begin, whether to admit she recognized him through his thin disguise or behave as the server she was and ask if he’d like to start with something to drink.

      In the end, he saved her from having to decide. He shifted in his seat, pulling his eyes away from the gray-blue of the Chesapeake’s water, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

      “I forgot.”

      “Forgot what?” she asked.

      “How beautiful it is here.”

      The way he said it made her realize he wasn’t referring to the view, and she fought back the heat flooding her cheeks. He looked the same, maybe better than when she’d last seen him in person. Or perhaps it was her complicated emotions making him seem that way. Sawyer had always been confident, but he seemed to hold himself with even more surety now. But then, setting country music records was likely to do that to a person.

      Stabs of both jealousy and grief sliced through her. He’d become famous. He’d fulfilled his dream. And beneath the layers of frustration, a part of her was exceedingly proud of him. But he’d also left her, after years of shared joys and tears, when it was most convenient for him. And she’d spent the last twenty-three months trying to come to terms with the loss of him—her high-school sweetheart, the guy she’d waited for throughout army basic training and deployment, the man she’d traveled all over the United States with as they’d performed their music and chased their dreams.

      Sawyer had been her soul mate. At one time she’d been closer to him than any other person on earth, her brother included. She hadn’t had many close relationships in her life, and Sawyer knew that. But she’d had him.

      Until fame came calling.

      “Rory? Aren’t you going to say anything? Welcome me home?”

      He’d called her beautiful, as if that could make up for the heartache he’d caused her.

      Without giving it a second thought, Rory turned and grabbed a half-full glass of ice water on a table waiting to be bused.

      “Welcome home,” she offered and then tipped the water over the top of his head, dousing him.

      And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked away, deciding Sawyer Landry could starve before she’d serve him.

      * * *

      SAWYER BLINKED THE water out of his eyes and groped for a napkin to wipe his face. He dabbed at his wet chin and pulled his baseball cap lower over his forehead, hoping he wouldn’t be recognized with the attention Rory had just drawn to him.

      “I suppose I deserved that,” he admitted aloud and used the sleeve of his T-shirt to mop some water from his jaw.

      Seconds later, the hostess appeared with a handful of napkins, uttering profuse apologies for Rory’s behavior.

      He shrugged. “I should have seen that coming. Rory never was one to take things lying down.”

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