Chapter 30

CHAPTER

THIRTY

B elle glared at her guitar as the clock clicked closer and closer to six. Harry wouldn’t be a moment late, she knew that. Not in the evening.

Not only that, but he’d texted almost two hours ago to say he was leaving Coral Canyon, and he might actually be early.

She didn’t mind that, because she’d only worked half the day today, and she’d stopped by the grocery store to get some boxes on her way home.

She’d already filled them, so she wasn’t sure how Harry was going to help her with the packing tonight, though she still had one cupboard in her bathroom to box up, as well as all of her dishes in the kitchen.

“You just need more boxes,” she told herself as she paced away from the guitar in its stand beside the window and moved toward the front door of the apartment .

She hadn’t kept everything from her time before she’d gone undercover. She’d rented a small ten-by-twenty-foot storage unit for her couch, her grandmother’s dining room table and chairs, her bed, and her guitar.

She wasn’t an overly complicated woman who owned gowns or closets full of clothing. She only had a handful of pairs of shoes, and Belle had her whole bedroom packed. She had a change of clothes for tomorrow, and a suitcase for the weekend so she’d have time to get everything unpacked at her new place in Coral Canyon.

The move should be easy , Belle thought. Being closer to Harry was what she wanted.

Then, he’d complicated things by asking her to play with him.

“ For him,” she growled to the peephole that still showed her an empty hallway in front of her apartment.

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure which was worse. Playing for him privately or agreeing to be live-streamed at his side for the world to see. To judge. To leave comments on her technique, the sound of her voice, the way she held her guitar.

Some people could be ruthless, everyone had an opinion, and social media wasn’t all rainbows, cupcakes, and unicorns.

Plus, she’d already failed in country music. Would Harry find her sound outdated? Her voice too grunge? Her songs totally antiquated?

She paced back toward the window just as someone knocked on the door. Her heart flew to the top of her skull and clattered against the hard bone there, leaving her stunned for a few moments.

“It’s me, Belle,” Harry called.

She practically ran to the door now and whipped it open to find her handsome cowboy boyfriend standing there. He wore dark-wash jeans, one of his tamer tees with the Teton Mountain range on it without any words or funny sayings, and cowboy boots. A matching cowboy hat sat on his head, and he carried an oversized brown bag with the Wild Wyoming logo on the front of it.

“Hey, my Belle.” Harry eased into the apartment, and Belle looked out and down the second-floor landing and hallway. She didn’t see anyone there, and she wasn’t sneaking her boyfriend into her apartment against her mother’s wishes besides.

Harry moved into the kitchen as Belle closed and locked the door, then turned to face him. He didn’t seem nervous or worried about anything as he lifted out a recyclable container and said, “This is the baby wedge salad, no blue cheese.”

Belle told herself to get over there and greet him, and her legs managed to start walking. “Hey,” she said as she arrived at his side.

He paused in getting out the food and turned toward her. “You’re nervous.”

“A little.”

“Too nervous to kiss me hello?” He offered her a small smile, with plenty of softness in his eyes.

“No,” she murmured, and she tipped her head back and let her eyes drift closed. She wasn’t going to kiss him hello; he’d have to kiss her, which he did. Harry had big, capable hands, and he moved one up her back and into her hair, which she’d left down and added a wave to for tonight’s date.

He kissed her softly, sweetly, for a few seconds, and then his next stroke intensified, driving a bolt of passion through her.

She liked kissing him both ways, and she simply let him carry on as long as he wanted. When he finally pulled away, he breathed in harshly and then blew all that air out. “You—I really like kissing you,” he said.

She liked kissing him too, but she didn’t know how to make her voice work the way his did. “It means a lot to me that you drive so far and pick up exactly what I want for dinner,” she said. “Just to be with me.”

“I’m happy to do it,” he whispered, the paper bag rustling again as he plunged both hands into it. “I got the steak frittes, because they looked amazing, and I got you the chicken pot pie you wanted.”

He lifted both containers out, and Belle turned to get down plates. Most of her dates with Harry revolved around food, and she wanted something a little different for their first outing together in Coral Canyon.

“So, I had an idea,” she said.

Harry lifted his eyebrows. “Lay it on me, Miss Belle.”

“Would you go out with me on Monday?” she asked. “In the afternoon. I want to go to the animal shelter and find a cat to adopt. ”

“Sounds like a good time,” he said. “I’d love to do that with you.”

Belle grinned at him, finally relaxing a little bit. “You could look for a dog, maybe.”

“Sure,” Harry said easily, and while he had a grumpy, serious side, he could be sweet and personable too. He’d claimed to have taken classes to deal with fans, and Belle had told him she didn’t want him using any of those skills on her. That he should simply get to be himself.

He’d promised, and she’d never felt like he’d been putting on a show for her since they’d run into each other in the airport almost a month ago now.

“What kind of cat are you gonna get?” he asked as he plated her food and pushed it closer to her.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I looked online, and they have a few options, but cats get adopted all the time, and we’re not going until after the weekend.” She shrugged. “Maybe they’ll all be gone after a weekend adoption frenzy.”

Harry chuckled, and Belle liked the very presence of him in her apartment, in her life—and she realized that meant so much more than just having him over for dinner.

He finished up with his food and slid the baby wedge onto a third plate. Then he picked up both plates and headed for Belle’s small table on the other side of the peninsula.

She joined him, set down her plate, and returned to the kitchen to get the drinks she’d also picked up on the way home from work. Diet Dr. Pepper for Harry—his favorite soda pop—and Glacier Ice Gatorade for her .

He beamed up at her as she put the one-liter bottle down beside his plate. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He watched her open her Gatorade and take a drink before she sat down.

She picked up her fork and broke off a piece of puff pastry to take a bite of her chicken pot pie. “I might not be good enough to play with you, Harry.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he said, zero hesitation from her statement to his.

“I haven’t played in a while,” she said.

“You kept your guitar,” he said quietly. “All these years, even after you had a terrible experience, even when you got rid of so much of who you are to go undercover.” He looked at her with those dark, serious eyes, something dancing and fiery in them. “Just like you kept my phone number, you kept that guitar.”

She nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “What if you hate how I sing? Hate the songs I labored over and loved?”

“What if I love them?”

Belle took the bite of her pot pie, but it was very hard to chew and swallow. “This is very hard for me, Harry.”

“I hear you,” he said.

“I had a manager who fed me lies,” she told him. “Instead of just telling me I wasn’t good enough, and I should just write for someone else.”

“That’s all I want to do,” he said.

“Yes, but the difference is you’re good enough to sing your own songs too.”

“ Good enough is subjective. ”

She pinned him with one of her police officer looks, and he blinked rapidly a couple of times. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Lay it out.”

“If I play for you, you have to promise me that if I’m not good, you’ll just say so.”

“I promise,” he said.

“If you hate the way my voice sounds, you’ll just tell me. I don’t need your pity. I don’t want to embarrass myself on your live-stream—or tank it—just because I’m your girlfriend.”

She swallowed, but she had more to say. “And I’m terrified that if I’m not good enough for you on the guitar, that I won’t be good enough for you, period.”

“Belle.”

She looked down at her food, unable to maintain eye contact with someone as strong and powerful as Harry. “So if that’s a deal-breaker for you, I’d rather just not play for you at all.” She looked up and into the gorgeous depths of his eyes. He wasn’t shuttering anything off right now, and Belle felt like she could see into his soul.

“If it’s a deal-breaker, you have to promise not to break-up with me right away, so that I won’t know it. You can do it later, for any other reason you want, even if it’s because I’m not up to your caliber as a musician.”

Harry gazed at her, and then lifted his hand to cradle her face in one of those amazing palms. “I’m interested in you for far more than your musical ability,” he said, and that was one of the best compliments Belle had ever received. “You’ve got something you can play for me tonight?”

Belle moved away from his hand, and he dropped it so she could take another bite of her dinner. “Yes,” she practically choked out. “If you can make all those promises and mean them.”

“I promise to tell you what I really think of your voice, your ability, and I promise I won’t break-up with you over any of it.”

She nodded and picked up her knife so she could cut into the wedge salad. “Okay,” she said.

“Did you write all your songs for the album-that-never-was?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Then I can’t wait to hear even just one song,” he said. “I feel like I’m going to learn so much about you.” He smiled, but the gesture didn’t stay for long. “Songs are so personal, right?”

“Usually,” she said.

“So moving day tomorrow,” he said, moving on to something else. “My daddy and Morris thought the contract for Boston was amazing, and I’m meeting with him and Mav on Sunday morning for breakfast.” He grinned as he speared some steak and French fries. “And then we have a date at the animal shelter on Monday night.”

“Life is good,” Belle murmured, to which Harry practically yelled, “Amen.”

An hour later, Belle’s fingers tingled, and she shook her hands out as her nerves assaulted her on all sides .

She told herself she always felt like this before playing and performing, even when it was just her trio of cats in the house to hear her. The moment she started playing, she’d fall into the music, and she’d relax into something she knew as intimately as she knew herself.

“Ready?” she asked, and Harry nodded from behind his phone. He held it up in front of his face to record her, claiming he wanted to be able to go over it more than once before giving her his true opinion. He’d promised not to post it anywhere online, though Belle had thought about asking him how to get the right angle, set up the ring lights just right, and which mic to buy so she could record videos the way he did.

She hadn’t brought it up in the week or two since she’d thought it, and she marveled that Harry had come to her with the idea to play for him.

She ducked her head and looked at her fingers on the strings of her old guitar. She’d been through so much with this instrument, and it wouldn’t fail her. She knew that.

She let the air flow out of her lungs as she heard the opening notes of the song she’d written just for herself, and when she breathed in again, she started to play. Her fingertips pressed easily against the strings, and her pick moved precisely where it needed to go.

She looked up and smiled, not even seeing the camera anymore, and when she opened her mouth to sing, she hit the note exactly in tune. Her lower voice didn’t always impress people, and the slow vibrato and gravelly quality of it had been passed over more times than she could count .

I walk these empty halls where memories still linger,

Echoes of laughter warm like the touch of your fingers.

The porch swing’s creakin’, but it brings me comfort,

Every corner of this house whispers love’s sweet presence.

She knew the just-right place to let the guitar sing while she breathed, and then she started into the chorus.

I come home to shadows, where your love still holds me tight,

The stars above are shining, guiding me through the night.

I whisper to the sunrise, Love will light my way,

Embraced by your strong presence, every single day.

She sang through the second verse, then the bridge, and back to the chorus again. She finished by holding out that last note in her higher register, and then let her fingers walk along the strings and pluck out that last, satisfying chord before she opened her eyes and let the echo of the song ring through the small apartment.

Embraced by your strong presence, every single day.

She looked over to Harry to find him staring openly at her. His phone sat on the couch beside him, and he didn’t even blink.

Belle cleared her throat and lowered her guitar to balance against the sofa. “Well?”

Please be honest , she thought. She didn’t want to think of Harry as a liar, and her chest and all her most vital organs buzzed with fear, adrenaline, and satisfaction. She’d played as well as she could, and Belle loved that song.

No matter who else did, she did, and she told herself the same thing she had been for the past eight years. Even if you’re the only person who ever hears and enjoys that song, that’s enough. You’re enough.

Harry finally blinked, as if coming back into his body. “That was incredible.”

Belle blinked, her mind going blank. “You’re just saying that.”

“I absolutely am not,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’ve never heard anyone sing like that before.” He dropped to his knees and walked on them until he met where she sat on the couch. He pushed her knees to the side as he gathered her in his arms.

“It was beautiful, my Belle. What an amazing story.” He brushed her bangs out of her face. “What an absolutely stunning voice you have.”

He smiled softly at her, and Belle couldn’t duck her head and avoid him, not as close as he’d gotten. In that moment, she realized how far she’d let him in, and she didn’t care if he saw the tears in her eyes.

They filled, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Harry wiped it away, everything about him kind and wonderful. “Will you lend me the sheet music so I can learn it too? I would absolutely love to play that with you during my world tour.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and then just below her ear. “Incredible. You’re absolutely incredible.”

Belle wrapped her arms around him and held on tight, because she hadn’t felt incredible for such a long time, and here he was reinventing everything she thought about herself, showing her what her life could truly be, and reigniting her love for something she’d thought she’d have to give up permanently.

She had kept her guitar all these years, not quite able to walk away yet. She’d done the same thing with Harry’s number, and as they breathed in together, Belle fell a tiny bit in love with him.

And it felt good, and right, and peaceful—the opposite of what her life had been for the past year, so she really knew the difference.

“Do you have a contract for me to look at?” she asked, and Harry pulled back.

She swiped at her eyes and met his, as serious as ever. “I’ve been burned before, and while I don’t think you’ll take my song and claim it as yours, I’m going to need to see a contract before I give you any sheet music.”

“Of course.” Harry got to his feet and retrieved his phone. “I’ll text Morris right now.”

She stood and crowded into his side so she could see his message too. “Did you record the whole song?”

“Only about half,” he said. “I was just so mesmerized that I forgot to hold the phone up.” He grinned at her and finished texting. “I can send it to Morris, so he can get it approved by our tour manager at Rebel.” His eyebrows went up, and then he lowered his phone.

“If you want, Belle. That song…I can tell it means a lot to you, and if you’d rather not share it with the world through my live-stream, I understand. I will honor that. Maybe you have something else.”

“I have other songs,” Belle said, considering her options as well as what he’d said. She truly would be sharing a very intimate piece of her heart and soul if she let Harry learn that song, if they performed it together for the online world to see and listen to.

“But that’s my best one, and I think I should lead with my very best.”

Harry nodded, took her face in his hands, and kissed her with trembling lips. “I’m falling in love with you,” he whispered. “And I feel wild and crazy about it, but that song…it comforted me. It soothed me and reminded me that love can be soft and beautiful and wonderful and so, so strong.” He smiled at her with only his lips, no teeth showing. No mega-rockstar wattage. “Thank you, baby. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.”

Tears threatened to run down her face again, but she managed to nod without crying. “Thank you for asking me.”

He stepped out of her arms and picked up her guitar. She thought he might play it, but he simply put it back in the stand. “Now, can I hold you on the couch while we watch a movie? Or have we done that to death and you’ll think I’m boring?”

Belle wanted nothing more than that, so she gathered her remotes and handed them to him. “Okay, but you still have to help me pack up the kitchen tonight, and I’m out of boxes.”

His mega-watt grin appeared then, and he said, “No problem, baby. I’ll order some right now, and we’ll get the work done after the movie.”

As Belle lay in his arms while he flipped through the streaming apps she had to find a movie, she listened to the comforting beat of his heart and inhaled the sexy, woodsy scent of his cologne—and let herself fall wildly and crazily in love with him.

Wildly and crazily in love , she thought, and for the first time since she’d left country music almost a decade ago, brand-new song lyrics ran through her head.

What a blessing, what a gift , she thought, the lyrics becoming a prayer she’d be able to sing, exactly like the song she’d just performed for Harry.