Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Adam
I'm trying to look on the bright side.
I could have locked my keys in my SUV after I put the puppies inside. I could be worrying about the temperature inside the locked car, about potential puppy dehydration, about the length of time it will take the locksmith to show up and break in.
Okay, I should probably be concerned about that last one even with the puppies next to me instead of inside the SUV. The puppies are fine—for now—but they still aren't fully weaned, so the faster I get them back to their mom, the better.
I send a second annoyed text to my sister Sarah, who has, so far, been irritatingly unresponsive, then shuttle the squirmiest two puppies over to the strip of grass at the edge of the parking lot for pee breaks.
Where could Sarah even be? She's the only other full-time employee at Hope Acres, so she should be at the farm with access to my spare key and her own car, which she could easily use to drive down and rescue me.
To be fair, half of Hope Acres has terrible cell reception. If she's out in the barn with the dogs, she's too far from the house to use the Wi-Fi, and her phone won't pick up a signal.
I sigh and glance at my watch, feeling ridiculously stupid this even happened in the first place, then scoop up the puppies and drop them back in with their siblings. At least the cocker spaniel puppies are too small to climb out of the foldable wagon I use for transport. If this were a litter of full-sized goldendoodles, they'd be escaping one after the other.
"Adam?"
I spin around to see Dr. Lawson—Dr. Elena Lawson—standing on the sidewalk. Her bag is over her arm, like she's going home for the day, and her hair is down, long, light brown waves cascading over her shoulders.
I swallow as my eyes move over her. I've never seen her with her hair down.
"Hey." I pull off my hat and take an awkward step forward, then put the hat back on again.
Dr. Lawson lifts her eyebrows. "Everything okay?"
I look back toward my SUV. "Not really? I seem to have locked my keys inside the car."
"Oh, no," she says. "How did that happen?"
"It happened before the appointment, actually. I just didn't realize it until now. I've called a locksmith. He should be here"—I look at my watch one more time—"in eighty-three more minutes?"
She frowns. "Adam, you can't sit in the parking lot with eight puppies for eighty-three minutes. "
"I won't stay in the parking lot. I was just on my way back inside."
She frowns. "Do you have a spare key somewhere?"
I nod. "Back at the rescue."
"Then let me drive you there. We can drop off the puppies, then I'll bring you back to pick up your car."
My mouth goes dry at the thought of spending time alone with Elena Lawson. Especially after the way we connected today. Eight months ago, the first time she walked into the exam room instead of her father, I was immediately struck by how beautiful she was. I was a little distracted because a dog had just thrown up on the lower half of my left pant leg, but I noticed her. Really noticed her. And wondered if she might, at some point, be someone I could get to know.
But then she had this very professional vibe about her, like she wanted to keep things strictly business, so I just assumed she was either one, not interested—I did reek of dog barf, after all—or two, already seeing someone else.
Until earlier today, when I overheard her and Percy talking right before they came into the exam room. He was teasing her—teasing her about me.
So I pushed a little. Asked her questions about something other than the dogs. She surprised me with how quickly she responded and with how much she knows about music.
I'm still not sure she's interested.
Percy could have been totally off-base, and I'm not particularly good at reading a woman's more nuanced signals.
But I am sure that I'm interested.
Dr. Lawson is beautiful in this easy, understated way that I really appreciate. Minimal makeup—at least not that I can see—and her hair is usually pulled back in a practical ponytail, which makes sense considering what she does for a living. But her eyes are bright, and her smile is wide and friendly, and she has a dusting of freckles across her cheekbones that I notice every time I see her.
Taking up her entire afternoon because I was an idiot and locked my keys inside my car isn't exactly first-date material, but I'm not about to turn down the chance to spend more time with her.
"You're sure you don't mind?" I say. "We could easily hang out in the lobby until the locksmith gets here. Or my sister, Sarah, who works with me at the rescue and will probably get my seventy-two texts any minute."
She laughs as she steps forward, scooping Ringo into her arms. "You could do either of those things, but I'm sure the puppies would appreciate some time with their mama after getting their vaccines. And the sooner the better. Just let me help. I promise I don't have anything else to do with my afternoon." She smiles at the puppy, cuddling him close, and a bolt of awareness flushes through my body.
"Okay. If you're sure. I really appreciate it."
She meets my eye. "Yay. More puppy time for me."
We make quick work of wheeling the wagon around the corner of the building to what I assume must be the employee parking lot. We stop beside a black sedan, and I quickly realize the challenge this is going to be. If I could get into my SUV, I would transfer the puppies from the wagon into a smaller travel crate lined with beach towels in the back to keep them safe and mostly immobile for the drive home. I can't just leave them in the wagon because I'll need to break it down for it to fit in Dr. Lawson's trunk, and there's no way I can hold eight squirmy puppies in my lap for the twenty minutes it will take to drive out to the rescue.
Dr. Lawson looks from me to the puppies, then back to me again. "We have a problem, don't we?"
"Looks like it," I say.
She purses her lips to the side, and I'm momentarily distracted by their deep pink color, by the fullness of her bottom lip as she grasps it between her teeth. "Okay, give me a sec. I think we've got some travel crates inside." She hands Ringo over to me, who she's been holding this whole time, and moves toward a side door that I'm guessing is the regular employee entrance.
It's not lost on me that when Dr. Lawson came outside to leave, she came through the front door, and I feel an irrational pulse of joy at the possibility of her having done it on purpose.
Though that could have everything to do with her concern for the puppies and nothing to do with me.
While she's gone, I cancel my request for a locksmith, then crouch down to check on my reflection in the side mirror on Dr. Lawson's car. Nose, teeth, everything looks good, so I stand back up and adjust my hat, forcing myself to relax. This is fine. Easy. I've got this.
She's back less than a minute later holding two cardboard carriers, one in each hand. "What do you think?" she says, holding them up. "Think we could fit four puppies in each one?"
"Definitely," I say. "Thanks again, Dr. Lawson. This is definitely going above and beyond."
"Call me Laney," she says. "That's what everyone calls me. And I promise, I'm so happy to help."
Five minutes later, the puppies are secure in the back seat, I'm settled into the passenger seat, and Dr. Lawson— Laney— is buckling her seatbelt beside me.
The nickname suits her. Also, her car smells amazing, like citrus and cinnamon and something else I can't quite name. I almost ask her how she manages it. She works with animals as much as I do, and I'm constantly battling the smell of musty wet dog that seems to permeate every corner of my SUV. Though, she doesn't take work home with her like I do, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised.
As soon as Laney's phone connects to the car, music blasts through the speakers at high volume, the familiar lyrics of Midnight Rush's first number-one hit filling the space between us.
My gut tightens as Laney's eyes go wide, and she reaches forward to turn it off, plunging us into silence. "Sorry. I had no idea that would be so loud."
I cock my head and lift an eyebrow, ignoring the surprise and embarrassment that washed over me at the sound of my own voice ringing through Laney's speakers. "Pearl Jam, huh?"
She purses her lips. "That was…I must have heard that one before this one."
"Right," I say, drawing the word out in a teasing tone. "Should we track back a song just to check?" I reach for her phone, which is sitting on the console between us, like I'm going to do just that, and she swats my hand away.
"You wouldn't dare," she says through a laugh. "I promise there's plenty of Pearl Jam on my playlist. And I did hear ‘Just Breathe' at some point on my morning drive."
"You seem like you're trying awfully hard to convince me. You sure you aren't hiding a playlist of nothing but Midnight Rush songs? "
Her eyes dart to mine. "Hmm. He knows the group name. Are we sure I'm the only fan inside this car right now?"
I pull my hat a little farther down on my face. It's been long enough since anyone has recognized me as the Deke Driscoll that I've stopped worrying about it happening. When I walked off the stage at the O2 Arena in London after singing with Midnight Rush for the last time, I was barely eighteen, three inches shorter, and at least thirty pounds lighter. I look nothing like the kid I was back then, but I still haven't quite shaken the weird sense of self-awareness whenever I'm somewhere public and a Midnight Rush song happens to play.
Talking about the group with Laney only intensifies that feeling, as well as triggering a potent sense of dread deep in my gut. My anonymity isn't something I take lightly. I don't want to be Deke Driscoll anymore, so protecting my privacy is very important. It's the biggest reason I haven't really done much dating. I can't get serious with someone and not tell them about my past.
But that part is also complicated. I never know if people will believe me, and the idea of trying to convince someone just feels entirely too uncomfortable. But more than that, Midnight Rush didn't exactly end on the greatest terms. If people know I used to be Deke, what will keep them from asking questions? From digging into a past I'd much rather leave…well, in the past ?
I look over at Laney. "So you're saying you are a fan?"
"So you're avoiding the question?" she fires back.
"I'm in my twenties," I begrudgingly say. "Anyone in their twenties has heard of Midnight Rush. "
"True. But you recognized their song in less than three measures. That's saying something."
I recognized the song because I was the one singing it. But I'm not going to split hairs if she isn't.
"I had a girlfriend who was a big fan," I say, because technically, I did. So what if I was only sixteen and was actively in the band at the time. My reason isn't a lie.
Laney huffs out a laugh. "Right. And all those guys singing along at Taylor Swift concerts are only there for their girlfriends."
I roll my eyes. "Fine. They had some great music. Is that what you want me to admit?"
She smiles and sits up a little taller. "It is, thank you. Someone who knows as much about music as you do should recognize their greatness. Thanks for being man enough to acknowledge it."
I allow myself a small moment of pride at her words, but I squelch it before it can really take root. The truth is, I was a very small part of what made Midnight Rush great…but a very large part of what made Midnight Rush end.
Even eight years later, I still feel conflicted about that.
Laney eases to a stop at a red light right in the middle of Lawson Cove. "Left here? Aren't you out on Highway 23?"
"Yep," I say. "Left here, then right onto the highway. The rescue is six miles out on the right."
She nods and makes the turn, and we pass the sign at the edge of town that reads, "Thanks for Visiting Lawson Cove."
I look over at Laney, suddenly curious. "Are you a Lawson Cove Lawson? Or is that just a coincidence?"
"I am that family of Lawsons," she says. "My grandfather's grandfather established the town in 1873, and at least some combination of extended family members has lived here ever since."
Most people who are native to Lawson Cove have a distinct Southern accent, lilting but with a twinge of something I've only heard in the Appalachian mountains. Laney's dad has traces of it, though his is softer than most, but I don't detect much accent from Laney.
"Did you grow up here?"
"Some," she answers. "I lived over in Hendersonville, mostly. But my parents got a divorce when I was fifteen, and my dad moved home—here—to start a new practice. I spent summers and holidays with him from then on."
"I'm sorry," I say. "Divorce can't be fun."
"Honestly, my parents were so much easier to be around once they did divorce. We were all happier after. And they get along great now. I know it can cause a lot of scars for some kids, but once I got over the initial shock of all the change happening so fast, I mostly just felt relieved." She turns onto the highway and shoots me a questioning look. "What about you? What brought you to Lawson Cove?"
"How do you know I didn't grow up here?"
"Because Patty made sure we all knew about it when you moved in."
"Patty from the front desk?"
Laney nods. "She worked at the high school for twenty-three years before Dad hired her. She knows every kid who has ever lived in Lawson Cove, and you aren't on that list."
A twinge of something close to regret—maybe more like wistfulness?—washes over me. I like the sound of living somewhere long enough to belong to a community like that. To have people immediately recognize you. Know you. I didn't have that growing up .
Mom was on her own with Sarah and me, and we moved around a lot as she shifted from job to job, each one a little better than the last. We went to three different elementary schools and two middle schools before we finally landed somewhere that stuck—in a tiny town just outside of Knoxville, Tennessee. Mom had a steady paycheck, we lived on a nice street a couple of blocks from the high school, and we were only a few minutes away from where Mom had grown up, so even though her parents were both gone, I could tell she felt more settled than she ever had before.
I might have found that sense of community in high school. But then, the summer after my freshman year, I paid my neighbor, who was two years older than me and had a car, a hundred bucks of the money I'd made mowing lawns to drive me over to Nashville so I could audition for Midnight Rush. New Groove Records was on the hunt for a boyband and was holding open auditions to anyone fifteen to eighteen years old with a decent voice.
I had never, in all my fifteen years, thought about being in a boyband. Or being famous. Or singing anywhere but in my own shower.
But Mom had just gotten her cancer diagnosis. Followed by the statement from her insurance company detailing which treatments they would pay for, and which treatments they would not.
It was pretty black and white for me. If I made it, I'd have money. And Mom needed money.
My chest tightens at the familiar sense of sadness, and I look over at Laney if only to distract my brain from going down this same tired road. I can think about everything I'd do differently a million times. But it won't change my reality, so what's the point ?
"Patty's right," I answer. "I grew up in Tennessee. It was the rescue that brought me here. Or the land, really. It had the outbuildings I was looking for and a house that was workable, so I bought it three years ago."
"Three years? You've been here that long?"
"Not exactly. It took a year to make the house livable and get everything set up for the rescue. I spent my first night in the house two years ago tomorrow."
"And you didn't care that Lawson Cove is literally in the middle of nowhere?"
I shrug. "I like my privacy."
"Do you like restaurants that close before eight PM? Or driving an hour to find the nearest Target? I mean, don't get me wrong. I love it. But outsiders usually don't."
I grin. There's a hint of Southern in her voice that I haven't heard until now.
"Outsiders, huh?" I say with an intentional twang.
She smiles as she looks over at me. "Shut up. The accent tends to surface when I'm talking about Lawson Cove. Where's your accent? Tennessee is just as Southern as here."
Mostly drilled out of me during Midnight Rush interview coaching, but I can't give her that explanation, so I just shrug. "I had a slight accent as a kid, but it didn't stick. And I do like that Lawson Cove is so small. I do fine with the grocery store we've got in town, and I don't mind the restaurants closing early because I like to cook."
"Wow," she says. "Maybe you'll make it here after all. What about your social life, though? You don't miss having friends? Dating?" She shoots me a quick glance. "Not that I'm assuming you aren't dating. You totally could be. Just because my social life is nonexistent doesn't mean that's true for everyone here. You probably are dating. I mean, look at you. Who wouldn't want—you know what? I'm going to stop talking now."
"You sure? You don't want to add anything else? Because this is pretty entertaining for me."
She purses her lips and scowls, but there's a smile playing around her mouth that makes it clear she doesn't mind my teasing.
"I've been pretty focused on the rescue," I say, "so I haven't worried too much about dating. You're saying I shouldn't get my hopes up?"
"Definitely not," she says. "Not unless you—" Her words cut off, and I wonder how she would have finished that sentence, but we're approaching the turnoff to the rescue, so I don't have time to ask.
"Right here on the right," I say as we approach the wooden sign, flanked on either side by stone pillars.
She slows the car and turns onto the winding, tree-lined drive that will take us up to Hope Acres. Twenty-five acres, to be exact, though most of them are wooded and steep. I've managed to cut a few miles of trails along the ridgeline so I can hike with the dogs, but we mostly stay in the five acres of pastureland that surround the house and barn.
I watch Laney as we approach the house, wondering what she thinks of the place. It'll be more beautiful in a month or so, when summer shifts into fall and everything changes color, but even like this, it's near perfect.
This farm has been a labor of love for me. I renovated the house, the barn, added landscaping and hardscaping to make the grounds comfortable and accessible for anyone coming out to visit—something that happens all the time whenever people come out to adopt. But having Laney see it…somehow this feels different. I don't know why her op inion matters so much, but I find myself hoping she likes it—hoping she's impressed with what Hope Acres has become.
She eases to a stop in front of the giant farmhouse I spent way too much to remodel and leans forward, her eyes taking in the house before she turns to face me. "Adam. This place is gorgeous."
I grin and reach for the door handle. "Come on. Let's get the puppies back with their mom, and I'll show you around."
As Laney climbs out of the car, I take in her profile—the slope of her nose, the line of her cheekbone as she tilts her face up toward the late afternoon sun.
Sarah is always telling me I can't live in secret forever. That eventually I'll have to get more comfortable with telling people about my past.
I've always argued that I'll be more than happy to tell the truth when I meet someone who's worth the effort.
Much to my younger sister's dismay, that still hasn't happened.
But I'm beginning to wonder if the person worth the effort has been standing in front of me this whole time.