Chapter Thirty-One

"This is your fault." Nash stalked down the stair toward Casey while Owen watched, wide-eyed, from the balcony. "You staged this whole thing just to humiliate me. You and that… that fucking furball."

Casey backed against the landing wall, clutching Randolph Scott to his chest as a low growl rumbled in the cat's throat.

"The only thing I did was comply with the contract your manager provided. Home Grown didn't contact you. You contacted us. So from where I stand"—with a seriously pissed off cat in my arms—"it looks like you did all the staging yourself. It's your bad luck that the other players didn't follow your script." Randolph Scott's growl rose to a yowl. "And if I were you, I'd stand back. Randolph Scott really doesn't like you, and you know nothing about cats if you think anybody can control them."

Nash stopped a step above the landing, obviously trying to further intimidate Casey by looming. But Casey had been loomed over by Donald Friel for years. Nash Tambling was a rank amateur.

"You poisoned Dev against me."

"I didn't even know you until yesterday. I didn't even know Dev had been with the band. So this isn't on me. You're the one who let him go when he needed you most."

"What about my needs?"

Casey pushed off the wall, teeth bared in a grin that probably bordered on feral. "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." He marched down the rest of the stairs and whispered to Randolph Scott, "I've always wanted to say that!"

"Dude, wait up!" Owen barreled down the stairs, passing Nash without a sideways glance. "Are Dev and Haru really playing together?"

"Yup. In less than twenty minutes now."

"Awesome! Let's go see."

Casey let Owen bound out the door ahead of him and then looked up at the seething Nash. "If you don't want to disappoint your fans and trash your own reputation, I suggest you find Haru after his set. If you apologize very nicely, you might still have a guitarist for what might be POV's last performance. Now, you'll have to excuse me. My boyfriend is about to play a song he wrote for me and I don't want to miss it."

"What about my bed?" Nash shrieked. "My pillows?"

"Extras are in the linen closet," Casey called over his shoulder as he set Randolph Scott down. "Make your bed and lie in it." He opened the door and let the cat scamper out ahead of him.

"Dude!" Owen beckoned to him from the driveway. "We don't want to miss 'em."

"Don't worry. I know a shortcut."

He led Owen down the path toward the summer kitchen, where the aroma of rustic fruit tarts wafted out the open windows and a burst of laughter followed them into the woods behind the building. When Casey reached the willow tree and pushed inside, with both Owen and Randolph Scott sticking to his heels, he found Ty and Kenny already there.

"Hey, guys."

Kenny grinned. "I see you've discovered the best seat in the house, too."

Heat rushed up Casey's throat when he remembered exactly how he'd discovered it and what he was doing the last time he was here. "I, um, may have. Did we miss anything?"

"Nope," Ty said. "They're just setting up."

Kenny chuckled. "My high school shop guys are chuffed to be roadies. They think it makes them extra cool."

"Roadies are the best." Owen gestured to himself. "I'm Owen Mosley. Drummer."

Ty nodded a greeting. "Ty Harrison. Town vet."

Owen turned to Kenny and thrust out his hand with a wide grin and a double bounce on his toes.

With a slightly panicked glance at Casey—yeah, Owen's enthusiasm could be a lot—Kenny shook Owen's proffered hand. "Kenny Li. Handyman."

"Seriously?" The look on Owen's face was something usually reserved for kids at Christmas when they discovered a new bike under the tree. "You can fix things?"

"Yeah." Kenny exchanged a mystified glance with Casey and Ty. "This is New England. Our motto is ‘Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.' So fixing things is kind of our way of life."

"That's awesome. The only thing I can fix is guacamole. Oh, and margaritas." He smiled a little shyly. "No patience."

"Owen," Casey said with a smile, "I suspect you're a product person at heart."

"I think I'm more a guy who hires the right person to do the job." He bumped Kenny's shoulder with his own. "'Cause when it comes to fixing shit? I know that's sure not me." He glanced at Ty and said kindly, "I'm sure vets do great stuff too."

Casey was tempted to see if he could fan Owen's obvious attraction spark. Kenny was so nice. He deserved a great boyfriend, and while Owen was more like one of the big, exuberant puppies in Ty's shelter, he had a good heart.

But then Dev and Haru walked on stage and sat on the tall stools behind a pair of mics and he tabled that thought for later.

He stepped forward and parted the willow fronds so his view was unobstructed. Since the tree was off to stage left, they didn't have a full frontal view, but they were closer than they'd have been if they stood at the back of the crowd. From here, he could see Dev's face in three-quarter profile and the back of Haru's head, since he was sitting facing Dev rather than the audience.

"Haru needs to cheat out," Owen muttered. "Nash always insisted that he and Eli stand facing him at center stage."

"Nash is a dickhead," Ty said.

Owen turned to him, blinking like he'd just awoken from a nap. "Hunh. You know, I guess he is. We just got so used to thinking of him as The Talent—"

Ty scoffed. "Probably because that's the way he thinks of himself."

"No argument there. Ah." Owen nodded in satisfaction as Dev murmured something to Haru and he changed position to be more open to the audience. "That's better."

"Afternoon, folks," Dev said, and his voice, amplified by the sound system, sent a definite feedback loop through Casey's nerves. "I'm thrilled you've joined us here for Home Grown Tastes and Tunes." He grinned. "In case you haven't noticed already, this is the Tunes portion of the event, but I hope all of you will sample the Tastes from our vendors before you head home today." He made a production out of peering out at the audience. "I see some of you have already discovered the joys of Home Grown picnics." The audience's laughter was accompanied by a smattering of applause and a few cheers. "Next to me is Haru Inada, whom you might recognize. He'll be back later this evening when he takes the stage with Persistence of Vision." More heartfelt applause and cheers erupted.

Haru leaned into his mic. "He forgot to mention his name. This is Dev Harrison, one of the founders of POV, town manager of Home, and one of the people who organized this event."

Dev gave a mock bow over the belly of his acoustic guitar as the applause grew. "Thank you for the welcome. Now, Haru and I have some songs to share with you. This first one is brand new. It's called ‘Wait for It' and I wrote it for a very special person. Casey, this one's for you."

They launched into the song and Casey could barely breathe. It had been lovely when Dev had sung it for him the first time, but now, with the two guitars lines twining with each other and Haru's voice, a mellow tenor, harmonizing with Dev's scrumptious baritone, it was heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Damn," Owen murmured. "They need to record that. They'll make a mint."

On stage, as the song neared the end, Dev turned and met Casey's eyes. He knows where I am. He knew the whole time. Then, instead of finishing, the song went on.

Now you're back,

Steadfast, demanding that I hear

Without judgment, so I listen

Till at last the facts are clear.

I"ve been a fool, and that's on me.

Can you possibly forgive?

I promise I'll do better, love,

For as long as we both live.

Wait for it...

The unexpected twist.

Wait for it...

The sign I almost missed.

Wait for it...

The words I can't resist.

The big reveal that you still feel

That I was worth the wait.

"Damn," Ty said, a catch in his voice as he gripped Casey's shoulder. "Just damn."

"He wrote another verse," Casey croaked as the audience surged to their feet. His heart felt so full it couldn't possibly fit in his chest. "He wrote another verse for me."

Ty swiped a hand under his eyes and then grabbed Casey in a tight hug. "Thank you." He let go and stumbled back, narrowly missing Randolph Scott's tail. "I've, uh, gotta go. I'll… yeah. Bye." He hurried away.

The rest of the set went by in a blur. Dimly, Casey realized they'd divided the set into roughly three categories—Dev's songs, Haru's songs, with a couple of unusual covers, including a jazzed up, a cappella version of "Moonlight in Vermont," with Haru beat-boxing instead of an instrumental break.

When they rose at the end of the set, the applause was thunderous and the cheers could probably be heard in Merrilton. Dev and Haru bowed and waved, then Dev slung an arm across Haru's shoulders and they walked offstage, each gripping the neck of their guitar.

"Holy shit," Owen said. "Haru's songs are epic. I don't know why Nash won't let the band play them." When Casey raised both eyebrows, Owen patted the air. "Right, right. Nash is a dickhead. I'll have the T-shirts made up by Monday." He winked. "I'll put you down for two."

"Mmmphmmm."

Casey, still dazed from the performance, turned at the sound of that quintessential Home grunt to find Pete standing next to him, munching a rustic raspberry tart. Pete nodded at Casey.

"For a fool kid, you did all right." He turned and sauntered away, Randolph Scott trotting beside him, clearly hoping for crumbs.

"Wow." Kenny's whisper was somehow loaded with awe. "He called you a fool kid."

Casey, who had been a little resentful that Pete had tempered his compliment with that back-handed epithet, turned to him. "Is that good?"

"He only calls people fools if he considers them part of the town. Otherwise, they're just flatlanders." He grinned and tapped Casey's biceps with his fist. "Guess you're home."

Casey gazed at the stage, where Dev and Haru had returned to take another bow at the audience's insistence. "Yeah." He was pretty sure his heart was floating in the air over his head by this time. "I guess I am."