3. Hallie

CHAPTER 3

HALLIE

I can’t believe it: I’m trapped with Lennox Steele in a cabin on top of Frozen Heights.

Of all the possible outcomes of my attempt to get this grumpy rock star’s autograph, this particular one never entered my mind.

After texting back and forth with Juniper, convincing her I was indeed with Lennox Steele and that I was safe, she agreed to stop worrying. I almost asked Lennox for a selfie to prove it, but I didn’t want to push it.

Now, as the snow continues to blanket the world outside, cocooning us in this cozy cabin, I’m eating a bowl of surprisingly delicious gumbo that the man who once filled stadium arenas made himself.

“This is really good, Lennox,” I say, savoring the spicy stew. “Where did you learn to make gumbo this good?”

“I have a place in New Orleans where I spend part of the year.” He drags a spoon through his bowl and holds it up, watching the thick gravy drip from it. “It’s all about the roux. The darker the better.”

“Well, you nailed it,” I say, taking another bite.

“Glad you like it,” he adds, with an oddly shy smile. Then he glances into the fire. “It’s…also where the rehab facility was.”

Right. I heard about that, a few years back.

He clears his throat. “Anyway, I've always found cooking to be a stress reliever. And also, it’s an art that’s not a whole lot different from music.” He shrugs. “At this point, maybe I should think of changing careers.”

“Hey now,” I warn, nudging his leg with my foot. “The gumbo’s damn good, but your music… loads better.”

He chuckles. “Thanks, but what good am I if I can’t create new stuff anymore?” He stands quickly, as if he’s done talking about it. “How about something to drink? I don’t have anything with alcohol, but I can make a Shirley Temple that will blow your freaking mind.”

I laugh. “Oh my god, yes. I want my mind blown.”

He bites his lip, and it’s so sexy. I still can’t believe I’m here. After falling out of a tree in a blizzard! The world sure is crazy sometimes.

I get up too, taking our dishes. “I’ll help clean up.”

“You don’t have to do that, Hallie,” he says, pausing as he heads toward the kitchen.

God, I love how he says my name—all husky and low. “But I want to,” I manage to reply, filling the huge apron sink with warm water and soap suds.

“Well, okay,” he mutters, gathering ingredients from the refrigerator and pantry.

I find a container for the leftover gumbo and pack it up.

Then I hear the clinking of glasses and ice behind me. “Tell me more about Ciara,” Lennox says. “It sounds like she’s your top priority. Are your parents around?”

I turn around as I dry the pot I just scrubbed and rinsed. “I say baby sister, but she’s sixteen years old. Our parents have done so much for her, but they’re getting older so I decided to take on more of the responsibility. They deserve some time for themselves, you know? I do everything I can to make sure Ciara's happy and has everything she needs to thrive, including all the opportunities I got.”

Lennox finishes making our drinks and leans against the counter, all tall and broody and sexy, his dark gray eyes taking in my every move with a mix of curiosity and something else that makes my heart flutter. “What does she love? Like, what makes her smile?”

I share stories of Ciara's love for music and animals, tell him about her shy nature and her dreams of becoming a painter despite her condition. Lennox listens intently, asking questions and offering the occasional insightful comment. He really does seem to care.

“I know it must be difficult taking on so much responsibility at your age. You're a good woman, Hallie, putting your sister's happiness above everything else. A strong one, too.”

I feel a lump in my throat, the sincerity in his voice catching me off guard. “I… I do my best,” I manage to say, putting away the last of the dry dishes.

He hands me my drink and our fingers brush, sending a buzz of electricity over my skin.

“I can see that. It's admirable,” he continues, his gaze unwavering. “It seems like you two have a special bond. I’ll bet she's incredibly proud of you.”

I hope she is . My eyes well up and I silently curse myself. Why am I so emotional all of a sudden? He’s just being kind. Have I really been starved for that so much? “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my drink to distract me from any more embarrassing moments of sentimentality.

“What do you think?” he asks, nodding toward the Shirley Temple.

I take a good swig. It’s perfectly sweet and fizzy. Wow. “Yep. Mind. Blown.”

He grins—my god, the man has a dimple in his left cheek. It’s barely noticeable with his scruff, but I can see it.

He’s killing me.

“How about some after-dinner music?” I ask, and his smile vanishes.

“You want me to play something?”

“Of course. You’re a rock star. I’d love to hear you play.” I put my hands on my hips. “Unless you’re going to make me wait until your next tour.”

He scoffs. “If I don’t write some new stuff fast, there won’t be another tour.”

“Is that why you’re tucked away here in Frozen Heights? To write music?”

His toned arms fold across his broad chest, causing the tattoos to stretch. “Yeah. My manager gave me until the start of the new year to get an album done, or else he’s finally moving on.”

“You’re okay with him giving you an ultimatum like that?” I ask, wondering if I would be able to be creative under that kind of pressure.

He smirks. “He’s been extremely patient with me. I’m not good business if I’m not making music. No musician is.”

“Well, I don’t like him,” I say firmly, irritated on Lennox’s behalf.

“Not many people do,” he replies with a small smile. Then he sets down his drink and walks over to grab the acoustic guitar off the dining table. “Okay, anything in particular you want to hear?”

“Surprise me.” I sit on a barstool at the counter, nursing my Shirley Temple.

“Be warned, it’s been a while,” he says, perching on the table. “Pardon my rust, I might be a little rough.”

“I like it kinda rough,” I chuckle, then clap my hand over my mouth in embarrassment. I can’t believe that just came out like that.

“ Okay then…” His dark brow raises, and he laughs.

My face burns up as he begins to strum, tuning the guitar.

Finally Lennox begins to play, his fingers floating across the strings with a practiced ease and passion that belies his current creative struggles. The rich, deep notes fill the room, his tall frame bent over the instrument, dark hair falling into his eyes. The melody is hauntingly beautiful, and so raw it makes my breath catch. This isn't the music of a man who's lost his touch; it's the music of a soul baring itself, unfiltered and achingly real.

He continues to play, the lyrics speaking of love and loss, of second chances and the journey to find yourself again. I'm drawn to everything about the song, pulled in by the magnetic force of his talent and the emotion he pours into every chord.

As the last note fades away, my heart is pounding in my chest. “That was incredible,” I whisper. “You have a gift. Truly, Lennox. You haven't lost anything .”

He opens his eyes, his intense gaze holding me captive as he sets the guitar aside. “You felt it, then?”

Nodding, I whisper, “Yes. It's like…like I got to experience a piece of your soul.”

Lennox smiles. “For me, it felt like I was finally breathing again after being underwater for years.” His eyes flash with a spark of…passion, maybe?

His eyes fall to my mouth and stay there long enough to make me wonder if he’s going to come over here and kiss me. Hell, I’m teetering on the edge of wondering whether or not I should do the same…