Page 55 of The Perfect Melody

Sighing, I go back to looking for the books on the list Aria sent me. Maybe it’s for the best. Just because my resolve has crumbled doesn’t make starting something with Cassie any better an idea now than it was a couple of weeks ago. Phoebe’s interruption was a blessing in disguise. Cassie might stay for the summer, but she won’t stay for good. I know starting something with her will only end one way—with me being left behind.

* * *

Cassie

After my visit to Wordplay, I stopped by the craft store further along the high street. A helpful sales assistant with an eyebrow piercing and lipstick the colour of a stormy sky helped me find some new cross-stitch kits, and I’m excited to start working on them. I’d planned to find somewhere to sit outside to do just that but, after spending longer than I’d like to admit in the shop, I crave the solitude of my room more than the sun on my face. When I arrive back at the B&B, Esther curiously eyes the large paper bag containing my purchases as I pass the front desk, andmy cheeks heat. I only meant to pick up one or two kits, but somehow I ended up leaving the craft store with a whole bundle.

It’s not my fault the craft shop had such a great selection. They had one of a coffee shop storefront I think will make a cute gift for Daphne and Erin as a thank you for hosting coffee every Monday morning. That gave me the idea to do one for everyone in the group, which is how I ended up getting so many. I may have bought ones that made me think of Austin and Abby as well. I’ll probably only actually gift two of them—the one for Daphne and Erin, and the rose garden one I got for Abby. The former as thanks for hosting and the latter because Abby is the reason Austin gave me a job at Bowman’s and I’d like to thank her properly. Taking a seat on the bed, I open the rose garden kit and carefully set everything out in front of my crossed legs.

I don’t know anyone else here well enough to give them a present out of the blue yet. Maybe once I finish the rest of the kits, I’ll give them out when it’s time for me to leave Pine Grove. The idea of leaving something tangible behind when I go is comforting. I’m used to Melody being the one everyone wants and Cassie being someone easily forgotten. My gut twists whenever I think about becoming nothing more than a distant, foggy memory to the people I’m getting to know here. It may not be time yet, but I know my last day will arrive quicker than I want.

My gaze drifts around the room as I do my best to commit every detail to memory, snagging on Austin’s flannel shirt draped over the arm of the small chair in the corner. I know I should return it. I even took it with me to Bowman’s the night of the reopening, intending to do just that—but I can’t bring myself to let it go. Maybe I want to bring a piece of Pine Grove with me when I return to Nashville. That way, when I’m back to feeling trapped, I can hold on to the precious reminder of my taste offreedom. It will help me find the courage to make the changes I need to be happy, or at least happier than I was before.

If I’m being brutally honest, I can admit I want a reminder of Austin too. We may not be anything, but this is the first time in years I’ve felt a spark with someone. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t feel the same. I want to keep the shirt as a reminder of how I can feel about someone and that I shouldn’t settle for anything less than butterflies and fireworks when I return to my real life.

Gathering my freshly opened project, I place it on the bedside table, then get up and rub my fingers over the cuff of the shirt, enjoying the feel of the soft flannel. A smile plays on my lips. I still can’t believe I inspired Austin to play his guitar again.Me. Just Cassie.

I let the sleeve drop, turning to look at my guitar looming beside the wardrobe where—aside from my unplanned performance at Bowman’s—it’s sat untouched since I arrived. If someone had told me when I got on the plane in Nashville that I’d end up longing to play my less than a month after arriving in Pine Grove, I’d have laughed. Now my fingers twitch with the urge to pick it up. Fiddling with the hem of my t-shirt, I glance between my guitar and the present for Abby I’ve barely begun working on. I suppose the gift can wait a little longer… No. This is a bad idea.

I turn and pace up and down the space beside my bed. The floorboards creak beneath my feet. Performing at Bowman’s was meant to be a one-off. I’m supposed to be taking a break to figure out what I want. Then again, isn’t the way I felt stepping back on stage as myself answer enough? I fell in love with music all over again.

Maybe instead of taking a break from music, I can use this time away to figure out whatkindof music I really want to make. There’s nobody around to force me to confine myself within thebounds of my precious image. I’m free to experiment. To find a sound that feels authentic to who I am, not the country music princess I’ve been forced to play. It’s time I allow myself to become who I was always meant to be. Releasing a slow breath, I roll back my shoulders, cross the room, and pick up my guitar.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Austin

Leaning backin my chair with a sigh of defeat, I hold out my hand to give the last of my pretend money to Reggie.

“Mate, what’s up with you?” Dev asks.

“What do you mean?”

“He means, you just lost and paid me the last of your cash without a word. Usually you’d grumble about me having so many hotels, or something.”

Casting a dispassionate look over the game board, I muse, “You do have a lot of hotels.”

“The fact you’re only noticing this now concerns me.”

I pin Jeremy with a look. “It’s only a game, Jer. Who cares if I’m not paying close attention?”

Dev shrugs. “We wouldn’t usually—but it’s not just the game you’re ignoring. You’ve barely said two words all evening.” He holds up his hands placatingly. “I know you’re hardly a chatterbox, but you’ve been quiet even for you. You totally missed the opportunity to take the piss out of Jer when he got sent to jail for the fifth time. Even when you’re not in a sharing mood, your shit-talking’s usually still on point. This,” Dev gestures at me from across the table, “is weird.”

“Five times? Huh.”

“Alright, spill it,” Reggie demands. “What’s going on?”

Reaching for my beer bottle, I admit, “I don’t know anymore.”

“Let me guess—this funk you’re in has something to do with Cassie?” Jer asks.

“Why would you think that?”

Reggie laughs. “Really?” Somehow his tone of voice and raised brows manage to call me an idiot without him needing to utter the words. “You’re not exactly subtle. She’s had you all riled up from the moment you met her.”

“Because she crashed into my bar.”

“Because you’re attracted to her but too scared to do anything about it,” he counters.