Page 25 of Holding Hope

I nodded. “When my first record went platinum, I realized I couldn’t be so far from home. So, Daddy and I spent the next summer building one.”

A smile tugged at my lips as I pictured the room—the soundproof walls, the baby-blue pillows, the quiet that wrapped around me like a blanket. It was more than a studio. It was a sanctuary. A place where I could fall apart without anyone watching.

Avalon grunted, unimpressed, and turned her attention to the street outside.

Opal Springs was a patchwork of history—old brick storefronts, faded paint, wooden porches that creaked under the weight of time. Most of the businesses were family-owned, passed down through generations. The kind of town where everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew everyone’s business.

Leigh Anne’s Tailoring Shop sat across the street, its gold lettering gleaming in the sun. Leigh Anne Marshall was the town gossip—not malicious, just… thorough. She knew everything about everyone, and she shared it with the enthusiasm of someone reporting breaking news.

Next door was Marietta’s Dress Shop, owned by Leigh Anne’s twin sister. Their rivalry was legendary—dramatic, petty, and wildly entertaining unless you were the subject of their latest feud.

I used to find their antics amusing. Until the rumors became about me.

I sucked in a breath and forced a smile. “Doc’s office is just down the street. We’ll get your tetanus shot and then find you a nail salon.”

There was only one full-service salon in town, and I avoided it like the plague. Mama had taught me to braid my own hair when I was little, and I rarely wore makeup unless I was performing. My management team insisted I keep a glam squad on call, but I never used them. It was one of the few compromises we’d made when I insisted on staying in Opal Springs.

I got to live my small-town life. They got three months of touring a year. Fair trade.

Doctor Harris Ferguson was a tall man with a snowy beard that had convinced me he was Santa Claus until I was nine. He and his wife, Honoria, ran the doctor’s office and the veterinary clinic in the back. It wasn’t unusual for a single storefront to serve multiple purposes—space was limited, and the town was growing faster than anyone expected.

Honoria greeted us with a warm smile from behind the front desk. Her graying hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her floral blouse matched the golden undertone of her skin.

“Do my eyes deceive me,” she said, rising with open arms, “or is that Clarke King walking through my front door?”

I smiled—a real one this time. “Your eyes do not lie, Mrs. Ferguson.”

I stepped into her embrace, letting myself melt into the familiar warmth. She smelled like lavender and honey—the scent of childhood comfort.

“It’s been ages,” she said, pulling back to cup my face. “You look tired, sweetheart.”

I laughed softly. “Long week.”

Stepping back, I realized just how long it had been since I last set foot in town. Three months, to be exact. Honoria’s hair was a little grayer, the smile lines around her face a little deeper—and yet she was still the same beautiful, kind woman I’d known my whole life.

“I do hope you’re feeling alright. The sisters were coming up with all sorts of crazy ideas about why you wouldn’t leave the ranch.”

Honoria squeezed my hands, her expression a careful blend of concern and curiosity.

I knew her well enough to understand what she wasn’t saying. Everyone wanted answers.

Where was Clarke King? Why hasn’t she left her house in over three months? Those questions had hovered over me like a raincloud ever since I’d returned home from Mayfair. I hadn’t meant to worry anyone—I had just needed to disappear for a while, to lick my wounds in the privacy of my own four walls. Thankfully, Avalon hadn’t told anyone about us hooking up, so the papers had nothing to go on except drunken speculation. And the hotel staff knew better than to talk.

Honoria squeezed my hands again, and I felt my cheeks ache from smiling so hard.

“Well, I’m here now,” I said. “We have so much to catch up on.”

Honoria wiggled her brows and jerked her head toward Avalon, who stood awkwardly nearby. “Yes, we do.”

That mischievous gleam in her green eyes I had loved since childhood. Heat crept up my neck as I stepped aside and motioned Avalon closer. She took a few hesitant steps, fingers fidgeting with the silver and leather bracelets around her wrists.

“Hi, I’m Avalon Kennedy.” She waited, maybe expecting recognition. Instead, Honoria gave her a silent, assessing once-over.

“Your knee is bleeding,” Honoria murmured, pressing a thumb to her bottom lip. She bent down to inspect the gash more closely.

“Harris!” she called, straightening. “My husband will get you stitched up, don’t you worry.”

She offered Avalon a small, friendly smile before turning back to me.