Page 95 of Driving Beats

My heart sings louder than Bennett on the Oscars stage.

We pull into Miss Donna’s Kitchen’s parking lot and Coop gets in the valet line. I’ve gotten used to this treatment in LA, but this is Gainesville. Still, I don’t tell him it’s not necessary, merely let the attendant open my door.

Coop walks around the front of the car and places his palm on the small of my back. “Is this alright?”

The fact he asked shows me how far he’s come in his thinking. “It’s more than alright. Thank you.”

We enter the packed restaurant and he brings me to the host stand, where more than one head turns in our direction. I lean closer. “I think you’ve been recognized.”

He puts his arm around my waist and leans down toward my ear. “If they have half a brain, they’re looking at the beautiful woman next to me, wearing a sexy blue dress.”

The host looks up when Coop gives his name and apologizes profusely that our table won’t be ready for ten minutes. We turn, and a murmur goes through the diners. Coop sighs and whispers, “Give me one second.”

He waves to the crowd. “Hi there. Yes, I’m Coop O’Shea, Untamed Coaster’s guitarist. I’m here because of this amazing woman, and we heard this was the best place to eat in town. I can sign whatever and take photos now, and then we’re going to enjoy our meal. Deal?”

Several people surround him, and he autographs random papers and takes selfies with a bunch. For my part, I can’t believe his transformation. While not to the comfort level of Bennett or Río, he’s holding his own with his fans. Fifteen minutes later, he raises his hand and says, “Have a great dinner!”

The host, who had been waiting off to the side, approaches. “That was very kind of you, Mr. O’Shea. Past celebrities have ignored our other diners. Please follow me to your table.”

As we walk through the restaurant, pride surges through me. Coop holds my chair before taking his spot across from me. “You were amazing.”

“I got it from a good source that I need to step up and handle some of the fans. Figured it was time to start.” He sips water. “Actually, I started in the airport. Even met a kid who is at the beginning of his guitar playing career. I gave him my sunglasses.”

“That’s where they went!”

He looks sheepish. “Can you help me buy a new pair?”

“I would be honored. Honestly. I have to say, the way you handled your fans out there was inspiring.”

He flips his menu open. “Trying to do my part.”

The Coop I met a year ago wouldn’t have tried. He would’ve slunk into the background and disappeared into the wallpaper. “I’m kinda in awe of this new Coop. He stood tall and interacted with everyone. Put them at ease. Are you sure you’re really an introvert?”

He smiles, and little lines around his eyes crinkle. I like that. “Definitely. I’m probably going to have to listen to five Zen audiobooks to make up for all this expenditure.”

I toss my head back and laugh. “I’ve missed your dry wit.” I rub my finger across my bottom lip.

“Keep doing that, Sweetie, and I’m carrying you out of this restaurant and mauling you in the backseat.”

I don’t know whether to object or demand he carry out his threat. Instead, I repeat his nickname for me. “Sweetie?”

“That’s what the clerk at the store I bought your dress called you.”

Such a Southern endearment. I can’t resist. “If she called me ‘Sweetie,’ what did she call you?”

His cheeks pinken.

This ought to be good. I strum the table. “Well?”

He rubs his shoulder. “Sugar, alright. She called me ‘Sugar.’”

For the second time in as many minutes, I laugh out loud. “We make quite the pair—Sugar and Sweetie. We’re only missing Honey Child and we’d have a full house.”

I wrap my arms around my middle and laugh. Pretty soon, he’s joining me. He doesn’t check to see who’s looking at us, or temper his reaction for the public. He simply is in the moment. Free.

I don’t have the chance to comment on this new aspect of his personality when the server approaches and takes our drink orders. When my beloved pomegranate martini is set before me, and Coop holds a Manhattan with a lemon twist—not cherries—he raises his glass.

“To the person who saw beneath my sullen surface, called me out on my misguided beliefs, and gave me hope to reenter the world of the living. More importantly, to the woman who makes my heart beat faster and gives meaning to my life.”