Nights Under the Tennessee Stars

“I don’t know why you couldn’t have just asked to go with him and gotten permission. Ms. Fairly is going to flip out.”

Sarah slid back into the right-hand lane behind the truck, her GPS reassuring her that she’d make it to Heartache, Tennessee, in time for breakfast.

“But that’s where the plan gets really good.” She tucked a long, brown strand of hair behind one ear and wished she had an elastic to hold it back. “I’m going to arrive at Dad’s bed-and-breakfast before the morning orientation meeting at the hotel. I’ll have Dad call Ms. Fairly and tell her that he picked me up last night for— I don’t know. Urgent family reasons.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Sarah—”

“What?” she snapped, tired of tiptoeing around anything and everything that had to do with her mother’s death. “You know she’ll forgive him as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Poor Remy Weldon who lost his wife can do no wrong. Ms. Fairly practically drools on him every time she sees him.”

“It is gross,” Mathilda admitted.

“Agreed.” She rolled down her window for a little fresh air. She wasn’t tired, but she planned to take every precaution to make sure she didn’t feel sleepy. Two energy drinks rested side by side in her cup holders, but so far, adrenaline was keeping her going.

“Text me when you get there, okay? I have to know you arrived safely.”

Sarah’s throat itched from the sudden lump in it. Her friend didn’t try to “mother” her, but sometimes, when she said stuff like that, it made Sarah miss having a mom. It also made her super grateful she’d managed to keep one good friend during the hell of the past two years. She’d met Mathilda during a dark time in her life and Mathilda liked her anyway.

“Of course.” She cleared her throat and popped open one of the energy drinks.

“I can’t believe you’re not going to look at UF with me.” Mathilda wanted to be a Gator at the University of Florida in the fall, and she’d wanted Sarah to be one, too, but that wasn’t happening.

Sarah had no idea what she wanted to do. She’d spent half her high school years in mourning for her mom and then—later—for the dad who’d checked out on her, too. His parenting these past two years was a weird combo of being smothering or—lately—being absent. It sounded impossible, but he managed it well, sticking her with the Stedders, who were old enough to be her grandparents and twice as nosy. Then there were the freaked-out phone calls that came when he was away. Did he think she didn’t know he was terrified she’d get shot in the head someday, too, even though they’d moved nine hundred miles away from where her mom had died?

It was completely disturbing.

“Mathilda, no matter what happens in the fall, it doesn’t change that we’re friends.” She said it automatically, a response she’d trotted out a half-dozen times since Mathilda had forced her to fill out the paperwork for the college application.

Sarah already knew she hadn’t gotten in. Her standardized test scores were crap and her course grades were average at best. She’d only tried for the past two years because she had wanted to stay in classes with Mathilda.

“I know we’ll still be friends, Bestie,” she said, using the nickname from another era of their friendship. “But it makes me sad to think we won’t hang out as much. I can’t even imagine how much trouble you’re going to get in without me.”

Mathilda was only half teasing.

“Starting now.” Sarah stepped on the gas to pass the truck she’d been following, in a new hurry to get to Tennessee and hit the reset button on her life that had gone off the rails. “If Dad yells at me for making this trip, I’m going to tell him I’m dropping out of school.”

Her friend gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

Sarah pulled back in the right-hand lane and locked in a cruising speed faster than she’d been driving before.

“School has been a waste of my time for two years straight. I absolutely would.” Besides, she was scared of returning to Miami, where a letter had found its way into her mailbox from the man she hated most in the world.

She shuddered and hoped her dad would make everything okay again.

“Be careful,” Mathilda whispered into the phone. “I mean it.”

Sarah downed the last of the energy drink just as she crossed the Tennessee state line, wondering how it would taste with vodka. Not while driving, obviously. But later, maybe.

She needed something to forget about that letter burning a hole in her purse, and running for hours hadn’t come close to making her forget.

“Will do,” Sarah lied just before she disconnected the call and turned up the radio again.

This time, she had no intention of being careful.

* * *

“EVENTUALLY, I WANT to do caramel with ombré highlights.” Erin pointed to a picture in a magazine while her favorite stylist, Trish, worked on her hair at The Strand salon the next morning.

The salon opened early on Tuesdays, making it easy for her to change her hair color before she needed to be at Last Chance Vintage. She wasn’t the only one who appreciated the extended hours. Daisy Spencer—soon to be her brother Mack’s grandmother-in-law—was seated at the manicure booth getting a gel coat of bright pink on her toes. Her boyfriend, Harlan, read the paper in the waiting area.

Erin sighed. Mrs. Spencer navigated the dating world better at eighty-plus years old than Erin ever had.

“That will look fantastic on you.” Trish nodded while she skimmed the blow-dryer over a section of Erin’s hair, smoothing the newly bronzed strands around a fat round brush. “But I think this color is pretty hot, too. Or maybe I’m just glad you let me pull out that black. How long have I been telling you that color is too strong for your features?”

“Six months.” Not that she’d been counting the days since the guy who’d lied to her with every breath had turned her into the kind of person she’d never wanted to be. “Ever since I came back to Heartache.”

“So what made you finally change your mind?” Trish turned down the setting on the dryer as she began working on the front of Erin’s hair.

“That clothing drive I told you about?” She had already posted flyers in the salon and asked Trish to mention it to her clients. “I’m going to get some television publicity for it and I didn’t want to look like—you know—super scary.”

Personally, Erin thought she’d rocked the black hair, but her whole style lately screamed “don’t mess with me,” and she wasn’t going to risk it costing her any clothes donations. She was committed, both feet in, to making this thing a success.

Trish frowned as she shut off the dryer and set it aside. “I was hoping the new color might have something to do with a certain gorgeous someone I saw leaving your store after hours yesterday.”

Remy.

Just thinking about him stirred a mixed bag of feelings that she wanted no part of—curiosity, suspicion, undeniable attraction.

“Definitely not, but—” She was about to say more and then decided the less said the better.

“But?” Trish twirled Erin’s chair around and handed her a small mirror so she could see the back of her hair.

“But that was the producer for the TV show Interstate Antiquer. Last Chance Vintage is going to be featured on it. He said they will cover the clothing drive so I’ll increase my donations.” And the way Remy looked at her didn’t have a damn thing to do with her hair color.

Something unspoken, but definite, had passed between them while she’d been showing him the space she was renovating. A look, maybe. She hadn’t imagined that moment of mutual awareness any more than she’d imagined Remy’s reaction.

He hadn’t been able to leave fast enough.

“So you’ll be working with him?” Trish met her eyes in the mirror.

“No. It sounds like I’ll be working with a production crew that makes the actual episodes—a show host, a couple of camera people.” She had the impression Remy wouldn’t be back in Heartache if he could avoid it. Something about his hasty retreat almost made her wonder if he was married.

An honorable guy would walk away fast if he felt a stray attraction to someone else, right? She wanted to believe that, but that was about as far as she’d come in getting past the Patrick ordeal—an acknowledgment that she still held out hope for some marriages.

She just didn’t hold out much for herself.

“That is so exciting.” Trish beamed as she admired Erin’s hair. “You’ll look fantastic on television. And this will be so good for Heartache.”

Standing, Erin checked her watch and noticed she was a few minutes late opening the store. Digging out her wallet, she called goodbye to Mrs. Spencer and Harlan, then followed Trish to the checkout register.