Page 20 of Love Songs (Harmony Lake #3)

I WOKE UP feeling content and pleasantly achy in all the right places. The only thing that would’ve made the morning better was if Conor was still in bed with me, but he’d had to leave far too early for work.

Conor had looked so devastated when he’d arrived at the inn the night before.

He’d told me about the apartment fire his station had been called to, that a couple of people had died and a firefighter seriously injured.

He’d tried to deflect how deeply he was hurting at first, but there was no hiding the dark clouds of pain that swirled in his normally dazzling eyes and dulled the tone of his voice.

I’d taken him by the hand and led him upstairs to my suite, and after giving him a safe space to let out all the emotion he’d been holding, he’d broken apart.

I’m not sure he’d ever fully let go of the anguish and guilt he carried from his job—a calling, he’d said.

Afterward, I’d taken him to bed and put his pieces back together with soft kisses and soothing touches and comforting words—and an orgasm that had his shout echoing off the ceiling.

He’d left in much better spirits this morning, even though there was a lingering note of sadness in the depths of his eyes and his last kiss had felt like goodbye.

It had been hard to let him go, especially since my stay in Caldwell Crossing was over and I was heading back to New York City today.

A wave of melancholy threatened to drown me.

Instead of looking forward to getting home and returning to my regular life, I couldn’t help feeling like I was leaving something important behind. Rather, some one .

I sighed and rose to get on with the day. But I would be back, and with any luck, Conor and I could pick up where we left off.

After a shower, the third one in the last twenty-four hours thanks to one Conor Holliston, I packed my bags and went downstairs to check out of the quaint Lakeside Inn.

“I hope you enjoyed your stay with us, Mr. Blade,” Prescott Davies, the inn owner, said as I handed over my credit card. “We hope to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Davies,” I replied. “I think you’ll be seeing more of me soon.”

“Excellent.” He smiled as he handed my card back to me. “Looking forward to it.”

I went into town before going to the airport because I’d promised Conor I would drop by the station before I left. There was one stop I wanted to make on my way: Harmony Chocolates for Conor’s favorite truffles.

The sweet aroma of gourmet chocolates and candies wrapped around my senses when I entered the shop, and a feeling of comfort draped over me.

The brightly dressed, curly-haired man I’d met when Conor and I went on our charity date was behind the counter, leaning on his elbows on the glass top.

He was chatting animatedly with a tall man with dark hair standing in front of the counter, who I recognized as another of Conor’s friends who I’d met in the Sugarworks Store.

Haider’s eyes widened, and he grinned as I approached, and the other man, whose name I couldn’t remember, turned to face me.

“Hi,” I said with a smile. “Haider, is it?”

He bobbed his head, his curls bouncing, and his eyes sparkling with mirth. “I can’t wait to tell Phillip the Dallas Blade was in my little chocolate shop.”

“As long as that’s because of the band and not the stage fire,” I teased, earning a tinkling giggle.

“Or the outrageous bachelor auction bid,” Haider joked with a wink.

Oh boy . My cheeks warmed. Even if I wasn’t already famous, I’d sure made a name for myself in this little town.

“Hey, Dallas.” The tall man extended his hand for a shake. “How’s your voice? Did the maple candies help?”

I stared at him, speechless for a second.

Here was this man I’d just met—Sam, I remembered now—who didn’t know me beyond the celebrity persona, and he was concerned about my voice.

Not if I could sign something or take a photo or get him tickets to a show.

But genuine concern for me as a person. So, of course, my throat constricted with emotion, and I couldn’t say anything at all.

Sam frowned. “Oh, no. They didn’t help?”

That spurred me out of my temporary stupor. I shook my head and held up a hand.

“No! Er, yes.” I took a breath and smiled. “Yes, thank you. Your candies worked like magic and my voice is back to normal. I never would have thought of melting a lollipop in my tea, but it’s my new favorite thing.”

Sam’s chest puffed out. “I’m glad to hear it. Most people don’t realize there are some healthy qualities to maple syrup. They’re always fixated on the sugar content.”

“Well, to be fair,” Haider interjected. “The sugar content is high.”

“Unlike anything in this shop,” Sam retorted with a grin.

Haider rolled his eyes.

“Touché.” He turned to me, standing straighter. “What can I get you, Dallas?”

“Two boxes of your famous truffles,” I said, grinning at the way Haider preened at the famous comment.

One box was for me to take home, and one was to take to the fire station for Conor and his coworkers.

“Oh my god,” Sam chuckled. “We’re never going to hear the end of that.”

“I hope we’ll be seeing you around again,” Haider said as he rang up my order and slid my purchases across the counter.

I winked at him and said, “You definitely will.”

Haider gasped, and the biggest smile I’d ever seen split his face as he placed a hand on his chest. He looked up at Sam and whispered what sounded like, “I knew it.”

Sam shook his head at Haider and waved at me.

“Don’t set any stages on fire,” Sam called out as I headed for the door.

“I’ll do my best,” I replied with a tip of my head.

Smiling as I exited the shop, I made my way toward the fire station on Maple Street, but stopped as I passed Waylon Music.

I wasn’t sure why I stopped. Maybe because I’d loved hanging out in small music stores growing up and a sense of nostalgia called to me.

There was so much energy and a feeling of belonging in them, being surrounded by all those instruments and kindred spirits.

I turned on my heel and entered the store.

The mingling scents of leather, polished wood, metal, and the musky notes of antiques transported me back to when I was the same age as Jaylin was now, picking out my first real guitar.

I used to sit in the back of the store for hours, strumming as many guitars as they’d let me.

I’d been there so often the manager had finally offered me my first after-school job.

A man a few inches shorter than me, with a round belly stretching his black polo shirt and silver shot through his brown hair, approached with a friendly smile and boss energy.

Behind him, a young man with shaggy brown hair, who was probably around the same age as me when I started that first job, stared at me with wide brown eyes and his mouth hanging open.

“You’re Dallas Blade,” the teen blurted, darting around the manager.

“I am, yes.” I smiled my polite stranger smile.

“I saw your show on Founders Day. It was so good, but too short. How’s your voice?”

I was stunned silent for the second time today.

This kid in an old Iron Maiden concert shirt that had seen better days was the first fan to ever ask me about my voice.

That said, I didn’t get to spend much time with fans outside of backstage meet-and-greets and organized events.

And bonus, he hadn’t brought up the fire.

“Thank you,” I answered, feeling genuinely touched by his concern. By all the people I’d met in this little town. “The show was a test, and it held up good.”

But his concern didn’t mean I wanted to share more with him. That my voice hadn’t been great for a few days after the show and had me questioning my future as a front man. The last thing the band needed was for rumors spreading online that I might not be recovering as well as I’d hoped.

A phone rang, echoing throughout the store.

“Ian.” The manager turned to his employee. “Can you get that please?”

Ian hesitated, biting his bottom lip, but when the manager cleared his throat, Ian darted across the floor to the counter and picked up the phone.

“I’m Waylon,” he said, and held out his hand. “What can I help you with today?”

Ah , so the boss man was the owner. I shook his hand.

“Honestly, I just had the urge to wander in,” I said. “I used to love hanging out in music stores when I was younger.”

“I get that.” He chuckled knowingly. “I opened this store the second I’d saved enough money to buy the building.”

I whistled. “That’s impressive.”

His cheeks colored, and he shrugged. “Would you like to try out one of our instruments?”

“Yes. I would love that.” A giddy feeling bubbled inside. How long had it been since I’d sat in a store and tinkered on the instruments for the sheer joy of it? Too long.

Waylon pulled a beautiful Gibson Hummingbird Original acoustic with a mahogany neck and rosewood fingerboard from the wall display of acoustic and electric guitars.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, handing it to me with a wink.

I put my chocolate boxes on a counter and sat on a stool across from the wall, then settled the guitar in my lap before strumming a few chords.

Once my fingers were limber, I launched into a medley of popular guitar riffs that had Waylon grinning ear-to-ear and Ian bopping his head along. They both clapped when I finished.

“She’s got a beautiful sound,” I said, reluctantly handing the Gibson back, but the last thing I needed was another guitar.

“Sure does,” Waylon agreed. “Thank you for that. It’s not often we get a big-name musician in here to play for us.”

“Like never,” Ian added.

“Well, you never know,” I said with a conspiratorial note in my voice. “I might be back.”

Ian’s entire face lit up and I swear he did a little hop and jump on the spot.

“Sweet!”

“Well, I should be on my way,” I said, shaking both Waylon and Ian’s hands. “Thank you for letting me play. It was great meeting you both.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Waylon said, as he walked me back to the door.

I paused, noticing a help wanted flyer looking for vocal and guitar instructors taped to the back of the door. Waylon followed my line of sight.

“Any interest in teaching?” he asked. His tone hopeful.

“Nope,” I said. “The thought has never crossed my mind.”

But as I made my way to the fire station, the idea rattled around in my brain like a persistent earworm.

Yes, my voice was better, but how much longer would it hold up to the demands of touring?

What would I do if I couldn’t sing anymore?

I didn’t have a backup plan, but then, the band had done well, and I’d managed my royalties wisely.

Theoretically, I could retire today without a worry, but what would I do then?

I was still musing with my future when I reached the fire station. The bay doors were closed and when I went inside, the building was eerily quiet. Through the large glass windows between the bay and the rest of the station, I noticed that one of the fire trucks was gone.

The tappity-tap of toenails on the tile floor echoed down the hall and Eldi appeared. She lowered her head, her whole body wiggling with her tail, as she approached me with a happy dog face.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I said, accepting a sloppy dog kiss. Conor’s voice drifted into my head with one word: ew . I laughed. “Conor doesn’t know what he’s missing, does he?”

Eldi let out a little woof in agreement.

“Hi, there,” a casually dressed woman with sleek black hair tied up into a ponytail leaned out of an office off the front hall. “Can I help you?”

“I was hoping to see Lieutenant Holliston,” I said, standing up and brushing dog hair from my jeans. “Is he around?”

“Sorry, no.” She stepped fully out into the hall and toward me with an apologetic expression. “They got a call out about ten minutes ago. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

“Oh.” My shoulders dropped along with my heart. We hadn’t made plans to keep in touch. I hadn’t told him about the offer I’d put on the house, either. We’d parted with a smile, a “See you later”, and a kiss that felt like goodbye.

“You’re Dallas Blade, right?”

I nodded. My throat was too tight to push words through.

“Can I have him call you when he’s back?”

“No, it’s okay,” I croaked out. “I have a plane to catch soon.”

She was quiet for a second. Her voice was soft when she asked, “Will you be back?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said, her dark eyes warm and her smile kind. “Conor’s seemed more settled this week, and I have a feeling you might have had something to do with that.”

I smiled in return. I’d only just met— “What’s your name?”

“Donna.” She smiled up at me.

I liked her.

“Thank you, Donna.” I handed a box of truffles to her, and her eyes lit up. “These are for you all here.”

“How did you know these are our favorite?” She clutched them to her chest like she was Gollum and had just found her precious.

“Lucky guess.” I shrugged. “Save a few for the rest of them.”

She snorted. “Maybe.”

I left disappointed that I didn’t get to see Conor once more before leaving, but at the same time looking forward to coming back and seeing him again.

Several hours later, I returned home feeling like I’d left something behind, and I knew exactly what.

Conor had somehow taken a little piece of my heart and kept it with him.

For the first time in my life, I’d found someone not enthralled by my celebrity status, who wanted to be with me for me .

Was it fast? Hell, yes. But Kirk’s parents were living proof that when you know, you know.

His parents said they’d known before their first date was over that they would be together forever.

And Conor was the first person I wanted to call when I landed and let know I was home.

I stepped out of the town car that dropped me off at my condo in New York City and the grating noise, oppressive smells, and frenetic pace of the city assaulted me in a way I hadn’t expected.

Before today, no matter where I’d traveled or for how long I was gone, coming home had always felt good, but now it all felt wrong somehow.

Empty. One week in Caldwell Crossing had felt more like home.

I tipped my head to the sky bracketed by towering concrete buildings and sighed.

“What am I doing here?” I asked the endless deep blue.

But the universe didn’t answer.