Setting up for the album launch at the Rose Chalet felt like a family affair. Julie and Andrew came early with several large trays full of food. Phoebe put a dozen rock-and-roll inspired arrangements of flowers around the main room, then spent the rest of her time with Patrick, helping him decorate the main hall for the evening.
What Tyce wouldn’t give to have Whitney there beside him, too.
* * *
The flight was going well so far. No turbulence and Clementine had behaved herself in her carrier bag. The cabin crew had gone out of their way to be courteous and friendly, so either they all liked cats, or news of what had happened at the check-in desk had spread quickly.
Whitney didn’t want to be the ex-executive who bullied people until she got what she wanted. Other people’s feelings mattered.
Except…what she wanted mattered, too. And she’d forgotten that for so long.
For too long.
* * *
Tyce heard the rumble of thunder as the clouds rolled in. It wasn’t the best weather for a party, but they were all going to be indoors. Rose began to pull shutters closed to keep the rain out, and RJ was there to help her, the way he always was.
Tyce started to lend a hand, but RJ shook his head. “We’ve got this under control. All you should be thinking about right now is putting on a great show.”
Rose’s phone rang and she put it to her ear. “Donovan? Really, you can’t? Okay. I understand.” She frowned as she slipped the phone back into her pocket. “It looks like Donovan won’t be able to make it, Tyce. Between an emergency client and the weather…well, you know how things can be for him.”
Yes, he knew exactly how things were with Rose’s fiancé. In any case, Donovan wasn’t the reason Tyce was keeping his eyes trained on the door.
* * *
Whitney looked at the sudden appearance of thick, gray clouds out her window, and held onto her arm rest while the plane shook with turbulence.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be approaching San Francisco shortly, but I regret to inform you that due to the severe weather conditions, we will have to wait a little longer than usual to land.”
“No!” Whitney didn’t realize that she’d said it aloud, or quite how loud she’d said it, until one of the cabin crew rushed over to her.
“It’s all right, Ms. Banning,” the young flight attendant said. “It isn’t anything serious. It might take a while longer than we were hoping, but we’ll get there.”
Whitney wanted to tell the woman that she couldn’t wait, but she knew that wouldn’t do any good. She was stuck in the sky until it was safe to land.
She checked her watch. How long would it be before Tyce’s show started?
Could she still make it?
* * *
Tyce tapped his foot to the beat while the band warmed up. Sebastian broke off from the two-bar vamp they were working through to adjust his amplifier for controlled feedback. Guitarists were guitarists, no matter how young they were.
Anne moved beside him, the many-layered fabric of her party dress seeming to float around her. “Isn’t it wonderful that everyone is here for your big moment? Rose, RJ, Phoebe, Julie, Patrick, Andrew, me. It’s just like one big happy Rose Chalet family.” But when she caught him looking at the entrance one more time, she gently asked, “Is everyone you’re waiting for here?”
Tyce made himself smile at his friend. “Thanks for coming tonight, Anne.”
He headed for the stage to start the show, Milo beside him every step of the way, as if realizing his owner needed him close by.
* * *
Whitney hurried through the terminal with Clementine mewing from within her carrier.
“I know,” Whitney said as she rushed out into the rain, “you hate getting wet, but it’s for a good cause.”
For Tyce…and for love.
Unfortunately, there was a huge crowd of people waiting for taxis. For a few seconds Whitney waited along with them. But it didn’t take her long to realize that if she remained the polite, good girl she’d always been, she would definitely miss the show.
She pushed her way through, ignoring the occasional outraged shout as she ducked into any space that presented itself and took full advantage of those moments when people heard Clementine complaining from the carrier. Moments later, she clambered into a taxi, just ahead of a businessman.
“Hey!” he yelled as she closed the door on him.
The cab driver scowled at her. “What do you think you’re doing, lady?”
“Sorry, but I’m in a hurry. Do you know where the Rose Chalet is?”
“The wedding place? Sure, I drive past it most days. But this isn’t your cab, and—”
Whitney took out her purse. “I have two hundred dollars to give to you if you can get me there now.”
“Two hundred dollars?” The driver looked at her in disbelief. “Are you serious? That’s a fifteen dollar fare, max.”
“Completely serious. And I’d like you to drive as fast as you can without getting pulled over.”
The cab driver smiled widely. “Lady, I never get pulled over. You’d better buckle up. And hold on tight to that cat.”
* * *
Tyce looked out over the crowd. He’d taken as long as he could with the sound check, but now that the Rose Chalet was full, he couldn’t wait any longer.
There were his friends, Sebastian’s family, the girl Sebastian liked so much, the staff from the Rose Chalet, and strangers, too. Some were friends of friends, who had obviously been told about Tyce and his songs, and others were music journalists and bloggers who could make or break a new release.
He stepped up to the microphone and was glad to feel the familiar joy of being on stage. He’d missed this.
Tyce knew, deep within himself, that while Whitney might not be at his big comeback show, he wasn’t planning on giving up on his dreams again. Not on his dream of being a songwriter.
And not on his dream of being with her.
“I’d like to thank you all for coming here tonight,” Tyce said, then nodded to Al, the drummer, who counted them into the first song.
* * *
Whitney’s cab driver was named Lyle. She knew that because he liked to talk as he drove, the speed of the words running neck-and-neck with the speed of his driving.
Currently, he was talking very fast indeed.
“I had this one guy in the cab, he paid me just to go see the bridge, drive over it, and then turn around to go back to the airport. Then there was this other guy,” Lyle threw the car into a tight turn, “who paid me to just drive around for a whole afternoon, making stops, and I started to think he was a mafia hit man, but it turned out that he was a computer technician, and—”
“Watch out for that red light!” Whitney gasped out, but her driver kept going, making it through the junction an instant before traffic started flowing through it the other way.
“Relax,” he said with a quick glance into the rearview mirror. “It was barely red for a second. Besides, your cat doesn’t seem to mind.”
That was the strangest thing of all. Clementine was calmly sitting in her carrier, looking straight forward as though she were actually enjoying Lyle’s kamikaze driving style.
“So what’s with the rush? If you’re going to the wedding place, does that mean you’re going there to get married? Or maybe you’re rushing to interrupt a wedding and win back the guy you love. It’s something like that, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, her hands in a white knuckle grip on Clementine’s bag as she realized the full truth of her feelings for Tyce…and just how deep they ran. “It’s something like that.”
* * *
The music flowed. Tyce had seen this moment so many times in his mind’s eye, but the reality was better. So much better. The band was tight, Sebastian was wailing on the guitar whenever he got a solo, and the applause for Tyce’s new songs grew louder and louder.
Milo was sitting up on the stage, watching but thankfully not making any doggy attempts to sing along, and Tyce bent to scratch his ears.
Then he straightened up and nodded to the band. “Guys, give me the stage for this one, would you?”
* * *
Whitney dumped her wad of twenties into Lyle’s hand, shoved open the taxi door, grabbed Clementine, and ran through the puddles for the door to the Rose Chalet. The lights were low and for a moment her heart squeezed tight as she thought she’d missed the show.
But then, a single spotlight came up, highlighting Tyce with his guitar.
“I’d like to play a new song for you. One even the rest of the band hasn’t heard. Actually, it’s not that new, since it’s the last song I started working on before I hit a long dry spell with my songwriting. I didn’t realize, until a little while ago, that was because I wasn’t ready to say what I really needed to say.” He paused. “I call this one Whitney.”
And then he started to play.