Della woke up to the smell of bacon.
When she cracked open her lids, her gaze landed on Van Claybourne’s handsome sixteen-year-old face. “Oh, hell.”
The last time she’d slept in her childhood bedroom was when she’d transitioned from her apartment to her gig at Wild Wolff Resort six months ago. She’d left the stupid posters on the wall as a good luck charm, hoping she’d get to meet the man of her dreams.
Well, Della, you not only met him, but you married him.
She threw the covers back and got out of bed. After a quick shower, she brushed her teeth, got dressed, and went to grab her notebook out of her suitcase.
She hadn’t written a poem in a long time, and she needed to untangle a whole pile of emotions. Digging through the clothes she’d bought at the resort, she found a playing card.
How on earth did this get in here? We never—
A memory flitted into her mind and burst to life.
Bex shirtless, sitting across the table from her. Laughing.
Her heart seized.
They’d played strip poker in Vegas.
That was all she had of their night together—that single glimpse of champagne bottles, a mess of cards, and the love of her life.
She’d never seen him laugh like that. A smile stretched so wide it changed the shape of his features.
Oh, how she loved that man.
Flicking the card toward the garbage bin, she pulled out her toiletry bag. She didn’t blame him for honoring his contract, she supposed. Though she figured bands broke them all the time. But she wouldn’t allow their love to turn tepid and dull. To become nothing more than quick phone calls catching up on each other’s days.
I want so much more than that.
So much more of him.
She understood he was a businessman, and she absolutely didn’t imagine them canoodling on a couch and having deep conversations every day. But she did need him to be true to himself.
A flash of crystal glittered in the early morning light, and she unearthed the wedding stilettos.
Damn, they’re stunning.
But the lawyers were working on the annulment, and so the shoes represented everything she couldn’t have, so she cocked her arm, ready to toss them in the garbage.
Nope. She couldn’t do it. They’re too pretty.
Clutching the sandal, Della sat down on the bed.
What have I done?
As angry as she was at him for retreating into the safety of his old patterns, she had to accept that she’d pushed him too far. He wasn’t wrong—she was one more person telling him who she needed him to be.
And who am I to tell anyone what to be? I’m living in my childhood bedroom. I have no job.
She’d start her business, of course, but…it just didn’t excite her.
Without Micky, why the hell did she want to be an event planner? Without Bex, everything felt blah.
“Hey, hon.” Her dad stood in the doorway in his pajama bottoms and an Arizona State T-shirt, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “I made your favorite breakfast.”
“You mean a little of everything?” Since she was a little girl, her dad had always cooked breakfast for them on Sundays. And he’d always left a menu on her door the night before. Instead of choosing one item, she’d check off all the boxes.
“Yep.” He slung the towel over his shoulder, his smile fading. “Everything all right?”
“Oh, you know. I’ve got the worst jet lag.” She let out a shaky breath. “That’s a lie. I’ve made a mess of everything.”
“Aw, sweetie.” He came into the room and sat beside her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close. “What’s going on?”
Glancing at the poster of Maya Angelou on her wall, she swiped the tears from under her eyes. “I mean, look at me. I’m twenty-six years old and just as wishy-washy as ever. I can’t choose what I want for breakfast, and I can’t choose what I want to do with my life.”
“And this is a life dilemma?”
“Uh, yeah. I don’t have a career.”
He released her. “Let’s break this down. You can’t choose one thing for breakfast because I’ve always given you a smorgasbord of your favorite foods. Is this a problem?”
“When you put it that way, no.”
“Moving onto number two. You can’t choose what you want to do with your life. Now, is that the truth? Because I thought you were a poet.”
“I’m not a poet.” She huffed out a bitter laugh. “I just like poetry.”
“What do you spend your time doing? Because as long as I’ve known you, you’ve written in your notebook. Pretty sure those words are an actual art form.” Her dad shrugged. “You are what you do.”
“Okay, even if I am a poet, that’s not a career. Nobody makes a living selling poetry.”
Her dad got up and wandered to the far wall. “You once told me that this guy—” W.H. Auden “—made his living as a professor. I’d imagine some have been editors or publishers.” He gave her a thoughtful expression. “You know, in the years since you’ve been planning parties and cleaning houses, you could’ve earned a PhD. You could be not only writing poetry but teaching it. Seems like that life might suit you better than being someone’s assistant. Maybe you should start supporting your own talent and not someone else’s.”
Clarity pierced her heart with a sharp-tipped blade.
Her dad saw her anguish and came back to her. He stroked her hair. “Oh, dear. What did I say?”
“No, it’s not you.” I’m such a hypocrite. “I fell in love, Dad. Please don’t tell anyone because I signed an NDA, and I’m not supposed to talk about it.” She lurched off the bed and tapped one of her Van Claybourne posters. “He’s the artist I was working for. I’ve never felt anything like the way I feel for him, but I walked away because he wasn’t being true to himself. And I didn’t feel like giving my heart to a man who was hiding in the shadows.” No one had seen her poems other than Bex. She’d kept them hidden under her bed.
I’m hiding, too. I’ve been hiding all my life.
Compassion seeped out of him. “Because?”
“If he doesn’t know himself, how does he know he wants me?”
“Right, so the plan is to only give your heart to a sure-thing?”
The world slowed to a standstill, and in the quiet, she heard her heart pounding. All the connections snapped into place. “Bex said when you lose a parent, you lose your trust in love. But I think you also lose your trust in life. In things working out for you. If your own mother can be taken, what can you count on? Why bother putting your heart and soul into something that can be snatched away?”
“I, uh…wow.” He scraped his fingers through his hair. “I know exactly what you mean. When Mom died…it rocked our worlds. We were so damn happy. We lived in this little bubble of love, and when she left us, we just stopped living. I go through the motions of my life, and you skim across the top, never really sinking into anything.”
“And I lived my love life through a poster on my wall.” But she’d had a taste of something true, and she didn’t think she could settle for anything less again.
Nothing less than Bex.
“Can we make a pact right now that we’ll throw caution to the wind and live the lives we truly want?” her dad asked. “Because time’s going to keep on passing, and I’d hate to see both of us still living on the periphery of our lives.” He reached for her hands. “What do you say, Della? Should we both take the leap?”
“You’re here.” Micky wrapped her arms around her, her big belly in the way of the bear hug Della needed.
It felt so good to be back with her best friend. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” And she did truly love Calamity.
“Liar. You’d rather be in New York City right now. Come on. Let’s go home.”
Della tipped the shuttle driver who’d loaded Micky’s SUV with her luggage. She’d brought just about everything she owned for her new life in Wyoming.
But her friend was wrong. While she was desperate to be with Bex—she missed him like a piece of her heart had been ripped out—she didn’t want to be in New York. She didn’t want to hide with him.
She was so ready to live her life out loud.
Once Micky pulled away from the curb, she patted Della’s knee. “How are you really?”
“I’m sad. I did a really stupid thing, and I’m paying a big price for it.”
“So, tell him.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I should’ve handled the situation differently. Instead of giving him an ultimatum, I should’ve given him time.” He’d just experienced the same kind of bullying as he had in high school. Of course, he’d scampered back into his cave. “But I don’t want the kind of relationship he had with his ex.”
“No, you should never settle. You deserve everything you want in life.”
“Right? He’ll be in the studio for the better part of a year. Then, he’s going on a farewell tour that’ll take him around the globe. And I’m not going to sit on the bus and make sure Van has his herbal tea. I’m not going to put off my life any longer.”
“I hate that you’re going through this, but I couldn’t be happier that you’ve decided to apply to school here.”
“Yeah. I have a meeting with Professor Holloway next Monday.” Della had looked into PhD. programs across the country, but when she’d learned the University of Western Wyoming was known for its Arts and Literature program, and that they had a poet laureate, she’d been sold. “I wish I could find my notebook, though. She asked for some sample poems, and I don’t want to give her old stuff.”
“You know you had it in your purse at the resort, so you either left it in the hotel room or on the plane.”
“Martin’s checked everywhere, and no one’s turned it in.”
“Well, it’s been what, a week since you left the island? I’m going to bet you’ve filled a whole new notebook.”
Della grinned. “Not quite.”
Instead of heading toward the mountains where Micky lived, her friend turned onto Main Street.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re meeting Rhys for dinner. Is that okay?”
After the mental trauma of the last week and traveling all day, Della wanted nothing more than to crash. But she could make it through another hour or so.
Micky parked in front of Wild Billy’s.
“Well, I know you’re not riding the mechanical bull in this condition, so why are we here?” Calamity had tons of great restaurants. Her friend wouldn’t normally choose a rowdy cowboy bar.
“I’ve been craving a big, juicy burger all day.”
Della laughed. “Well, that beats pickles and ice cream in my book.” They got out of the car and headed inside. “I guess we’re early.” It wasn’t nearly as crowded as normal.
They made their way across the restaurant to a table right by the stage.
Rhys got up and reached for her. “Great to see you, Della.” Tall, clean-cut, and well-built, her friend’s fiancé radiated confidence and power. He came off as a man who knew his place in the world, yet he had his story, too. He’d floundered for years—until an unexpected pregnancy had turned him into a single father.
Della had to remember that. Not everyone took a linear path in life.
So what if I’m twenty-six and only now finding mine?
“Nice to see you, too.”
He pulled out her chair and waited until she settled to sit back down.
“I suppose if someone had to knock up my friend, I’m glad it’s you.”
He stuttered out a laugh. “I’m glad it’s me, too.” He looked across the table to Micky with a look filled with adoration. “I got the girl.”
“You guys.” Della’s heart swelled with affection. Not only was she thrilled to see her best friend so in love, but she was really happy with her decision to move here.
Rhys reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “It means a lot to her that you chose the WY.”
She supposed all universities had their nicknames. She just wasn’t so sure she loved The WY for the University of Western Wyoming. “Well, I haven’t gotten in yet, but there’s honestly nowhere else I’d rather be.”
A man with a lot of facial hair and cowboy boots took the stage. Reaching for the mic, he grinned and waved to the audience. “Thanks for coming to our surprise gig, y’all. This is a special event, and we’d sure appreciate it if you’d respect our request for no pictures or videos. With that said, let’s bring out our special guest.” He gestured to the side of the stage where a tall man with tousled dark hair loped up the stairs.
Della’s heart thundered. Blood roared in her ears. “What’s he doing here?” Bex. She whacked Micky’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
But her friend beamed a huge smile up at the performer.
“Thanks for coming out, everyone.” Bex sat on the stool, adjusting the mic. “I appreciate you showing up so last-minute.” And then he looked right at Della.
Her heart exploded.
She hadn’t thought she’d see those eyes again, and now she wanted to leap up on that stage and kiss the ever-loving hell out of him. Tell him she was sorry, and she’d never make a mistake like that again.
But the applause continued, people shouting out for Van Claybourne, and he turned his attention to the audience. “Hang on a sec. Gotta clear something up.” The crowd quieted down. “I’m not Van Claybourne. I just look a lot like him. And that’s because I’m Bex, Van’s twin brother.”
Shock skittered across the room.
“But I hope you’ll give me a chance.” He strummed his guitar, and she suspected if it had been any other tune, the audience would’ve continued talking about the bomb he’d just dropped.
Van Claybourne has a twin?
But this melody was so lovely, it got everyone’s attention. As he strummed, he leaned into the mic. “I’ve got some big news for you, and you’re the first to hear it. Van Claybourne’s retiring. We’ve had a great run of it, but now it’s time for my brother and me to pursue new dreams. I hope you’ll come along with me on mine.”
He’d done it. He’d quit the band. Della couldn’t believe it.
No, she could. She could because she believed in him. In his talent.
In us.
She watched him, her body buzzing, her hands shaking. And then…he started singing.
And she listened.
Secrets and lies
And you’re my alibi
Watching you fold
I do what I’m told
I’m a good little boy
And he’s the decoy
I did this for you, Mom
I did this for you
But now the sunshine’s broken through
And I can’t crawl back into the dark
I met a girl, and she changed my world
There’s no going back Mom
There’s no going back.
Will you still love me?
Will I love myself?
My heart is full
My heart is hers.
Wide open spaces
A handful of aces
I’m here for you, love
I’m all-in for you.
Lay it on the line
Because I’m out of time
Will you be mine?
I’m asking you…
He stopped strumming and held her gaze. “Will you be mine?”
In the silence that followed his last note, Della blurted, “God, yes.”
The crowd went nuts, clapping wildly and stomping their feet. Bex hid a shy smile. “Hang on. I’m not done.”
The audience quieted down, Bex started playing the next song.
At first, she was confused. The lyrics were so different than what he normally wrote, but she supposed he had a new style now.
No, wait… “I wrote that.” But no one heard her over the music. She tapped Micky on the shoulder and mouthed, That’s my poem.
Micky leaned over. “Guess we know who found your notebook.”
When he finished the song, he set his guitar down and walked to the edge of the stage. “Della.” His eyes blazed with love.
She scraped back her chair, raced around the table to meet him.
Crouching, he reached for her hands and brought them to his mouth. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. I was an idiot, and I’m sorry. We’re all works in progress, and I’m sorry I held you to a higher standard than I do for myself.”
“So, what do you say? Are we going to make music together for the rest of our lives?”
“I’m here for you, Bexley Sinclair. I’m all-in for you.”