“I thought about killing you. Did you know that?”

“I saw the way you were looking at me. I think you more than thought about it. When you approached the stage, it was all I could do not to duck and run for cover.”

“Coward.”

“Where you’re concerned, I’ll gladly claim the label.”

April smiled, then spooned another bite of her crème brûlée into her mouth, closing her eyes for a second to really savor it. If someone held a gun to her head and forced her to make a decision, she would say it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. But then she opened her eyes and saw her brownie fudge sundae practically giving her a guilt-ridden stare down and paused that thought. Because it was awfully good too. Maybe even better than the caramel cake with buttercream glaze she’d polished off a few minutes ago.

The rumors were true. This really was the best restaurant in Nashville.

“I have never seen another human consume more food than you.”

She eyed him over the rim of her steaming mocha latte—also a winner in tonight’s quest to make Jack Vaughn pay one last time. Literally. She shot him a grin.

“Dude, give me an hour and we can start this meal all over again. No one beats me in a food challenge, ever.”

He made a bewildered face and shook his head. “Yet you’re the size of a toothpick.”

She shook her head, though she was secretly flattered. “More like a pair of chopsticks stuck together and shoved inside a white paper package.”

He smiled at her weird logic and motioned for the waiter. “Whatever. Can we please get the check?” he asked.

“Too afraid to stick around and see if I can do it again?”

He pulled out his credit card and handed it off. “I don’t doubt your abilities. But my bank account is telling me not to push my luck.”

Jack stood and walked around to her side of the table. But instead of helping her up like she expected, he leaned close to her ear. “But April, I would buy you five more dinners just like this one if it meant I could spend more time with you.”

She swallowed, thankful the restaurant’s dim lighting kept him from seeing the pink, red, purple of her suddenly flushed cheeks. Her mind played a card game of make-a-match inside her head, but she couldn’t come up with two similar thoughts, let alone any that were the least bit coherent.

“Okay.” That was all she had; the only word her stupid brain could think of to say.

As if sensing her awkwardness, Jack simply breathed a quiet laugh and led her into the night air.

“So I forgot to tell you—you’re a great singer.”

“That may be true, but I’ll never forgive you for the way you found out.”

“First of all, I heard you years ago. Second of all, forgiveness is a virtue, and I’m pretty sure it’s a commandment.”

“I’m equally sure you’re wrong on both counts. Forgiveness is a choice, one I’m refusing to make at this particular moment.” She shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Maybe . . . one week from not at all.”

She felt his foot kick her backside. “Come on, April. Give a guy a break. There’s never been a better rendition of ‘Open Arms’ performed by a woman before.”

“Correction—there’s never been a rendition of that song performed by a woman before except at high school talent shows in the eighties. And we both know nothing good came out of that decade.”

“I was born in that decade.”

April shrugged. “Exactly.”

He laughed. “I deserved that.”

For the next several moments, they walked in silence, bypassing his car and leaving the parking lot entirely, neither of them in a hurry to go home. April crossed her arms to ward off a shiver of sudden nervousness, then looked up at the stars and offered up a little prayer for calmness. It was weird being alone with him . . . intimate in a way she had never felt before, not with any guy she’d dated. Up until now, all her relationships had been casual. Controlled. April keeping them at arm’s length even as they tried to pull her as close to their bodies as they possibly could—a constant tug-of-war.

In a word, this experience was new.

With Jack, she felt different. Like she could tell him her deepest secrets and not be afraid he would share them. Like she could put on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and her oldest T-shirt and he would still find her beautiful. Like she wanted to know everything about him and wanted to be known herself. Like—

“What is that?” He swiped something out of her pocket. She tried to snatch it out of his hands but didn’t move fast enough. When he held it up to further inspect the item, she lunged.

“Give me that!”

He laughed and raised it out of her reach. “Someone doesn’t want me to read this.” He looked up at the white cotton square. “And would you look here. It’s a bar napkin with words on it.” He could barely speak around the stupid way he laughed. “This looks a lot like song lyrics to me.” Her mouth dropped open when he started reading them out loud. “ ‘When I was young I dreamed of writing your name on my heart—’ ”

“Jack! Give that to me!” She jumped to grab it, but failed.

“Not until I finish reading it.” Jack held it over his head and kept going. “ ‘But then I woke up alone and discovered my heart would barely start . . .’ ”

Finally, she snatched it from his grasp. “Jack, that’s private. Something I wrote last night after the wedding. It isn’t even that good.” She fisted it, tucking it out-of-sight inside her palm.

His smile softened as his gaze grew more serious. Then he reached for her hand, bringing it slowly between them. She had no choice but to loosen her grip—everything inside her had melted. It only made sense that an iron grip would give way as well.

Slowly, Jack pulled the paper from her hand. “It seems to me,” he said, a soft smile curving his lips, “that one night several years ago, I came across a napkin a lot like this one. And written on it were some of the best lines I’ve ever read.”

April blinked up at him, a wave of emotion rolling through her at the long-awaited compliment. All she’d ever really wanted was affirmation, and he was the only man who could give it to her.

“I went about everything all wrong back then, but now . . . Now I’d like to read them. And if they’re good, I’d like to record them. And I would like you to come to the studio and help me out on my next album. I’d like to see a lot more of you, April. If you’re okay with it?”

She sucked in a breath, felt the first prick of tears begin to sting right behind her eyes. “I’m definitely okay with it. I’m okay with all of it, because I want to keep seeing you too.” She cleared her throat when her voice caught, and tried again. “And it would be the best thing that ever happened to me if—”

“Although there’s a good chance they could be awful, and then our deal would be off.”

April’s mouth fell and she gave him a little shove. “I don’t write bad lyrics. Ever. In fact, I’m good at everything I do.”

It took her a minute—a few seconds past the lazy grin that stole over his lips and the wicked gleam that lit behind his eyes—to realize what she had said. But then when he reached for her waist and pulled her toward him, searching her eyes for permission just before leaning in to kiss her, she no longer cared.

His lips roamed over hers, tasting and teasing and gently coaxing her to let him in. Her mouth parted willingly. Mint and chocolate—she identified both and added a few more flavors the longer they kissed. They kissed through a car horn sounding and a cell phone buzzing and a misstep on April’s part that had her tripping backward before Jack used both hands to steady her. Through it all, they never broke apart. And the longer they stayed there and the longer they explored each other and the longer she went without grabbing more than a strained breath, April realized a couple of things. One, she was good at everything she did. And two . . .

He was even better.

THE END