FINN GOT OUT his straight razor, lathered up suds and soaped his jaw. Time to get rid of the scruff and put a fresh face on to meet the future. He drew the razor in a slow sweep down his cheek, hearing the rasp of blade against flesh. Outside in the hall, Annie’s footsteps went past. Even though it was Saturday, Taylor had gone to the university to work in his lab and Carly was checking on her latest batch of sourdough. With four people living in the house it really felt like a home.
Looking back over the past week he realized he’d undergone subtle changes. Spreading Irene’s ashes, even with the unorthodox turn that ritual had taken, had been surprisingly okay. Love didn’t die, memories lived on. Meeting his mother had lanced an old, infected wound. It still hurt but the healing had begun with her agreeing to hear him perform his own music. Finally, at the RockAround, he’d gained insight into the wrong beliefs that had been holding him back.
He felt as if he was starting over. The question remained whether he could overcome his phobia in time for the big gig, but with Carly on his team, miracles were possible.
As well as the open mike tomorrow, Dingo’s band was booked at the bar the following Saturday. It would be a test of both him and Annie. He’d blocked out some time over the coming week to work with her, but in the meantime, he had plans of his own.
He rinsed the last of the foam off his razor and washed his face. Thinking of what lay ahead for him today, his heart started to race. Staring into the mirror, he deliberately slowed his breathing. You’ve got this.
But so many people were counting on him—
Stop. Breathe. The world would go on with or without him.
People would be watching, waiting for him to fail.
He was doing this because he wanted to share the music he loved.
Hold that thought. Turning away from the mirror, he toweled off.
* * *
“’BYE. LATE FOR WORK.” Annie grabbed her purse and a piece of toast before rushing out the door.
“See you later.” Carly folded the sourdough into the shape of a loaf and laid it into the mold. Now that she was feeding the starter regularly the bread was rising just fine. She put the dough near the stove to keep warm, washed her hands and went out to check on the garden.
Rufus rushed ahead of her and picked up his ball, tail wagging hopefully. She threw it for him and walked along the vegetable patch, checking for new growth, pulling a weed here and there. As well as tomatoes, she’d planted beans, radishes, arugula and zucchini, all vegetables Finn had assured her were easy to grow.
It was hard to believe she was leaving tomorrow. She didn’t want to think about that yet. The RockAround concert was on May 27th, the Friday of the Memorial Day weekend. Only three weeks away. She would come out for the concert and stay for the weekend. By then the radishes and arugula should be ready to pick.
The plumber and electrician were nearly finished their repairs. Peter King would act as her proxy to pay the tradesmen upon completion. Once that was done, she would put the house on the market. She’d decided to offer the house for sale furnished except for the contents of the master bedroom. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone sleeping in her aunt’s bed in this house so she’d donated it along with the dresser and nightstands.
A three-month escrow would give Taylor plenty of time to complete his summer research and find another place to live in the fall. By then Annie would either have a permanent place with the band or she would have to go back home. Carly hoped it would be the former, but if Finn didn’t stay with the band, Dingo might not keep Annie…
Stop. She couldn’t worry about everyone. Finn had been mysterious about his plans for today, telling her he had things to do downtown. Maybe he was checking out the craft fair that was setting up in the historic district for the weekend. Maybe he was going to Rhonda’s to sit on the stage and go through the same exercise they’d done at the RockAround. Whatever he was up to, he hadn’t asked her to come along and it made her feel slightly hurt. Which was stupid because she had things to do herself. But they only had two days left and she wanted to spend every minute possible with him.
Time was passing much too quickly.
* * *
FINN WANDERED ONTO the outdoor stage at the Village Green in the historic district of Fairhaven carrying a guitar he’d borrowed from Dingo. There was more foot traffic on Main Street, but with the craft fair on free space was at a premium. And, to be honest, at the Village Green, a small oasis in the heart of downtown, there would be fewer people. Across the street were outdoor cafés but he was hidden from their view by a row of trees.
His palms were damp as he sat on the steps and tuned Dingo’s old acoustic. Taking long, slow breaths he tried to calm himself. He could do this. An older couple were walking their spaniel at the far end of the green. He ignored them. He was just a guy, playing his guitar. Hopefully any listeners would attribute the beads of sweat on his brow to the sun beating down. And if he kept his eyes shut no one would see the glaze of panic in them.
He played without singing for five or so minutes because he didn’t trust his voice not to shake. Then he hummed along to the tune, a song he’d composed a few years ago when he’d been feeling homesick for Fairhaven. When he felt comfortable with that he started to sing, eyes still closed, feeling the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face. The lyrics referenced local landmarks and the tune was upbeat, capturing the atmosphere of the quaint, friendly community.
The sweet scent of lilacs planted around the green mingled with salt air from the ocean a couple of blocks away. The call of wheeling gulls formed a raucous backup that made him smile and he lifted his voice louder.
A clink to his left made him open his eyes. A woman pushing a stroller smiled at him. With a start he realized she’d thrown coins into the open guitar case on the stage. He hadn’t planned to busk for money, he’d just wanted to experience performing in public in an unthreatening venue. But it felt good knowing that this young mother liked his song. He smiled and nodded his thanks. This wasn’t so hard.
* * *
CARLY SIGNED THE necessary documents at the realty office and passed them back to Sam. “I’ll be in touch by phone but if there’s anything you need to know immediately you can contact Peter King. He has power of attorney for financial transactions related to the house.”
Sam rose and shook her hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Carly. It’s an excellent property in a sought-after area. You should have no trouble selling.”
“I don’t want to close till the end of summer,” she reminded him. “I have tenants. And a garden.”
The Realtor chuckled. “You’re a lot like your aunt, you know that?”
Outside, the street had been blocked off for the craft fair. Stalls shaded by colorful umbrellas were laden with handmade wooden furniture and toys, homespun woolen garments, pottery, hemp products, handcrafted cheese, wine, hydroponic herbs and punnets of early strawberries.
Carly walked through the stalls, drinking it all in. She wished she could stay for the summer and relive everything she loved about the town and the area. But that was impossible. Once the house was sold she wasn’t likely to come back here.
“Carly!” Frankie caught up with her. “How have you been?”
“Busy,” Carly said, hugging her. “I don’t recall this fair from the old days. Is it new?”
“It’s been an annual event for a couple of years.” Frankie paused in front of a display of painted glass ornaments. “These would make nice Christmas gifts.”
“Gorgeous.” Carly touched wooden wind chimes and listened to the hollow melody. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’m putting the house up for sale. Taylor and Annie will stay till the end of summer.”
“What about you?” Frankie asked.
“I’m heading back to New York tomorrow night.”
“So soon? Seems like you just got here.”
“I have to get back to work.” Carly moved on to a stall selling homemade jams and chutney. They looked delicious but her suitcase was already overflowing. Suddenly the market, while interesting, seemed pointless and she felt her mood spiraling down. “Do you want to grab a coffee?”
“Sure,” Frankie said. “Rhonda’s?”
They’d just come level with the coffee shop. Carly glanced through the windows at the tables crowded with market goers, tourists and Seattleites up for the weekend. “Is there someplace quieter?”
“This way.” Frankie headed down a side street and they walked to the next block where there were several outdoor cafés. A busker was playing on the Village Green and a dozen or so people sat on the grass or stood in a semicircle, listening. Carly snatched a sprig of lilac as she passed a flowering bush and held it to her nose.
“That guy sounds pretty good,” Frankie said.
Carly tilted her head and her eyes widened. “That’s Finn. Come on.”
Throwing down the lilac, she walked up the shallow steps onto the Green and started across the lawn. Finn was singing with his eyes closed. His voice wasn’t as strong as it could be and once he stopped midverse and just hummed. Then he recovered to sing the final verse and finished with a flourish of twanging strings. The audience clapped politely.
Carly waved but he didn’t see her. He was smiling and nodding to the audience as people tossed money into his guitar case. Strumming, he said a few words before launching into his next song. Even out in the open with no acoustics he really did have an amazing voice. A couple who’d been walking toward a coffee shop stopped and turned to go onto the Green instead.
“Are you going to go over and say hi?” Frankie asked.
“No, let’s not disturb him,” Carly said, not wanting to add extra pressure.
Already he didn’t need her. The thought gave her a pang deep down inside. Well, good for him. He had no idea how wonderful he was. When he started to fly he would be so far above her she’d never catch him.
* * *
FINN STACKED THE last quarter. The kitchen table was dotted with piles of coins neatly arranged in rows from largest denomination to smallest. He almost felt prouder of these earnings than of his royalties for the Screaming Reindeer song. The money thrown into the guitar case had been longer in coming and harder won.
The front door opened and he recognized Carly’s footsteps in the hall. “In here,” he called.
She was wearing city clothes, a navy pencil skirt, white blouse and stiletto ankle boots. His cheerfulness faltered at the reminder that tomorrow she would be going back to New York. But he was damned if he was going to waste the precious time they had left feeling down.
“Thirty-three dollars and sixty-five cents, one lollipop and a coupon for a free margarita at Pedro’s.” He grinned. “Not bad for my first day as a performer. It will almost pay the fine I got for busking without a permit.”
Carly hugged him. “You were awesome. I was so proud of you. And it was a smart way to ease into performing in public with minimal pressure.”
He leaned back, surprised. “You were there? I didn’t see you.” Not that he would have, with his eyes either shut or staring fixedly at the guitar strings.
“Frankie and I were going for coffee and didn’t want to interrupt you.” She got a bottle of white wine from the fridge. “I think this deserves a celebratory toast.”
Finn raised the coupon. “How about tacos and margaritas instead?”
“You’re on.”
Finn took her hand as they walked down the hill to town in the warm spring evening. The present mood was a far cry from the day they’d roamed these streets looking for Rufus. He was still on a high from successful busking. Carly was in a goofy mood, making up outrageous future careers for the kids they passed.
“That little girl,” she said of a five-year-old in pigtails walking with her mom and a shaggy-headed boy. “She’s going to be a world authority on shredded cheese. Her brother will get work as a Rasputin impersonator.”
“You’re pulling my leg,” Finn said laughing. “There’s no such thing.”
“You would be amazed the weird jobs out there,” Carly said. “Mind you, Rasputin is a niche market. Tough to break into.”
“What about that kid?” Finn nodded to a cherubic boy being towed in a cart behind his dad riding a bicycle.
Carly tapped her cheek, pretending to ponder the matter. “He’ll have a job fishing bicycles out of the canals in Amsterdam.”
“You know these things because?” Finn asked, smiling.
“I’m a recruitment consultant,” she said. “I’m trained to identify people’s special abilities and place them in their perfect job.”
“Okay, then, what makes you believe I’d be a good match with Molto?” Finn asked.
“The wicked glint in your eye when you’re counting up your money. I’m kidding, of course. It’s your songwriting ability.” She glanced sideways at him. “Are you really thinking of calling them?”
“I put in my application last week.”
“Good for you.”
They came to the edge of the historic district and the market set up on the main street. The conversation turned to the contents of the stalls. Finn’s thoughts, however, were on the future. He wanted Carly in his life, not temporarily but permanently and on a daily basis.
The application to Molto felt like a cop-out. He didn’t really want it but he’d figured the only way he could get Carly to even think about moving west to be with him was by proving he was stable and reliable. He couldn’t say that though because he knew all too well what it felt like to be pressured by someone you loved. Assuming she loved him.
She might be more willing to give up her job in New York if they lived in Fairhaven. It was the scene of some of his worst memories but there were good memories, too. Summer days with Carly on Irene’s porch, jamming with Dingo, the woods, the beach, riding for miles on his bike with his friends. He’d grown up here, traveling the years from a boy to a teenager to a young man. The town was home in a way that LA would never be. And it was a great place to raise a family.
“Look at this rocking chair.” Carly came to a halt in front of a display of hand-crafted maple wood furniture.
The chair had rounded, clean lines, a broad leather seat, and a tall back with a design of a sun and moon carved into it. She sat and rocked gently. “It’s super comfortable.”
“Kinda out of the box for a city girl like you.” He was eyeing the king-size headboard carved from the same fine-grained, rose-hued wood. It wouldn’t go in his ultramodern Hollywood rancher but he liked it a lot. Casually he pocketed the woodworker’s business card. “It would be perfect for Irene’s house.”
Dreamily, Carly smoothed a hand over the maple wood arm. “In the kitchen, next to the stove.” She rose and pushed him into the chair. “Isn’t that the most comfortable thing you’ve ever sat in?”
“Not bad,” he said, rocking. “Although it’s not in the same league as my old duct-taped recliner.”
“You keep ruining my image of the hotshot LA creative. Are you sure you don’t live in a biker den or a frat house?”
“Shh, I’m creating right now.” He closed his eyes and pictured himself in the rocker, strumming a guitar and watching the sunset over the bay. “I’d rather have it on the porch.”
She placed a hand warmly on his shoulder. “We could get two chairs. One for me, one for you.”
He placed his hand atop hers. Side by side, rocking through life. With his eyes still closed, he smiled. These few weeks with Carly had been the best.
When he opened his eyes Carly was watching him, a wistful smile on her face. Rocking chairs, huh. Carly was after a fancy office in downtown Manhattan.
He pushed that depressing thought aside. All too soon they would both have to return to reality. Let tonight be about romance.
Surging to his feet, he whirled her into his arms and danced her away in an impromptu polka, dodging pedestrians and dogs on leashes. Laughing, she let herself be twirled, leaning into his supporting arm and letting her head fall back. At the end of the block, he picked her up by the waist and spun her around, letting her slide down his body.
“What was that about?” Her face was flushed and her eyes sparkling.
“Just feeling good,” he said.
“Silly.” She put her hand in his and they walked up the steps of the Mexican restaurant.
Pedro’s was Saturday night busy so they had their margaritas in the bar while they waited for a table, surrounded by colorful pottery and posters of Cabo and Baja.
“Are you excited about open mike tomorrow?” Carly dipped a tortilla chip in salsa.
“Equal parts excited and scared.” He spun the bowl-shaped margarita glass around to get more salt. Good for the throat.
“A few nerves aren’t necessarily a bad thing.” Carly wiped her fingers on a napkin and got out her phone. “I thought I’d tell a few people about the open mike. Are you okay with that?”
“Go ahead,” he said, still on a high. “The only thing worse than playing to an audience is playing to an empty room.”
“There, I’ve sent a mass text to everyone I know in town and posted on social media.” She reached for another chip. “At the Village Green were you anxious at all?”
“Sure, a little, but it went better than I expected. My confidence wasn’t all it could be but I felt as if I really connected to the audience. Reminded me of what I’ve been missing.”
It had also made him realize what the future might hold. If all went well at open mike and then at the bar and at RockAround, who knew where he could proceed from there? With the band or on his own. He had no illusions the road ahead would be easy but suddenly his world had opened up. He wouldn’t need Molto.
“That’s great,” she said. “So, you feel ready to play tomorrow? You really want to do this?”
Was she seeking reassurance that he wouldn’t bail? Fair enough. That concert twelve years ago was tough to live down. “I really want to play. I promise I won’t run out of the café again, no matter what happens.”
The waitress showed them to a table and not long after, plates of enchiladas and tacos arrived. Finn joked and teased Carly, who complained that he’d given her a side ache from laughing. But like a somber note anchoring the lighthearted melody was the thought that the minutes were ticking away till the time he would lose her.
Impulsively he reached for her hand across the table, felt her smooth skin beneath the calluses on his finger pads. “Don’t go back to New York. Don’t sell the house. Let’s finish what we started.”
Carly only seemed to hear the last sentence. “Not that again!” Laughing, she rubbed her ankle up his calf. “I’m going to make you eat those words.” She leaned forward, showing her cleavage above her V-neck blouse. “When we get home, you’re going to give me an all-over body massage until I get a happy ending, if you know what I mean. Finish what you started.”
He kept smiling, hiding his disappointment that she’d completely misread him. A happy ending to him meant home, family, lasting love. Whereas he’d been speaking seriously of the future of their relationship, she had reduced their connection to a sexual fling.
Well, they had been joking around all night. He knew he meant more to her than just a roll in the hay. But a seed of uncertainty had been planted. She’d said from the beginning that she didn’t want anything complicated. If he started over as a performer he could be struggling for a while. Would Carly take him seriously as a relationship prospect, or would he always be the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks? Even a job at Molto might not be respectable enough for a woman who operated in the high echelons of the business world.
“Finn?” she said.
Pushing aside his dark thoughts he smiled lasciviously and rubbed small circles in her palm, letting her know he was thinking about doing the same thing on a completely different part of her anatomy. “I’m all about happy endings.”
Sexual chemistry and humor, these were things they were good at. Safe things. He would never make Carly choose between him and her dream job. But like the bite of chili on his tongue, the fear that this was all there was between them stung his heart.