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Gwen felt as if she was waking up from a dream.
Not a dream. A nightmare.
What on earth was Dylan Scott doing in Brogan’s Point? Why wasn’t he thousands of miles away in Hollywood, living his glamorous life and forgetting she’d ever existed?
“Gwen?” Mike snapped his fingers just inches from her nose, startling her. “I said, should we order a pizza here, or should we stop at Dominic’s?”
As if she gave a damn where they got pizza. She didn’t want pizza. She didn’t even like pizza that much. Mike started babbling about how the pizza they served at the Faulk Street Tavern was more of a flat-bread type with a crunchy crust, the sauce better than it had been a year ago...and all she could think of was that song, and Dylan Scott standing across the room, staring at her.
Bad enough that he was in town. Worse, he’d seen her—and apparently recognized her, if his flagrant staring was anything to go by.
“I don’t feel well,” she said, gazing at her hands so she wouldn’t have to look directly at Mike. “I’d like to go home.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he argued. “We’ve already ordered our drinks.” The look she flashed at him must have expressed her annoyance, because he added, in a gentler tone, “You got a sitter. It would be a crime to let a good sitter go to waste.”
True enough. Lining up a babysitter on a Friday night was never easy, but Gwen had managed to find one. Kerry was only twelve, but it wasn’t as if she had to change diapers or warm a bottle. Gwen had left tuna salad, rolls, pickles, some sliced prosciutto, and a tub of chocolate ice-cream for Kerry and Annie to feast on, and two Pixar videos to watch. She needed to take advantage of her free evening. Mike was surely expecting them to return to his apartment for sex before he brought her home.
That had been her expectation, too, before she’d spotted Dylan Scott standing near the bar’s exit, staring at her while the song from the jukebox wafted around them. When she’d hired Kerry, she’d figured she and Mike would indulge in a little naked horizontal time before they called it a night. She enjoyed making love with Mike. He wasn’t the most exciting lover she’d ever had, but excitement was no longer a top priority for her.
Not that she’d had all that many exciting lovers in her life. A couple of guys in college, including Adam, the love of her life, whom she’d been sure she would marry—until she realized that no, they wouldn’t marry, after all. And Mike.
And, for one crazy night, after Adam but long before Mike, Dylan Scott.
He shouldn’t count, certainly not as a lover. Love had had nothing to do with that night. It had been just a crazy fling, a mindless bit of fun that had ended with the sunrise. If not for Annie, she would never have given him another thought.
But there was Annie. And now there was this: Dylan Scott was back in town. Dylan was back, and that song...
“Did you hear that song?” she asked Mike.
He frowned, gaping at her as if she were insane—which she very well might be. “‘Let’s Spend the Night Together’,” he named it. “Famous for being censored on some TV show. The Stones had to sing ‘Let’s spend some time together’—”
“No. The song before that one.”
Mike frowned again, struggling to recall the previous song. “Some chick tune. Never heard it before.”
Gwen had never heard it before, either. But it echoed inside her, soulful and stoical. I won’t beg you to stay, the woman had sung. Call me angel of the morning.
The waitress appeared with their drinks, and Mike ordered a flatbread pepperoni pizza. Gwen leaned back in her seat, resigned to the fact that they would not be leaving the Faulk Street Tavern anytime soon. They would eat their pizza, and Mike would analyze the sauce, and he’d tell her about his lineup at Wright Honda-BMW tomorrow, where he was a salesman and Saturdays were his busiest day of the week. She’d nod and smile when necessary, and she’d choke down some of the pizza, and after they were done eating, she’d try to pretend the sex was okay. She’d ask Mike to take her home as soon as they were done. She’d pay Kerry, and Mike would drive her back to her house down the street from Gwen’s, and Gwen would straighten up the kitchen and put the DVD’s away. She’d kiss her slumbering daughter and climb into bed, and pray with all her heart that by the time she woke up tomorrow morning, Dylan Scott would be gone.
***
Gus Naukonen lifted the empty beer mug, her gaze on the tavern door as it swung shut behind the actor from the Galaxy Force movies. She’d recognized him right away, despite his slacker grooming. He’d been at the Faulk Street Tavern before, years ago, when that art film about a struggling family of fishermen was being made on location in Brogan’s Point.
Something in the song from the jukebox had clearly spooked him.
Gus possessed a great memory when it came to patrons—even patrons who hadn’t been inside her establishment in years—and a pretty good memory when it came to the songs the jukebox played. She couldn’t recall ever hearing it play that particular song before. It was a pretty ballad, the woman’s voice thick with emotion, with irony. You could tell the singer cared very much about the lover who was leaving her, even as she sang that his leaving meant nothing to her. It sure as hell meant something.
The door opened again, and a few new customers entered. Not Ed Nolan. He’d stopped by earlier for his afternoon cup of coffee, and he’d probably stop by again after his shift ended. When you were a police detective on a small-town force, shifts didn’t end precisely at five. They ended when a case was closed, an arrest made, a ream of paperwork processed. He’d get here when he got here, and she’d have another cup of coffee waiting for him, or maybe a beer. He allowed himself an occasional drink now and then.
He wanted to marry her, but she saw no reason to complicate their relationship by getting married. With his daughter and her two sons to consider, they’d probably have to write pre-nups, or separate their estates, or whatever. Why bother? He wasn’t going to touch her cheek and walk away, as the guy did according to the lyrics of that poignant song. Gus wasn’t going to walk away from Ed, either.
She set the dirty glass on the dishwasher rack for Manny to deal with, then gazed at the door again. The jukebox was playing a Rolling Stones song, and it didn’t seem to be affecting anyone. Gus wasn’t sure, though. That sweet young woman who owned the Attic—Gwen Parker—looked anxious, even anguished. Maybe because her boyfriend was kind of a jerk. A nice jerk, but not good enough for her, in Gus’s opinion.
No, Gwen’s uneasiness had begun before Mick Jagger’s nasal wail filled the room. She’d reacted to the previous song. Angel of the Morning.
Gwen and the movie actor? Why would the song have cast a spell on the two of them? They had nothing in common, no point of intersection. A local shop owner and Captain Steele of the Galaxy Force?
Maybe the jukebox had made a mistake.
Gus doubted it, though. The jukebox never made a mistake. That was part of its magic.
