Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (19 page)

GETTING THE CAST takes longer than we expect, and by the time we get to the barbeque restaurant, we’re starving. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat as fast as she is. I’ll never tell her that, but I love it. In my industry, girls are fickle and vain; eating is an issue. I understand wanting to be thin, but guys like girls who eat, and right now I am overjoyed.

“You were right, the food at this place is amazing,” she says as we climb back into the truck. “I can’t wait to bring Emma next time we’re down here.”

“At least you got the sauce to take back. She’ll be able to try it.”

As we were leaving, she spotted a bookshelf full of mason jars of sauce for purchase, and asked me if I’d buy her one. She was so cute, I bought her two: traditional and spicy.

“Heck no, this is for me.” She hugs the bag to her lap and gives me a look like I’m crazy.

I can’t help but grin at her. “What? You won’t share it with her?”

“Well, maybe, but it’s gonna cost her.”

I bust out laughing and she laughs with me. Damn, I love that sound. It’s good to see her relaxed. After the little incident on the floor this morning, she's been a little closed off. I have no idea what she's thinking, but I sure wish I did. I’m trying not to take it personally, but something tells me she’s like this with all guys, the first clue being the way my manhood became one with her knee outside Smokey’s.

Turning back onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, she rolls down the window, and just like the other night, her hair whips out as the wind blows across her face. My ears ring at the memory of her singing along with our songs, and all of a sudden, I have to know: how much does she know about our band?

“So, I take it you were a Blue Horizon’s groupie; tell me more.”

She looks back over at me with bright eyes and she giggles. “Trust me when I say that I was not a groupie. I couldn’t tell you one thing about those guys except that they changed their name after the lead singer, and personally, I think in the process lost their originality.”

Holy shit
.

Nothing like hearing the brutal honest truth. Then again, she isn’t really telling me something I don’t already know.

“The music used to be so good, and now, well, it’s more mainstream, I guess, than soulful. I only saw them play three times, but of all the concerts or shows I’ve ever been to, those were my favorite. Maybe it’s because the venue was small or maybe it was the sound of his voice, but something about those songs were magical and stuck with me, not the band. Different music speaks to different people, and the lyrics in their songs spoke to me. That’s all.” She shrugs her shoulders and loosens the seat belt. It must be pressing too tightly on her arm, which she keeps close to her body.

Well, I’m speechless. I’ve never heard anyone talk about how my music is magical and speaks to them, and my eyes begin to burn. People love music for all different reasons, but ultimately it’s a form of self-expression. Especially to those of us who are songwriters. Everyone loves a catchy chorus they can sing along with, or a fun beat that they can dance to, but rarely do people actually stop and think about the meaning of the words and where they might have come from. The songs I wrote during our days of Blue Horizons weren’t necessarily for the fans—yeah, I mean, I wanted them to love the songs—but they were for me. They’re about what I was feeling and my life. And I completely understand what she’s saying, because over the last couple of years, the songs have drifted more toward the general population and how they can be relatable to the fans.

Needing a moment to myself, I turn on one of the original albums and she smiles at me.

“Do you hear it? Do you feel it?” she quietly asks me.

“Yeah, I do,” but right now it’s her I hear and feel. My hands grip the wheel and out of the corner of my eye, I see her put her head back to the window, her eyes slip shut, and she begins to sing along.

I’m officially lost in this girl.

Rolling my window down, I turn up the music, and in the comfortable silence, I soak up her company. They say everything happens for a reason, and just maybe she is mine. My reason, and for the first time in a long time, I feel inspired, and I’m ready to pick up my guitar.

With Clay, I realized I still do love the music, and with Ava, I’ve realized I still love what I do. I love writing music, I love letting it speak to me, and I’ve always loved when other people appreciated what we played. Clay and I may have fallen off track a little, but the tunes he was playing the other night let me know he’s well on his way to finding his voice again too.

A flare of excitement ignites under my skin. It’s been snuffed out for so long, and damn, if she isn’t the inspiration that lights the match. I’d forgotten what it feels like to have the urge to write, and once she leaves tomorrow, I know I’m headed back to Nashville to get started.

Once she leaves.

Shoving the wave of sadness aside that she’ll be gone, I turn down the music, and smile affectionately at her. She returns my smile with one of her own, and it’s so beautiful.

“So, other than Blue Horizons, what type of music do you like?” I want to learn as much as possible about this girl as I can.

“I like all kinds of music. In fact, can’t think of one I don’t like.” This statement is such a turn on to me. Knowing she appreciates the variations between music genres, I seriously haven’t found anything about this girl that I don’t like.

Remembering the piano keys, I’m now curious if she plays. “The tattoo on your wrist, tell me about it.”

She looks down at the cast and stretches her fingers underneath it as she thinks about her answer.

“I love the piano, it’s kind of my thing, and on my wrist it can be easily covered if I want it to. Do you have any?” she looks back at me.

She sings like an angel and plays the piano, so freaking sexy.

“Nope. Although I like the idea of them, they’re not for me.. All right, new guess . . . you’re a music teacher?” My eyes skip from the road to her. She busts out laughing and my heart soars.

“Nope, but I do have perfect pitch,” she says proudly.

“What?” My hand grips the wheel. I’m stunned.

“Do you know what that is?” she asks, her head tilting to the side.

“I do, and I’ve never met someone who has it before. I’m thoroughly impressed and dying to know what you do now.”

“No, no, no,” she shakes her head smugly. “We made a deal.”

“Yeah, but you can’t drop something like that and leave me hanging. That’s a huge piece of information.” She must be in the music industry. She
has
to. Then again, just because she loves it doesn’t mean she has to make a career out of it.

She grins at me, close-lipped, and I groan out in frustration.

“Fine then, don’t tell me. So, back in town, they’re having live music every night this week for the Apple Harvest festival, and I thought it might be fun to go and listen. That’s why I asked you what type of music you like. Alison Krauss and Union Station are playing tonight.”

“Blue grass! Count me in,” she squeals, sitting up a little straighter.

I can’t remember the last time I met a girl who genuinely likes blue grass. Most agree with me, just to agree, and Juliet hates it. She’s always complained about how it’s too twangy and she’d rather listen to pop instead. I love it. I grew up listening to my grandfather and his friends playing together. It’s mountain music; it’s in my roots.

“All right then. I threw some stuff in the back of the truck before we left, so we’re all set.” I smile at her.

“Thank you, Ash.” She reaches her hand over and places it on my thigh. She’s proactively touching me, and now I want to grab her, throw her across my lap, and squeeze her. Instead, I cover her hand with mine, and thread my fingers between hers.

“For what?” I rub my thumb over the back of her hand.

“All of this, everything.” She shrugs her shoulders, looking at me shyly.

I would give her everything if she let me.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her to stay. Hell, I’m pretty sure I want to ask her to stay forever, but it’s not the right time. Instead, I smile and turn the music back up.

Hours pass.

We got here early and the crowd was still small, which played to our advantage. I grabbed a baseball hat out of the backseat to try and stay hidden, and we found a great spot near a tree. I swear this is the best afternoon I can remember in such a long time. The music is exceptional, the weather is perfect, and she’s talked and laughed more than she has over the last three days. There is nowhere else I’d rather be than here with her.

I feel carefree and young. Not that I’m old, but stress makes me feel like I am.

Today, on this blanket, I don’t feel like I have to be the person that the world sees and knows. Being a full-time public figure, it’s draining. Here, no one is watching us—not that I’ve noticed—no one is taking pictures trying to skew them into something they’re not, and no one is asking for an autograph. I get to be a regular guy, doing a regular thing, and I get to do it with her.

“Do you think the dogs are okay?” she asks. Shadows from the tree have moved away from us, and her skin is bathed in golden light from the setting sun. My muscles tighten just at the sight of her; damn, what she does to me.

“Of course. I left the dog door open, so they’re good.” I sit up and shift a little closer to her.

“That’s right, I forgot about the door. Oh, look at that cloud over there.” Ava is lying on her back staring up at the sky.

I glance at the cloud she’s pointing to and then turn my attention back to her. God, she’s stunning. Being this close to her on the blanket, I’m dying to touch her.

“Don’t you think it looks like a pirate ship?” she looks up at me, her eyebrows raised in question.

“Mmm hmm.” I don’t want to look at clouds; I want to stare at her.

Right after we got here, my phone buzzed with a text, and it was her friend Emma wanting to know what’s going on. Instead of calling her, Ava had me text back that she’s headed home tomorrow. I logged on to my Delta account and booked her a flight. She doesn’t know it’s first class; hopefully that will be a nice surprise for her tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

I feel like I’m running out of time, when I just want more.

“So, what are your plans for the holidays?” I grab a piece of grass and roll it between my fingers. I’m suddenly nervous, and I don’t know why.

She looks back at me and her eyes find mine. “I’m not sure yet. I might have to work Thanksgiving weekend, and usually for Christmas, Emma and I head to her parents’ house.”

“Any possibility you might head this way?” My heart starts beating a little harder. I desperately want her to say yes.

“Ah, Ash, do you want to see me again?” She’s being playful, but I’m dead serious.

“Yes. I want to see you a lot actually.” My tone is firm, and honestly, if she had been wondering at all about what I thought of her, the way I’m looking at her now should leave no room for question.

I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her so badly.

The smile drops from her lips and my eyes drop to her mouth. I hear the intake of breath as her chest expands and my eyes travel back up her face to her eyes. She’s watching me and pink stains her perfect cheeks.

I know I should be concerned about being outside in the wide open for anyone to see, but I just don’t care. From the first second our eyes connected, there’s been chemistry between us, and after four days, that spark has just gotten stronger. I feel it and I know she feels it too.

Without touching her, I lean in, place my hand next to her head, and hover over her mouth, separating us by just mere inches. My eyes are so focused on their intended target, everything around me drifts away: the mountains, the people, and even the music. The only thing—the most important thing—I see and feel is her.

"Ash . . ." Her voice cracks with nerves, and the heat from her breath fans across my face.

Dragging my eyes away from the part of her I want most, I glance up and our eyes collide. Blue to blue, time stalls. For months, I have felt lost, but lying here staring down at the most beautiful face I have ever seen, I feel found. I’m struck by an overwhelming sense of devotion to this girl that feels a lot like love. Call it wisdom, call it maturity, call it whatever the hell you want, but I know once this kiss is sealed, I’ll only ever again have eyes for her. Eyes that are spellbound by hers; hers that are reflecting back at me with hesitation, curiosity, and mostly desire.

"If you don't want me to kiss you, tell me now." My voice is gravelly and laced with longing. If it's that apparent to me, it has to be to her.

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips part, and that's when I feel her fingers slide across my rib cage and fist into the back of my shirt.

The pull I have to her is so great, I'm not sure I could stop this kiss even if I tried. Licking my lips, my willpower is completely shattered. Not wasting one more second, my mouth lands on hers and my eyes slip shut.

Lip to lip, neither one of us moves. Blood rushes through my ears, roaring by, and pools at the place of contact. My lips feel like they are burning up on hers. Does she feel it? Can she feel what she’s doing to me?