another two fingers of scotch. But I’d never stopped thinking about Kira. And I probably never would.
Only one thing in the store looked truly different now. And although I’d expected this, it still made me sad. Her sign was missing. Above one of the back counters, a carved wooden plaque had once hung. KIRA’S CAFE. Her homemade specialty had been a quirky little meat pie, about five inches across. Under an artfully cut-out crust lay curried chicken, or sausage and peppers. There’d been a ham and egg version I’d particularly liked. My first week in Maine, I’d tried a different one each night. My second week, I’d repeated the cycle.
That’s how we’d become friends. After I’d eaten her savory pastries nine nights in a row, Kira began feeling sorry for me. So she’d surprised me with some new dishes. I walked in one night to find that she’d made me a big square of lasagna. The next night, she’d grilled up a bacon cheeseburger while I waited.
As the summer progressed, she’d gotten even more creative. The pan-fried lake trout had tasted so fresh I’d almost cried.
“You are the most loyal customer I’ve ever had,” she’d said. By then, I’d memorized the shape of her smile and the flush of her cheek when I complimented the food.
But I didn’t hit on her. Not once.
At the beginning, restraint had been easy. I’d come to Nest Lake to be alone and to stop chasing women. I was still bitter about the tabloid article. I didn’t need any distractions. I was going to finish that album or die trying.
But by midsummer, my vow of chastity had gotten a lot harder. Literally. The time I’d spent with Kira had evolved from a simple nightly transaction to a real friendship. And every night I went to bed hearing her laughter echo in my head and wondering how her skin would feel sliding against mine.
But I was young and dumb. At the time, I’d written it off as mere horniness. Five years later, I knew better.
Well before Labor Day, Kira’s bright smile and intelligent eyes had stolen my heart. And her curvy body turned up in all my dreams. But I never slipped up and made a pass. Not just because I’d been feeling stubborn, but there was something vulnerable about Kira. I couldn’t have told you exactly what, but still it held me back. Banging her like one of my fans would have felt wrong.
Besides, if I’d talked Kira into my bed, there’d been a risk that she wouldn’t make me dinner anymore. And then I would have been stuck with the miserable fare that my B&B landlady referred to as “food.”
Somehow it had all been enough to keep even a dedicated horn dog in check.
“Earth to Jonas,” Quinn teased. “Let’s pick up a magazine or two, and then I want some soft serve.”
I’d been staring at Kira’s old counter, memories flooding through me. But where her delicacies once sat, there were now only scary-looking danishes wrapped in cellophane. It was no better than gas-station food.
It was true what people said. You can never go back.
I turned toward the magazine rack, shaking off my disappointment.
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RIFTS AND REFRAINS
By Devney Perry
Chapter 1
Quinn
“The funeral is Saturday.”
I nodded.
“I know you’re busy, but if you could come, your father would . . . I know he’d appreciate the support.”
Beyond my dressing room door, a dull roar bloomed. Hands clapped. Voices screamed. The beat of stomping feet vibrated the floors. The opening act must be on their last set because the crowd was pumped. The stadium would be primed when Hush Note took the stage.
“Quinn, are you there?”
I cleared my throat, blinking away the sheen of tears. “I’m here. Sorry.”
“Will you come?”
In nine years, my mother had never asked me to return to Montana. Not for Christmases. Not for birthdays. Not for weddings. Was it as hard for her to ask as it was for me to answer?
“Yeah,” I choked out. “I’ll be there. Tomorrow.”
Her relief cascaded through the phone. “Thank you.”
“Sure. I need to go.” I hung up without waiting for her goodbye, then stood from the couch and crossed the room to the mirror, making sure my tears hadn’t disturbed my eyeliner and mascara.
A fist pounded on the door. “Quinn, five minutes.”
Thank God. I needed to get the hell out of this room and forget that phone call.
I chugged the last of my vodka tonic and reapplied a coat of red lipstick, then scanned the room for my drumsticks.