“Hey,” she called out softly. “What are you doing standing there?”
“I was listening to you play.” He took a step forward so he didn’t have to shout. “You were good.”
Her lips curled up. “Thank you. If I’d have known a famous musician was listening, I might have tried a little harder.”
“I’d hate to hear how good you are when you try harder.” He was only a yard away from the house now. Enough to see the freckles across her nose and the shadows beneath her eyes. “What were you playing?”
“Nothing you’ll have heard of.”
“I know that. Was it something you’ve written?”
She opened her mouth then closed it again, her fingers still curved around the open window pane. “You want a beer?” she asked him.
He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by her question. Yet his mouth watered at the thought of the ice cold liquid. “Yeah, I’d like that. If I’m not disturbing you.”
“Come around to the backyard. I’ll bring us a couple out,” she said, inclining her head at the path that wound around the bungalow. By the time he gotten there, she was pushing the back door open with her shoulder, and walking out with two open beer. “There you go,” she said, passing him an ice cold bottle. “I figure we can sit out here and enjoy the weather.” She laid back on an Adirondack chair that faced out toward the river, and he took the seat next to hers. “Cheers,” she said, holding out her bottle, and he clinked his against it.
“Cheers.”
He took a long, cold sip of beer, closing his eyes as it slipped down his throat. “I needed that.”
“Me, too.” She smiled at him. “It’s been one of those days.”
“You can say that again.”
Her left eyebrow lifted up. “How’re the repairs going?”
“Slow. Hard. And made worse by the constant worry that I’ll flood the whole place, and my dad will never let me hear the end of it.”
“You really care what your dad thinks?” she asked.
“I care if I flood him and he ends up in the hospital again,” Gray said, lifting the bottle back to his lips. “Or if I leave Aunt Gina without water for days.”
“You have enough money to fix any of that. Just whisk them away to Hawaii for a few days and get a professional in. I’m pretty sure they’ll forgive you real quick.”
“I’m starting to learn that money can’t buy everything.”
She laughed. “It can buy a damn lot.” He watched as her lips closed over the rim of her bottle and she tipped her head back to swallow another mouthful. He tried to ignore the desire shooting through him.
This was Maddie. Little Maddie Clark. His fucking libido needed to take a hike. He crossed his legs in case it didn’t.
“So why is it one of those days for you?” he asked her, trying to distract himself.
She sighed and pulled at the label around her bottle, tearing off the paper. “Every day feels like one of those days sometimes, you know? Like you’re swimming against the tide when everybody else is on a motorboat, and right when you think you’re making progress, they circle around you and make sure their wake sends you under the surface.”
“Was it Murphy’s eggs?” Gray asked, his face serious.
She laughed, and it gave him way too much pleasure. “It’s always Murphy’s eggs.” She turned to look at him, her warm eyes catching his again. “They’re enough to ruin anybody’s day.”
“How does someone run a diner for that long and still not know how to make eggs?”
She shrugged. “It takes a lot of skill.”
It was Gray’s turn to laugh. For the first time all day he felt his muscles relax. A mixture of the beer, the cool air, and the woman sitting next to him. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“Look at that,” Maddie said, lifting her hand toward the trees. “Fireflies. There are so many this year.”
He followed the direction of her finger, taking in the glowing insects as they rested in the old oak tree at the end of her yard. From here they looked like a thousand tiny lights, glowing in the night air.