Once we finish our late breakfast, we hop in the golf cart once again. “Where are we going now, Jeeves?”
“What’s with the Jeeves references?”
My eyes widen in surprise. “You don’t know who Jeeves is? I don’t know if we can be special friends anymore.”
“Oh, we’re going to be special friends,” he promises in his deep, growly voice, and all the fun places on my body tingle in response. “And I know who Jeeves is. What I don’t know is why you’re obsessed with the butler.”
I clutch my non-existent pearls. “Jeeves is not a butler. He’s a valet.”
“I thought your sister Aspen was the book nerd.”
I snort. “She is. She really is.” I clear my throat before explaining. “There’s a play, Jeeves and Wooster in Perfect Nonsense, based on one of P.G. Woodhouse’s novels. It’s a three-man play, but when I was in college, we decided to make it a three-woman play. I played Bertie, who is a big noob if you ask me.”
Rowan squeezes my hand. “I bet you were wonderful.”
I roll my eyes. “Which is why I’m now narrating audiobooks instead of acting on Broadway.”
He pulls the golf cart to stop and turns to give me his full attention. “Is acting on Broadway your dream?”
I frown and shrug. “I don’t know. I thought it was.” My old and familiar insecurities about failing rear their ugly heads. “But I wasn’t good enough anyway.”
He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers. “Ash, you are good enough.”
“How would you know?”
“You were the lead in every play the Winter Falls High School ever put on.”
“Being the lead in a town of a thousand people doesn’t scream talent.”
“What about all the plays you starred in while in college?”
My brow wrinkles. “How would you know if I starred in any plays in college?”
“Ash, Ash, Ash,” he tsks. “This town is proud of you. The moment you were chosen for a new play, the information spread faster than wildfire.”
I shrug. “It was only college.”
He pinches my chin before I can avert my gaze. “Only college? You mean the college that specialized in drama where graduates often ended up on Broadway or as Hollywood stars?”
“Not everyone who graduated became a star,” I mumble.
His gaze becomes laser focused on me, and I lock my muscles to stop myself from squirming.
“What are you afraid of?”
My back straightens, and I pull away from him. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
Nope. I’m afraid of everything. Not everything, but the most important thing there is – failing. I was fine when I was in college due to my competitive spirit. You can’t grow up the youngest of five sisters and not end up competitive. But when I graduated and realized there were dozens of colleges with graduates who thought they had the chops to make it on Broadway, my fear took over and I retreated.
“Okay. I get it now,” he says as he steps out of the cart.
“What do you get?” I shout after him.
“You’ll see.” Before I can remind him I don’t think much of his non-answer, he continues. “We’re here.”
“Here?” I search the area. “The brewery isn’t open yet.”
“It is for us.”
Now, I’m intrigued. “What’s going on?”
He shrugs and places his hands in his pockets. “I thought you might enjoy a taste test of the new autumn IPAs from Naked Falls Brewing.”
I leap out of the cart. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
Our conversation about how I’m inadequate and afraid of failing is immediately forgotten as I make my way to the front door. Mistake. I should have remembered.