The horse gets bored and wanders back out into the field.
After wiping off the lovely slime the beast gifted me, I pull my guitar out of the case and set it across my lap. My fingers strum over the strings, the fingers of my left hand forming different cords. My right fingertips pick out different notes and goosebumps flash over my skin.
Growing up in such a strict household, the last thing my parents wanted me “wasting my time on” was music. But music was and still is in my blood. I walked around everywhere with my iPod and a set of headphones. I listened to everything from country to reggae to pop to opera. And when I was thirteen, I went to a pawn shop and bought my first guitar.
I had no money to pay anyone to give me lessons and there was no way I was going to tell my parents that I wanted to spend time doing something other than science. So I’d walk down to the waterfront park and practice. I found books to teach me at the used bookstore. Watched videos online. And I learned.
My parents had no idea I could play the guitar until I was sixteen. They’d always known I could sing, and they were proud of my voice, but that was as far as it went. No encouragement to pursue it. It wasn’t a logical life choice.
But I still want it. I’m twenty-two now, and I feel as if I have this ticking clock inside of me. Like if something doesn’t happen now—soon—it never will. I don’t really care for the fame and the praise. I just want to share music with others. I want to make other people happy with something I create. I want it to mean something to others, as much as it means to me.
But there’s logic. And there’s my terrible stage fright.
So nothing is ever going to come of it all. I’ll end up working as a microbiologist for the rest of my life.
I hear voices off in the distance. But they’re far away and I’m positive no one can hear me through all the chaos of the wedding prep. I start humming the lyrics to one of the songs I recently wrote as I watch the horses graze and wander.
And everything calms inside of me. My nerves settle. My stomach normalizes.
It’s just the music and me.
Like we’re in our own little world.
“You have a really freaking awesome voice.”
I jump so hard my guitar slips out of my hands. It hits the stack of wood I’m hiding behind, sounding a hard, loud vibration before it crashes to the ground. And just as I try to get to my feet, the owner of the voice rounds the corner.
The perfect jawline. The amazing hair. The intense eyes.
“Holy, Kale McCain,” the words slip out of my mouth.
I can’t look away from him, and I do not see my guitar lying in front of me.
So I trip over it.
Land flat on my face. My dress joins me in my acrobatics. And flips right up. Exposing my rear end in all its glory.
“Oh, shit,” he says and suddenly his hands are around my arms, trying to right me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
A look of pure horror is on my face as I finally get back on my feet, my unders fully covered. I can only stare at him, my mouth forming a big ole O.
The Kale McCain looks me up and down and reaches forward to brush grass and bark from my dress. “Are you okay?” he asks as he actually reaches up and picks something out of my hair. “That fall looked like it hurt.”
I am the worst human-person-thing ever. Cause I just stand there. And look at him.
Seeing that I’m put back to proper upright position, Kale finally meets my eyes, and I could just about melt down through the center of the universe. “You okay?”
Something finally snaps back into working order and I manage a small little nod.
And then he reaches up, places his fingers under my chin, and closes my mouth for me.
Kill. Me. Now.
“I’m Kale, by the way,” he says, with a crooked smile. But there’s the barest hint of embarrassment in his eyes. “But it sounds like you already knew that.”
My eyes still wide freaking open, I nod again.
“And you are?” he encourages. He gives an awkward little chuckle and rubs a hand over his perfectly shaped jaw.
It takes me half a beat to realize that Kale McCain has just asked me a question.
The Kale McCain, who is the face of modeling right now. The Kale McCain, who is plastered all over New York and Paris and Milan. The Kale McCain, who has just had some article written about him on how he’s the most well-known, most powerful male model in the past fifteen years.
Again, holy Kale McCain.
“Whitney,” I squeak out.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he says as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
I clear my throat, and slowly, one by one, my limbs start to unlock. “Whitney. Whitney Ford.”
He gives me a little look, like he’s wracking the back of his brain for something. “You’re name sounds super familiar. Do I know you from something?”
I shake my head, and the smallest hint of a smile starts to curl onto my face. “Just about everyone says that. I don’t know what it is about my name that sounds like someone you’ve already met.”
“You’re a musician, though?” he asks as he bends to pick up my guitar. It’s smudged with dirt.
I just nod as I bite my lower lip and take it from him.
“Well, that’s a good thing, if everyone already thinks they know your name,” he says with a smile. He takes two steps back toward the fence and leans back against it.
And I could die. Because he just looks too freaking hot to be real. Dressed in a tux. Country background. Perfect body. It’s a fantasy come to life.
“I guess,” I say as my eyes drop to the ground when he catches me checking him out.
“You guess?” he says with a smile in his voice. “Your voice is amazing. You look like an angel. Everyone already thinks they know your name. What’s stopping you from taking over the world?”
I feel my face blush. Hard. My heart breaks out into a sprint. I hesitantly look up at him from under my lashes, from behind my cascading hair.
Kale just said I look like an angel.
And he’s smiling at me.
“Because I have the world’s worst stage fright,” I say as I hug my guitar. “And as you just got an embarrassing demonstration of, I am the most awkward person in existence.”
Kale looks at me for a long moment, and I try to figure out what he’s thinking at the moment. If he’s evaluating me, judging me, stripping me down with his eyes. I have no idea which.
“You know, everyone was born a certain way. There’s something that makes us unique. But the trick is to embrace it,” he says with conviction in his voice. “To own it. So you’re awkward and quirky. Embrace it, Whitney Ford. Make everyone be okay with it, because you own it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I say as I lean my guitar against the fence and rest my forearms on the top bar. “Your defining characteristic is confidence. It’s an easy combo when you stand in front of the camera for a living.”
“And people will love a dorky, adorably klutzy girl they can relate to,” he says as he looks over at me and raises one eyebrow.
“Did you just call me dorky?” I ask in humorous disbelief.
“I did,” he says with a chuckle as his eyes go to the ground. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
I shake my head as I look back out over the pasture. “Ugh. Well, you’re not wrong. I am a dork. But I have to disagree with you on the adorable part.”
“Uh um,” he says as he shakes his head. “With those doe eyes, that Rapunzel hair, and those mile-long legs? You’re the total package.”
Again, my face flushes hard. A million butterflies swarm in my chest.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask, changing the subject cause I have no idea how to handle this situation and Kale’s statements.
“I’m the best man,” he says excitedly as he turns and mirrors my pose. “This is my brother Lake’s wedding. Him and Riley are finally tying the knot. Thi
s is their ranch.”
“No way,” I say with a chuckle.
“Way,” he says as he looks at me with a smile. “Are you with the wedding band or something? Seems like self-torture if you have as bad as stage fright as you claim.”
I sigh. “I’m filling in. The lead singer has been throwing up all day—of the flu variety. My best friend is the manager and conned me into filling in.”
And I will never tell him what she bribed me with. A pair of his briefs that he signed and auctioned off for charity at some point in the last year.
“Well, as terrible as I feel that some poor woman is sick, I’m glad you filled in,” he says. I look over at him, cause I’m not sure exactly what he means by that. But there’s sincerity in his eyes. And a healthy dose of mischief.
“Kale?” a voice calls, just two seconds before another man appears around the side of the barn. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, with a boyish face, but that McCain jawline and hazel eyes. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is Kale’s older brother. “We’ve got to go. Line up in one minute.”
“Be there in a sec,” Kale calls and the older brother disappears.
“Your brother, no doubt,” I state.
Kale nods. “Drake.” He looks back at me, and I’m once again lost in those eyes of his. “I’d ask you to save a dance for me, but I’m pretty sure riots will break out if you deny them your voice for the space of one song.”
“Ha,” I say dryly as I grab my guitar again.
“It was really nice meeting you. I’ll see you later?” he asks.
I hesitate, biting my lower lip again. “Do you want to see me later?”
And a lopsided, full on grin that could change a woman’s soul, breaks out on his face. “Yeah. I really do.”
My face flushes once more. “’K.”
And the Kale McCain gives me a wink before turning and heading back around the barn.
CHAPTER TWO
I make my way back toward where the band is set up just as they start playing the wedding march. Ming plays on her keyboard, Connor softly accompanies her.
By now, there are a few dozen people seated in the chairs that were lined up in front of the pergola. All happy, smiling faces, all turned back toward the house, waiting for the wedding party.
I sit on the stage, ankles crossed, my hands nervously in my lap.
Just own being awkward and quirky, Kale had said. Make other people be okay with it because you own it.
It’s hard to imagine actually doing that.
But I’ve got to do something, cause otherwise I’m going to humiliate myself.
My eyes shift back to the house as someone emerges from it.
One by one, people file out of the house. Raelynn, the bride’s mother. Another couple in their sixties, the man of which looks strikingly like Kale and his brother. Next follows the very same brother, Drake, with this adorably short blonde woman who smiles like the noonday sun. After them comes a woman who has to be Kale’s sister, with the same strong jawline and hazel eyes. On her arm is a seriously beautiful man with tattoos peeking out from his collar and over his left hand.
And then, there is Kale. My stomach sinks slightly when I see a woman on his arm. But then I think about her age, she looks a lot older than Kale. And I kind of doubt she is his date.
For just a few seconds, Kale meets my eyes, and he flashes a brilliantly crooked smile and winks at me.
My cheeks blush hard and my eyes drop to the ground for a second as a smile breaks out on my face.
But finally, I look back up, and then there is the bride, on the arm of a guy who looks to be the same age as her. And she is breathtaking. Hair like fire at sunset, twisted up in an elegant knot, curls cascading all around her. Cheekbones any woman would kill for. Lips with brilliant red lipstick. And the perfect body.
She takes my breath away.
They all make their way to the pergola, and for the first time, I notice the groom.
Lake does look like his siblings, but he’s a giant compared to them all. He has to be at least four inches taller than Kale and at least six than Drake. He’s also huge. Everything about the man screams rugged. He’s not classically handsome. Several scars dot his face, his features are not as symmetrical, but that smile he has on, like he’s the luckiest man in the world and everyone else knows it, too, it’s a brilliant thing.
Finally, Riley stops in front of her soon-to-be-husband, and I swear the both of them nearly blind us all with their happiness.
The pastor starts talking. About hardships and trials. About dragging yourself back from darkness and destruction. About dealing with death.
I don’t understand the significance to everything he’s saying, but I know there are plenty of stories behind it all.
Then he also talks about love. About being committed to each other. About being able to work together and accomplish great things. On and on, until I begin to wonder if I’m missing out on something. Something so wonderful and romantic that the simple words surrounding the wedding are like layers in my own story. One I’ve been waiting to write, to hear.
And then they are saying their vows. They’re simple. But beautiful.
I can’t help but smile when the pastor finally pronounces them man and wife and they share a kiss that leaves everyone blushing and covering their eyes.
I catch Kale’s eyes, and he gives me this grossed out look and shakes his head with a chuckle. I laugh back.
When the bride and groom finally break apart, Lake raises their hands into the air triumphantly and gives a victorious holler.
The entire crowd breaks out into cheers and clapping.
Ming and Connor break out into an upbeat song as the bride and groom walk back down the aisle and toward the house. Everyone starts milling about, talking, mingling.
And instantly my nerves skyrocket. Because we’re on in five minutes.
I collect my guitar from its case and start to climb back onto the stage when someone approaching catches my eye. I turn to see Kale walking up to me, hands stuffed in pockets, casual as all the world.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says. “Just remember: own who you are and everyone else will be cool with it, too.”
I bite my lower lip again and nod. “I’m going to try.” I go to climb onto the stage again when he grabs my wrist gently.
“Who’s the scariest person here?” he asks as I meet his eyes. “Who are you most afraid of judging you?”
I hesitate in answering. Cause that same person is the one right in front of me. But everything about Kale is honest. And right now, I’m hoping I can be a little more like Kale. “You.”
The look in his eyes tells me he already knew this. He gives a little nod. “You already know that I think you’re amazing and awesome, so you don’t have anything to worry about. You can just go up there and kill it.”
And just like that, something dreadful and terrified lifts off my quivering heart.
Because suddenly, I realize that’s all I need. To know that one person in the crowd thinks I’m great and believes in me.
One person is all it takes.
“Okay,” I say as a smile breaks out on my face.
“Okay,” he repeats with his own smile. It’s different in person than it is on the posters and on the TV. It’s more genuine. More personal. “I’ll come find you when everything’s over.”
And just like that, he winks at me and heads back into the crowd.
Unable to wipe the grin from my face, I climb back onto the stage, and suddenly find myself face to face with Ming.
Her eyes are wide and intense. They keep darting between me and Kale.
“Holy shit,” she says in a deadpan tone. “Kale. Here. You. Him. Hooked up?”
“What?” I say as I slide my guitar strap over my head and onto my shoulder. “No, we didn’t hook up.”
“You disappeared for a solid twenty minutes,” she says as she springs back into motion, heading for her keyboard and adjusting the contr
ols. “That’s more than enough time to do hanky panky.”
“Hanky panky?” I repeat, giving her a quizzical look as I adjust the microphone. Which, to my horror, I discover is on, and at least two thirds of the crowd looks over at me.
I feel myself blanch, my stomach rolls, and I feel frozen.
Own it, Kale’s words echo in the back of my head.
Automatically, my eyes search for him. And there he is, toward the back of the crowd, his eyes locked on me. He’s suppressing a laugh and has an eyebrow raised in question.
And I instantly go from white to red.
“Sorry guys,” I say into the microphone. “Just a little band inside joke?”
It’s a poor recovery. And not true. But hey, I’m trying?
I get a few chuckles from the crowd. And they all look away and go back to their conversations.
I turn toward Ming, horror all over my face. And find her laughing her skinny little rear end off.
“I’m going to kill you,” I say as I give her the stink eye. “You are so dead.”
“Nice save though,” she says as she wipes a tear from one corner of her eye. “Normally you would have just gone and hidden in a corner. And fine, I believe you, you weren’t hooking up with the Kale McCain.”
“Thank you,” I say through clenched teeth just as the boys come back from their bathroom break. They all climb back on stage.
This is it. It’s time to make some music.
I look back out over the crowd. They’re still all just mingling and talking. The bride and groom haven’t come back out yet, but the energy in the air says it won’t be long now. The general attention is in that direction. So this is our cue.
I won’t screw this up. I can do this.
Kale said I’m amazing.
You’re amazing, Whitney Ford. You’ve got this. I tell it to myself, forcing my confidence to believe it.
And one second later, Eduardo starts a beat, Connor picks up, and then Henry does, too, immediately followed by Ming.
A few eyes here and there turn toward the stage. I take a deep breath, and sing.