And Arlo just texted Craig that he refuses to come back into the studio until they hire a receptionist to answer the phone that’s been ringing off the hook with agents and managers looking to get their clients in to work with the duo.
We close down the bar, which I haven’t done in at least five years, but that’s what you get for hanging out with twenty-somethings. Trina left hours ago, and Kacey and Fitz snuck out, very possibly to the same employee bathroom we used earlier, and then texted Jefferson that Kacey was starving and wanted waffles.
“Want to join us for breakfast?” Jefferson asks, Annie on his back piggyback style, her arms wrapped tight around his neck. He loosens her grip with a patient grimace followed by an apologetic kiss to her forearm.
“I’m good,” I say, squeezing Huck’s hand. He squeezes back, his expression relieved.
“Me too. Another time, maybe.”
We say goodbye and I tilt my head onto Huck’s shoulder. “Wanna walk? I’m exhausted but still a little wired.”
“Sure.”
We walk intertwined like that, up and down neon block after neon block, people still spilling out into the streets from late-night diners and music filling the air.
“I used to do this when I first came to Nashville,” he tells me. “I’d walk the streets late into the night, just listening to music and absorbing the culture into my bones.” He looks up at the sky, as if talking to the stars, hidden away, but still watching it all play out beneath them. “In fact, I was feeling nostalgic and doing it again the night I heard you singing on the balcony. Even then I never really thought I’d have someone to walk with.”
There’s something in his tone. A longing. And gratitude. It fills me right up and nearly cuts off the breath in my chest.
“I never thought I’d be back,” I admit. “But I always hoped. I thought I wanted back to Nashville. Back to country. I think…” I pause, everything crystallizing in my brain at once, overwhelming me. “I think,” I repeat, my throat thick, “I just wanted back to you all along. I guess I knew deep down we weren’t done with each other.”
Huck pulls me in, his lips capturing mine and his arms circling my waist in one smooth movement. Easy. We’ve always been so easy together. His mouth is gentle and soft. Savoring. And when he pulls back, I sigh against his lips, melting all the way into him.
“I’ll never be done with you,” he admits.
And I know just what he means.
“I love you, too, Huckleberry.”
EPILOGUE
CRAIG
(TWO YEARS LATER)
I might be a sought-after multimillionaire record label executive, but I still feel like a complete fraud in a tux. I blame the pointy shoes. They have to be kidding me with these.
“They have to be kidding me with these,” I tell my wife, petulant.
Lorelai spins me, taking in my expression and smoothing my bow tie. I glimpse the barely concealed laughter in her eyes as she pushes her lips to one side, considering.
“Okay. Obviously, you look hot. No question about that.”
“But…”
She steps back, one hand on her robe-clad hip, the other resting on the tiny round bump of her growing belly. What I would really like to do is pull the tied knot nuzzled under her glorious breasts and peel back her silky robe, letting it slip to the floor. Then I’d smooth my hands over every sweet inch of her, followed by my tongue, and carry her back to bed, where I can devour her all night …
My wife’s sly lips break into a knowing smirk. “Don’t even think about it.”
I step closer, reaching for the sash. “Too late.”
She smacks my hand away with a laugh. “This morning wasn’t enough for you? Besides, I already showered, and if you mess up my hair, Maren will murder us.”
“I can’t help it. You look ravishing.”
“I’m not even dressed yet.”
“All the better…”
She rolls her eyes lightly, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to my cheek before whispering in my ear, “You aren’t getting out of this, so deal with it, Mr. Boseman.”
“Knock knock!” Arlo shouts from the open door of the suite.
I huff out a laugh. “You don’t have to shout. The door was open.”
My partner makes a skeptical face. “That’s never stopped you two before.”
Lorelai waves him over. “Arlo, c’mere. We need a professional opinion.” She waves in my direction. “What’s missing?”
Arlo rubs his chin with one hand, examining me from head to toe. “I feel like cattle at the auction,” I whine.
“That makes two of us,” Lorelai says, gesturing to her belly. “Is it the shoes?” she asks Arlo.
“Hmm. Maybe? I think we need another opinion. Annie was just outside a minute ago…”
“Oh god, we don’t have to call in more—”
“Annie Mathers! Get in here, woman!”
A moment later, the door opens again, this time with a line of people filing in. Annie, Jefferson, Shelby, Cameron with a drooling baby strapped to his broad chest, and Maren, toting a box filled with makeup for Lorelai. Presumably.
Hopefully.
“What’s missing?” Lorelai says, gesturing to me.
“His Vans.”
“His glasses.”
“Johnny Cash T-shirt?”
“You’re never fully dressed without a smile,” Cameron says, bouncing his very wet daughter, Gracie.
“Maybe he shouldn’t have shaved today?” Arlo suggests, his head still tilted to the side.
I give Lorelai an imploring look over all their heads and she winks. “All right, everyone out. I know what he needs.”
“We’ll see you there,” Annie chirps, dragging out a smirking Coolidge by his tie. Despite the bouncing, baby Gracie is starting to fuss.
“I think she needs to eat,” Shelby says. “We’ll be in our suite. Good luck!” She presses a kiss to both my and Lorelai’s cheeks before she and Cameron head back across the hall. They aren’t coming tonight, but we’ll catch up with them after at the small party being hosted by On the Floor Records at a nearby craft brewery.
“I’ll give you guys a few minutes and be back to get you in your dress, Lore,” Maren says. She turns to me and in a low voice says, “You were right to shave. No regrets, Boseman.”
“Thanks, Maren.”
Lorelai shoos Arlo out and closes the door, locking it. “Sorry. I should have known they’d be no help.”
“No, they’re right. This is a disaster. I look like a penguin.”
“You look like an executive worthy of being honored. But you’re right. You don’t look like yourself. And honestly, why the fuck not?” Lorelai tugs on my bow tie. “Strip.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you—”
Lorelai isn’t listening, though. She’s inside the closet and I can hear the rustling of bags and boxes.
A moment later she comes out, her arms full. “Lose the pants, and for Christ’s sake, get out of those shoes.”
I follow her command and she hands me a pair of pressed dark-wash jeans. “Put those on.” They fit perfectly and I raise my eyebrow as I button the fly.
“These just happened to be in the hotel closet, huh?”
She waves me off with a grin. “Now the boots.” She passes me a pair of shined-up black Luccheses.
“My size, I’m guessing?”
“Can’t have them pinching on your big night.”
“I could have just worn my Vans.”