There had been a particular time after they had started dating when they had flown to Las Vegas for an event and it had been her first time in business class. In fact, she’d flown only a few times up to that point. She had spent five embarrassing minutes trying to figure out how to get the tray out of the armrest, and had taken the warm washcloth handed to her and been totally baffled about what to do with it. Chance never missed a beat. He’d been flying first class his whole life. When they were together, there had been a million situations like that, and she had always been terrified that he would see through her, realize she was a bumpkin.
He’d never made her feel stupid, though. He’d never tried to take total control over their careers, either, despite what she had always feared. He was right. They didn’t need to circle each other, too wary and scared to let the other well and truly inside.
“I definitely get it. We’re a couple of control freaks. But by saying those three little words out loud, we’re saying we trust each other.”
He grinned at her. “Well, shit, is that what this is? Maybe we should have tried the whole trust-and-love thing sooner.”
Jolene felt her eyes drifting closed. “At least we learn from our mistakes.” She wanted to stay awake, but it had been a long few days of writing and not writing, arguing, making love, and running around town. She couldn’t resist the lure of sleeping curled up skin to skin with Chance.
He gave her the softest kiss. “Good night, baby. Today was a good day.”
She might have murmured a response, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she said anything out loud or not.
When she woke up the next day, Chance’s arm still around her, a dream was fresh in her mind.
In it she had been sitting in the audience, watching Chance accept a Grammy without her. What the hell was that about? She looked at him now, angry with herself for feeling vulnerable, insecure. He hadn’t done anything to make her doubt his sincerity. Though she supposed Chance cared more about winning a Grammy than she did. She just wanted to keep getting paid to perform. He wanted professional recognition from his peers. But maybe the dream hadn’t been about their career at all. Maybe it was just her deep-rooted fear that he would move on to another woman more glamorous, more cultured, than she was.
It was tempting to slip out of bed and run a brush through her hair and make sure she didn’t have mascara running half down her face.
Then his eyes opened and he squinted at her. “Now, that’s the best way to wake up: seeing your beautiful face.”
He kissed her, promptly eradicating all thoughts of her stupid dream and every insecurity it represented.
Chapter 13
Back when they’d been on tour, Chance had established a pre-concert tradition with Jolene. She remembered he had started it in Atlanta, and every night after that he came into her dressing room to talk to her, and when she wasn’t looking, left a doodle and a note by the mirror where she’d be sure to see it. The first note had been a heart drawn on a cocktail napkin, and she had been unable to prevent herself from smiling when she’d seen it. It had been the night after they’d had sex for the first time, and she’d been unsure what would come next. That simple note had made her feel amazing. Lucky. Then he’d started to expand on content, leaving her lyrics, comments about how stunning she always looked, or sly references to their sex life.
She had every one of those notes tucked into a box that she had hidden at the back of her closet. It wasn’t a keepsake box. It was the box that her one and only new pair of shoes as a child had come in. Mama had taken her to the discount store in Ashland, and she’d picked out light-up sneakers that had been marked down. Since everything else she’d ever worn had been gotten at a garage sale or church donation bin, Jolene had gloried in those shoes. Even Daddy’s anger with her mother for spending the money hadn’t diminished the joy Jolene had felt every time she carefully removed those shoes from the box and laced them up.
The shoes had eventually disappeared after her mother’s failed attempt at washing them, and Jolene’s fifth-grade growth spurt. But she’d always kept that box as a reminder of where she’d come from and how to appreciate what she had. It had seemed the right place to store the miscellaneous notes of affection from Chance.
Two days later, when she found one by the coffeepot that he’d left while she was sleeping, Jolene lifted it and held it to her chest.
It said “I love you,” and the words, in his tight handwriting on the back of a gas receipt, meant everything to her. The note made her feel like her heart was damn near bursting, and she stood there grinning, feet bare and hair a mess. Chance was in the other room grabbing his guitar, and she tucked the note into her bra, glancing behind her to make sure he didn’t pop up and see what she was doing. He didn’t know she kept the notes—they’d never talked about it.