She poured a cup of coffee and went to the refrigerator for the cream, hugging herself. Maybe she should tell him. Hell, maybe he needed the same reassurance she always did. Funny that had never occurred to her before.
Jolene poured cream in her coffee and stirred. “Come on, girl,” she told Dolly, who was watching her intently. “Let’s go outside.” Jolene opened the back door and went out into the warm, sunny morning. She was just sitting on the back patio, sipping her coffee and watching Dolly destroy a stick, when Chance came out in nothing but jeans and a smile. He hadn’t even bothered to snap his pants, and it was the sexiest damn thing ever. He tossed his hair out of his eyes and dropped a kiss on her head before sliding into the chair next to her. He didn’t have his guitar, which was what he had gone for. She should say something. Admonish him. Insist they work. But she didn’t want to disturb the calm she was feeling, so she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sun on her face.
They had been creatively avoiding songwriting by spending lots of time in bed and soaping each other up in the shower and walking around the neighborhood holding hands like teenagers. There had been takeout ordered and one quick trip to the store, and lots of laughter, smiles, and trying their best to wear each other like a second skin. It wasn’t so much that they were scared to write. It just felt like priority number two next to this relaxing quality time together. It felt good to sit outside and do a whole lot of nothing. It was like being on vacation.
The sound of Chance’s back gate unlatching made her jump, her eyes flying open. She was in nothing but a tank top and her panties without a lick of makeup on, and she started to scramble to her feet, ready to retreat into the house as quickly as possible. Chance was already up, putting himself between her and the gate. Dolly growled low in the back of her throat.
Ginny popped into the yard and slammed the gate shut behind her. Jolene’s heart rate slowly dropped back down to normal. “Good Lord, Ginny, what are you doing? You scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Good.” Their manager glared at both of them. She was wearing capri pants and a T-shirt that looked like it had been made from a bedazzled tiger. There was a lot of sparkle and animal print going on there. Jolene was immediately a little jealous of it. Ginny pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. “Well, isn’t this a cozy little breakfast in the garden, where no one seems to need clothes.”
Jolene blushed. Damn it, she hated that Ginny still made her feel like a teenager caught making out with the class bad boy. They hadn’t even been touching each other.
“Good morning to you, too, Ginny,” Chance said, strolling over to her and kissing her cheek.
Ginny continued to glare. “I told you two to go off the radar and write the crap out of some songs. Instead, you’re playing house in East Nashville and popping into the Bluebird. Please tell me that you have a dozen songs to hand me right this minute.”
“A dozen?” Jolene blurted. “Are you kidding me? It’s been four days!”
“You used to be able to do that. Or at least two to three a day. What do you have so far?”
“One,” Chance said without hesitation.
There was nothing but crickets in the garden. No one spoke. Ginny stared at him. Finally she said, “I remember when you were whipping out songs like it was nothing, and every artist in Nashville had a hold on something you wrote. You’re not even trying.”
They hadn’t been, not since they’d gotten back to Nashville. Wait. That wasn’t true. Okay, it was basically true. Saying they hadn’t tried was better than admitting they had writer’s block, which Jolene was fairly certain they did.
“We still have plenty of time,” she protested. “We’re just repairing some damage so we can work together better, more efficiently.”
“Nobody, in the history of ever, has repaired a goddamn thing in bed.”
Jolene felt her cheeks burning again. Now, hold up a minute. That was getting awfully personal. As far as she was concerned, she and Chance had repaired a whole hell of a lot in the last four days. They’d gone from busted up to back together, and wasn’t that the very definition of repair?
Chance looked ticked off. “Mind your own business, Ginny.”
“This is my business.” She pointed her finger at them. “You two are my business. You aren’t Chance and Jolene, a couple of lovers breaking up and getting back together and breaking up again. You’re Hart-Rivers. A brand. A commodity. You need the songs to back up the image.”
Jolene knew all that. It just annoyed her to hear it said out loud. “What image is that?”
“Two attractive people singing songs about sex.” Ginny put her cell phone to her ear. “Now go put some pants on before Tennyson gets here. She texted me a minute ago that she’s five minutes away.”
Jolene tried to process what Ginny was saying. “Excuse me, who?”
“Tennyson Mitchell. She’ll be here in a minute to help pull you two back on track.”
“Oh, hell, no!” Chance exploded. “That is not going to happen.”