April’s dad.
All four stared at him now, and all likely knew what he had done. He’d never met April’s parents, but he knew that her father was a lawyer in Knoxville or Chattanooga or some other Tennessee town that wasn’t Nashville. He knew they had money—not a lot, but enough to be annoyed that their daughters weren’t more dependent on them. Jack admired that about both girls. It took guts to start with nothing and make something of yourself.
“I’m sorry?” The words sounded more like a question than an admission of wrongdoing. Because he wasn’t sorry. He was late. The world would keep spinning with or without his painstaking rehearsal of whatever cheesy ballads Kristin had chosen for him to sing at this dang wedding. Still, a promise was a promise—even a foolish one made under the pressure of intense guilt. “I didn’t know we were on a time crunch.” He set his guitar case down by the door.
“Well, we are.”
“Kristin, stop being so controlling,” April said. “At least Jack actually showed up. Give him a little credit for that.”
April’s words surprised him. Before he thought better of it, he slid her a wink, one that she accepted with a slight blush. That reaction made him happier than he’d been in a while. But not as happy as her next words made him.
“Mom, Dad, this is Jack. He’s the wedding singer, newly hired.”
Jack didn’t expect the introduction. A cold shoulder, maybe. To be ignored, quite possibly. But definitely not an introduction that didn’t sound remotely hostile. This place wasn’t technically a church, but he wondered if maybe a miracle was taking place anyway.
April’s parents had watched this entire exchange, but now her father stepped forward and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jack. You from around here?”
Jack offered a firm handshake just like his mother had taught him years ago. “I am, though I’m not here as much as I used to be.”
“Jack and I used to work together,” April offered.
And this. This surprised him more than anything, because—
“You’re Jack Vaughn?” April’s mother gasped. Her father frowned, and now it was only a matter of seconds before—
“Jack Vaughn? The Jack Vaughn?”
So many people asked that question, awe and admiration painted all over their features. Neither could be found on the faces of April’s parents. Annoyance. Irritation. Distrust, for sure. And there was the hostility missing from earlier.
They knew. Oh crap, did they know.
“Yes, I’m him.” Jack swallowed the mass of nerves suddenly clogging his throat and searched for something to say. Thankfully, he didn’t have to scramble for long.
“That’s him, and he’s here to sing on a favor to Kristin. So go sing, Jack. It’ll be interesting to hear what lovely songs she has picked out for you.” Sarcasm. April used it well.
With a half smile, Jack picked up his guitar case and microphone stand and gestured for his bandmates—his pared-down bandmates because only his keyboardist and drummer agreed to join him, the other two losers claiming they were still owed vacation time and shouldn’t have to give the days up just because Jack was an idiot—to pick up equipment and follow him.
Jack wasn’t too far away to hear Gloria Quinn’s whispered words. “Kristin, you can’t be serious. After what he did? I would like to think you care about your sister’s feelings a little more than that.”
“I do. It’s just that—”
“Now, who picked out this awful fabric for the rice bags? And what are they supposed to be? They look like very poorly designed lollipops, and the construction . . . just shabby. A complete disappointment. Amateur.” She clicked her tongue and tossed one in a nearby wastebasket. Jack didn’t miss the way April’s face bloomed red; she was angry, that much was obvious. But there was something else. April almost looked weary. Maybe . . . defeated? She reached up to rub her eyebrows, and that’s when he had an idea.
April had told him to figure out a way to make it up to her, and Jack had the feeling he’d just discovered a way to do it.
J ack sighed and set his guitar on the stand. Rehearsal hadn’t gone well. Not because they were out of practice or the band wasn’t in tune, but because Jack had developed a sudden inability to sing in front of people. An odd bout of stage fright. He hadn’t suffered from it in recent memory, not even at the bar two nights ago. Then again, it seemed to only involve those people whose well-known personal dislike of him ran deep.