April laughed. “I guess I should find some lucky guy to slow dance with me. Then it can become our song too . . .”
Jack looked over his shoulder at her. “Hold up on that dance. I have something special planned for this song.”
April just looked at him. Something special?
She watched as he took the stage and reached for his guitar, then approached the microphone once again. But instead of beginning the opening riff of the famous Journey song, this time Jack began to talk. And as he launched into a monologue of love and commitment and faithfulness, April’s legs and arms and head grew numb.
Nothing could have prepared her for his words.
“Jack, what are you doing?” April whispered under her breath. But even though her voice was barely audible, the panic . . . the strain . . . the terror was unmistakable. He was out of his mind. He was insane. He was completely . . . completely . . .
She couldn’t believe what he had just done.
“April, what do you say. Will you come up here with me?”
Her hand fluttered to her throat. She felt her head slowly move side to side. “I don’t think I can—”
“April, please.” Jack’s voice was pinched with hope. A hope she didn’t have the heart to kill twice in one week. Especially since he’d just announced to the entire place that—
“April, you cowrote ‘Confidence’?” the kid standing next to her said. “The song we used for our senior prom theme last year?” At her reluctant nod, he kept going. “That is so cool! Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I just . . . didn’t.” She was still in a state of shock and indecision and stuck in a haze of not knowing what to do. Go onstage? What in the world for? And then her feet began to move. Before she knew it, she was climbing four steps, then turning to face a crowd of two hundred expectant people, all of whom began to cheer. Her sister smiled from the front, tears streaming down her face.
Before she was able to think, before she took a single breath, before she could even consider doing what Jack asked of her, she had to know. She covered the microphone with her hand and leaned closer, scanning his face with her eyes.
“Why did you do it, Jack? What in the world possessed you to tell everyone now?”
For the smallest second—so small she almost missed it—she saw his confidence drain. Vulnerability took its place.
“Because you deserve it. You’re a great songwriter, April, and I’ve known it for years. It’s about time the rest of the world knows it too.” His eyes took in her features as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m sorry, and I wish I could undo it, but I can’t. Can you forgive me for that stupid, stupid mistake?”
Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, she simply nodded.
Jack’s relieved smile filled his face, and he looked down for a moment. “What do you say? Will you help me?”
She frowned, just so confused. “I guess, but what am I helping you with?” she asked.
Three seconds later, she wanted to take back that question. Would she ever, ever learn to keep her mouth shut?
“I thought about killing you. Did you know that?”
“I saw the way you were looking at me. I think you more than thought about it. When you approached the stage, it was all I could do not to duck and run for cover.”
“Coward.”
“Where you’re concerned, I’ll gladly claim the label.”
April smiled, then spooned another bite of her crème br?lée into her mouth, closing her eyes for a second to really savor it. If someone held a gun to her head and forced her to make a decision, she would say it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. But then she opened her eyes and saw her brownie fudge sundae practically giving her a guilt-ridden stare down and paused that thought. Because it was awfully good too. Maybe even better than the caramel cake with buttercream glaze she’d polished off a few minutes ago.
The rumors were true. This really was the best restaurant in Nashville.
“I have never seen another human consume more food than you.”
She eyed him over the rim of her steaming mocha latte—also a winner in tonight’s quest to make Jack Vaughn pay one last time. Literally. She shot him a grin.
“Dude, give me an hour and we can start this meal all over again. No one beats me in a food challenge, ever.”
He made a bewildered face and shook his head. “Yet you’re the size of a toothpick.”
She shook her head, though she was secretly flattered. “More like a pair of chopsticks stuck together and shoved inside a white paper package.”
He smiled at her weird logic and motioned for the waiter. “Whatever. Can we please get the check?” he asked.
“Too afraid to stick around and see if I can do it again?”