“I went about everything all wrong back then, but now . . . Now I’d like to read them. And if they’re good, I’d like to record them. And I would like you to come to the studio and help me out on my next album. I’d like to see a lot more of you, April. If you’re okay with it?”
She sucked in a breath, felt the first prick of tears begin to sting right behind her eyes. “I’m definitely okay with it. I’m okay with all of it, because I want to keep seeing you too.” She cleared her throat when her voice caught, and tried again. “And it would be the best thing that ever happened to me if—”
“Although there’s a good chance they could be awful, and then our deal would be off.”
April’s mouth fell and she gave him a little shove. “I don’t write bad lyrics. Ever. In fact, I’m good at everything I do.”
It took her a minute—a few seconds past the lazy grin that stole over his lips and the wicked gleam that lit behind his eyes—to realize what she had said. But then when he reached for her waist and pulled her toward him, searching her eyes for permission just before leaning in to kiss her, she no longer cared.
His lips roamed over hers, tasting and teasing and gently coaxing her to let him in. Her mouth parted willingly. Mint and chocolate—she identified both and added a few more flavors the longer they kissed. They kissed through a car horn sounding and a cell phone buzzing and a misstep on April’s part that had her tripping backward before Jack used both hands to steady her. Through it all, they never broke apart. And the longer they stayed there and the longer they explored each other and the longer she went without grabbing more than a strained breath, April realized a couple of things. One, she was good at everything she did. And two . . .
He was even better.
THE END
Amy Matayo has a degree in journalism from John Brown University. She worked for seven years as senior writer and editor at DaySpring Cards until the birth of her first child. Amy was a freelance writer for David C. Cook before pursuing writing full-time, and she focuses on edgy, contemporary books for women of all ages. She is the author of The Wedding Game, Love Gone Wild, and the upcoming Sway. She lives with her husband and four children in Arkansas.
Visit her website at www.amymatayo.com.
Facebook: amymatayoauthor
Twitter: @amymatayo
To my four daughters, Randi, Courtney Rae, Megan and Courtney Elizabeth. (Yes, I really have two daughters named Courtney!) Four weddings in four years?! How did we survive! What a blissful time, and what a blessing, to see you all happily wed.
The morning my older sister, Crystal, announced her engagement, our whole family celebrated. Well, all but my dad, who mumbled something about checking his bank balance as he headed toward his computer to get online.
Mama did a funny little dance on her way to make Crystal’s favorite pancakes, all while singing a rousing chorus from her favorite praise song. My grandmother burst into tears at the news. She gave Crystal a thousand kisses on each cheek—approximately—and launched into a passionate speech about the joys of married life. I chuckled at her enthusiasm as she boot-scooted her way out of the living room to call all her friends.
And me? I gave Crystal the biggest hug ever—and then stood there, waiting for the words every sister anticipates: the invitation to serve as maid of honor. I’d earned the role, after all. Twenty-two years of living under the same roof with my everything-has-to-be-perfect older sister had more than qualified me for the job. And the whole family knew orchestrating events was my special gift. Hadn’t I planned all the birthday parties since I was ten?
Now, if I could only get Crystal to stop staring at that over-the-top, princess-cut diamond on her ring finger, we’d get this show on the road.
It took a few minutes for her obsession with the engagement ring to subside, but she finally got control of herself. She grabbed my hands and squealed, then released a happy sigh. “Oh, Mari, isn’t it wonderful? I’m going to be Mrs. Phillip Havenhurst. Finally!” She brushed one of her platinum blond locks aside and giggled. “His parents have a membership at the River Oaks Country Club. According to Texas Bridal, it’s Houston’s top venue for weddings. I mean, who gets that? Certainly not girls like us. It’s such an honor. I feel like a princess.”
I felt a little more like Cinderella at the ball. Hanging out with Houston’s upper echelon would be nerve-racking at best. I’d never really been much for the country club set, even though most of the people in our upper-middle-class community strived for such luxuries. Me? I’d rather get married on the beach, any day. Or at our church. Certainly not at a hoity-toity place like River Oaks Country Club, and definitely not surrounded by people who preferred caviar to nacho cheese dip.
I was more than a little concerned by her news about the venue. “Does Dad know you’re getting married at the country club? No wonder he’s checking his bank balance. He’s probably in a panic.”