Joanne Rock - Nights Under the Tennessee Stars

“What about the repairs?” she asked. “Will you try not to show that my store is all torn up?” She stalked toward the front counter and eyed the heavy plastic dividing the current store from the space she was renovating.

“We can avoid shooting it if you want.” He followed her, telling himself he was only curious about what was behind the curtain. “But viewers aren’t interested in seeing perfect places or perfect people. They respond to what’s real. They relate better to people who work hard just like they do. Seeing the process of building the business can be a part of the appeal.”

“Is that so? That hardly explains why every other show on TV is about Hollywood wives or teenage billionaires.” She set her phone down on the front counter and ran her fingers over a basket of polished gemstones sitting by the register.

He picked up a smooth green gem. They were worry stones with sayings on them— luck , happiness , joy . As soon as his hand went in the basket, hers darted away.

“Erin, people don’t watch those shows to see Hollywood wives being happy and pampered, though, do they? They want to see catfights and back-talking kids. They want to see the reality behind the glamour.” His hand stalled on a stone that read “Wisdom” and fought the urge to pocket it.

He had the feeling spending more time with Erin would not be wise for him.

“There will be no catfights in my episode,” she announced, walking away from him toward the construction area. “I’m putting that in my contract.”

“I don’t imagine anyone would mess with you after they’ve seen you with a nail gun anyhow.” He followed her to the plastic sheeting. “But I’ll make a note of it just to be safe. Although you never know what might happen if two people are drop-dead set on getting the same item. Think about those wedding dress reality shows.”

“Will you be staying in town until the shooting begins for the Franklin store?” She pulled aside the curtain to show him the other half of Last Chance Vintage.

“It depends how fast I can bring on a third business to feature.” He whistled at the space she’d unveiled. “Wow.”

The adjoining room looked like a turn-of-the-century general store, the walls lined with open shelving, drawers and bins. A waist-high counter stood a few feet in front of the wall shelves, the dark wood polished to a high sheen. A rolling ladder leaned against one set of shelves. An antique sewing machine sat on a black tea cart and an ancient cash register was parked on one of the counters. A few cast-iron lanterns hung from rafters.

“Pretty cool, right?” Erin was the most relaxed he’d seen her all day. “This was the candy store when I was growing up. Well, I guess they sold cards and drugstore stuff, too. But all those shelves were full of candy jars.”

Her eyes sparkled at the memory, as if she had come alive. He could see what drove her work on the renovations. Maybe what drove the whole passion for antiques.

“Sounds like kid heaven.” He followed her across the polished hardwood floor that looked recently refinished. Or maybe it was just the scent of wood stain that still hung heavy in the air.

“We would spend half a Sunday afternoon debating how to best use fifty cents.” Smoothing a hand along a countertop, she spun to a sudden stop.

“We?” He paused right behind her, close enough that the top layer of her ballerina skirt brushed against his leg.

“My brothers and sisters and me.” She propped her elbows on the counter and watched him with a steady gaze.

“How many would that be?” He pulled open a shallow drawer under one of the countertops.

“Five in all. Two brothers, two sisters and me. But, er—here.” She popped open one of the bins on the front of a shelf, her shift back to neutral topics an obvious scramble away from anything personal. “I’m going to use some of these spots for the smaller architectural pieces—cabinetry hardware, vintage doorknobs, keys and switch plates. Modern home owners love stuff like that.”

They stood close together to look at the drawer, close enough for him to catch a hint of Erin’s fragrance. Amber... The realization distracted him from the conversation and took him back to Liv’s studio, where she had developed her own perfumes. Half the reason he’d bought that mammoth new house in the middle of nowhere had been to accommodate her plans to expand her business. She’d been so happy with the workspace in a separate building at the edge of the property...

“Remy?” Erin’s voice tugged him back to the present. “Everything okay?” She frowned at him. “I have spinach stuck between my teeth, don’t I?”

Her comment surprised a laugh out of him, her easy diffusion of the moment a welcome relief even if it didn’t chase away the weird guilt that came with this heightened awareness of her. His own wife had once told him that a woman’s scent acted on a man’s sexual desires even when she was nowhere around, so it bugged the hell out of him that he couldn’t stir up a sense memory of Liv, although he could probably recite the damn chemical recipe.

“No spinach, I promise.” He needed to get out of this store. Away from Erin and a rogue attraction he didn’t want to feel. “Sorry. I just—ah—remembered I need to follow up with some stores tonight to try and nail down the third spot for my central Tennessee show.”

“Of course.” She tucked a stray dark hair behind one ear and swept toward the gap in the plastic divider, her black tulle skirt floating along with her. “You’ll be in touch to confirm the day and time you’ll want to shoot?” She dug under the front counter and produced a business card. “All my contact information is on here.”

“Great. I’ll have someone from the shooting crew call you to go over all the details.” He took the card, careful not to let his fingers brush hers. “I’m glad you’re going to do this, Erin. I hope it’s really good for business.”

“I’m not going to lie.” She straightened a few pillboxes on a display near the register. “I hope we get a ton of great clothes for women who need them.”

He wondered how she could be so blasé about the store’s bottom line but not enough to linger in her amber presence to ask about it. His gaze had returned to her mouth a few too many times in the past five minutes.

“Me, too.” Normally, at the close of a meeting like this, he’d shake hands and walk away. But she didn’t seem any more inclined to make contact than him. She was sticking close to the register.

And the fact that she was as wary as he was only made him more curious about her. He backed up a step.

“Good luck finding that third business.” She picked up her phone and turned her attention to the screen.

“Thanks, Erin.” Remy recognized he’d been dismissed.

It was what he’d wanted—to get out of the shop before the attraction ramped up higher. He pushed through the door and slid into his rental car, feeling oddly let down. He’d felt the spark of a connection, and he knew she did, too. In another lifetime, that might have been a cause for some joy. Pleasure.

Today, it made him determined not to go back.

CHAPTER THREE

SARAH WELDON WAS so dead.

Cranking the volume on her car stereo as she drove from Gainesville to Nashville, Sarah hoped the throbbing bass would drown out her own thoughts since she usually tried not to think about that idea.

Dead.

Her mother had been murdered two years ago in a house break-in while Sarah had been overnight at a friend’s home. So death was a real, sickening reality for her. In fact, her father would have a fit if she said the words out loud— I’m so dead .

But then, her father was stuck in his grieving. Even she knew that, and she was just barely eighteen and in imminent danger of being kicked out of high school. There was a lot Sarah didn’t know, yet she was rock-solid certain that her father was more wrecked in the head than she was when it came to her mom. Sarah coped by trying new things, taking new risks and pushing her boundaries. Running fast and hard helped. She’d moved on, right? Her father, on the other hand, was stuck in the past and big-time overprotective of her.