In Tune with Love Page 5

  “I’m not cheap. That’s what I intended to say.” She wanted to give a little victorious fist pump to commemorate her sudden surge in memory, but refrained. Thank God for good judgment.

  “I might argue that point,” Jack said. “I haven’t gone on a date in years that cost me only eight bucks. You just might be the cheapest woman who ever lived.”

  April gave him a long look and motioned for the waiter. That little dig was going to cost him. In the form of a slice of cheesecake. Maybe two. No one called her cheap and got away with it.

  She was feisty; he liked it. She was incredibly hot; he liked that too. She was also quick to put him in his place, something he hadn’t seen for a couple of years now. He liked that most of all; probably a little more than he should. But something about April Quinn had him feeling instantly connected, and that was something he didn’t need. Not at this point in his career. Maybe not ever.

  But every time he considered taking her home, he came up with two new reasons not to.

  She was funny.

  He wanted more coffee.

  Traffic was bound to be busy at midnight.

  She had just ordered cheesecake. A move he saw right through but somehow liked anyway. Note to self: never call April Quinn cheap. Although if that’s what it took to spend more time with her . . .

  And above everything else, he wanted to see more of April Quinn.

  This was the worst reason of all. He needed to get out of here before the desire to spend time with her took over. Before he found himself asking for another date and another and another.

  Under the table, something kicked at his shin. He looked up into April’s amused face.

  “What was that for?”

  “You disappeared. It’s one thing to call me cheap. It’s another to check out on our date altogether.”

  His mouth tilted, his signature wicked grin that almost always worked on women. “Is that what we’re on? A date?”

  She shrugged, stifled a yawn. “Just repeating what you said earlier. Personally, I would call it more like a peace offering given by you, yet still up for debate on my end. I haven’t decided whether to accept or not. Maybe I’ll have some pie while I think it over.”

  Apparently the signature grin thing didn’t work on April.

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Cheesecake and pie? Are you trying to put on weight while you do all this thinking?”

  She gave him a look. “Careful Jack, you should never call a woman fat. You never know when she might retaliate. You could be up onstage singing or—”

  “Why didn’t you sing with me tonight?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but the opportunity had practically landed in his lap.

  “Because I knew why you asked, and I wasn’t about to make it that easy for you. If you want to smooth things over with me, you’ll need to get a lot more creative than that.”

  More creative than pulling her up onstage for a duet? He was Jack freaking Vaughn. It didn’t get more creative than that. He swallowed all the retorts that floated through his brain and tried to think up a response—one that didn’t make him sound like an arrogant jerk. It wasn’t easy.

  “You got any suggestions? Something in particular you want me to do?” She probably wanted him to sign over all his royalties. Give her a writer’s credit. Make a public statement declaring his guilt. Make a ridiculous apology on camera. He might have done that a couple of years ago, but not now. No way. Not happening.

  Again, she shrugged. She almost looked . . . annoyed. “Well, I can tell you right now I don’t want anything obvious. It’s not like I want back pay or anything. That would be ridiculous.” She laughed a brief, impatient laugh, one that had him baffled.

  She didn’t?

  Jack drained the rest of his mocha latte and set the cup in front of him. “Then what do you want?”

  April looked at him a long moment before giving him a barely perceptible smile. “I don’t know, Jack. But I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  “If you would use your brain, you might be able to come up with a better idea. One that hasn’t been used by every bride since 1964.”

  For the third time today, April refrained from chucking something heavy at her sister’s head. Her sister, who April considered to be her best friend on occasion. Her confidante. Her go-to-gal when everyone else left her all alone. Now April wanted to do the leaving, but of course she was stuck nine feet in the air, propped on a ladder, hanging white and cream paper lanterns from the reception hall’s black ceilings. She knew the effect would be beautiful, but frankly, she wouldn’t mind gathering all this paper crap in a pile and lighting it on fire.

  “What is wrong with Christmas lights?” She hooked the lantern onto a nail and descended a few steps to take in the effect. “White lights are beautiful and will only enhance the planet and stars effect you seem to be going for.”

  Kristin sighed again. The sound had been so frequent all morning, April was beginning to suspect carbon dioxide was the only element left to breathe in this room. “Christmas lights are so overdone. They scream I’m not original. Frankly, they also scream cheap. I thought you were better than that, April.”

  It was all she could do to keep her mouth shut. April was so tired of that word being used to describe her. “They aren’t cheap, especially if you get the LED white kind.”

  “I didn’t mean—” Kristin made an impatient noise. “Just . . . I like the lanterns, but not the lights. Think of something else. Something no one has done before. Something people will be talking about for years and years to come.”

  “You could hang live snakes from the rafters. That would get people talking.”

  “That isn’t funny, April.”

  She hadn’t been kidding. At this point, she would do anything to move past decorating for this stupid wedding, even letting a snake bite her over and over and over. Because maybe it would be poisonous and maybe she would be admitted to the hospital and maybe she would have to stay there for days and days and days while someone else served her food and fixed her hair and gave her massages—all the things she’d watched Kristin enjoy all week.

  She didn’t exactly know if they offered free massages in hospitals, but that wasn’t the point.

  April was sick of being in charge; that was the point.

  “Okay, then tell me your bright ideas. Because I’m having trouble coming up with anything else, and furthermore—” April froze, felt that weird sensation when your stomach drops into your toes and then bounces straight back up into your esophagus, and swallowed. “Oh dear God, they’re here.”

  Below her, Kristin reached for her throat and cleared it—as if that one small act could dissipate the tension that had just swooped in and added a grayish pall to their day of wedding decorating. Their parents. Their parents were here. Which meant they were likely exhausted from their two-hour drive from Chattanooga, because who wouldn’t be? Silent disapproval wrapped around them both like an extra-large sweater as the door closed behind them.

  “I see you started without me,” Gloria Quinn said. Her statement carried the same edge it would carry if she’d said I see the Democrats are in control again or I see you ignored my advice and wore the color red anyway or I see you’ve put on a few pounds—all of which April had heard at least once in the last year alone. “And paper lanterns, Kristin? I would have gone with electric ones, the iron kind you can buy at Crate and Barrel or one of those other cheap catalog stores everyone raves about even though I have no idea why.”

  Crate and Barrel was cheap? April bit back a retort. Next to her, Kristin whispered a low criticism.

  “Electric lanterns. Thanks a lot, April. Why didn’t you think of that?”

  April ignored the dig and addressed her mother. “Because electric lanterns would have required a rewiring in the entire lighting system—outlets would need to be added and switches installed and I really didn’t think you would want to pay for it. Besides, paper lanterns are eco-friendly and much easier to store
after the ceremony is over.”

  As expected, Gloria’s face relaxed. Her mother, the only ultraconservative April knew who was also zealous about environmental causes. Admirable, sure. Except she was usually more passionate about them than she was her own daughters.

  “Then I guess I can live with them.” She clicked her tongue. “But I draw the line at Christmas lights.” At Kristin’s breathy laugh, her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Kristin, tell me you didn’t decide on something that tacky.”

  Kristin paled. “No, it was—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and everything you’ve done up to this point will look so much better when I’m finished with it.” Her mother took in the reception hall with a disapproving frown, then set her sights directly on her sister. “Kristin, who on earth is your wedding coordinator? Because I insist you fire her this minute.”

  Kristin gasped. April glared.

  She’d been here all of five minutes, and her mother had somehow managed to insult both of them.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” Kristin said when he walked through the front door of the reception hall. “We’ve been here two hours already.”

  And now Jack was on the receiving end of Kristin’s wrath. What a perfect start to the day.

  The second he stepped out of his car, Jack wanted to climb back inside like the coward April claimed he was last night. Now he wished he’d followed that instinct. He’d never been more afraid in his life—not when he signed his first contract or recorded his first album or stepped onstage for the very first time. Of all the things that frightened him in life, he could think of four that topped the list.

  April.

  April’s sister.

  April’s mom.

  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.

  And April’s parents hadn’t stopped glaring at him all afternoon.

  Jack shut off the microphone and jumped off the makeshift stage, rubbing his hands together because really, he had no idea what to do. Torn between wanting to see April and wanting to flee this pit of tension and hostility—funny, considering a happy, supposedly joyful wedding would take place in this room tomorrow night—he stood back and waited for a decision to fall from the sky and smack him in the face. But like always, he waited for no reason because nothing happened. April continued filling miniature shot glasses with birdseed and yellow drink umbrellas because her mother had deemed all her previous work worthless and tossed those sucker-looking things into the trash. A small collection of gold balls lay heaped in a mound inside the trash can—like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, if the pot of gold lay on top of a collection of discarded coffee cups and yesterday’s Chinese takeout.

  The trash smelled awful. Someone needed to take it out.

  Jack’s eyes drifted away from April as he took in Kristin placing and replacing name cards around white linen-topped tables. Her mother reassembled gigantic arrangements of cream-colored lilies and white roses, proclaiming that the local flower shop was inept and completely without taste and for the love of God could they not tell the difference between a freshly cut flower and one that had clearly been refrigerated for more than a day? The level of outrage on this particular point left Jack perplexed, but then again he wasn’t a chick and maybe this is what women worried about.

  For maybe the millionth time in his life, he silently thanked God for making him a man.

  He also silently begged his Maker for a little grace. In about four seconds, he would need it.

  “So did everything sound okay to you? Because if you had something different in mind we coul
d always change things up a bit.” Kristin hovered over a pile of multiple types of ribbon mounded on one of the round tables. She chewed her lip, heavy on the concentration, as she glanced up for the briefest second.

  “It sounded great.” Her enthusiasm equaled a disappointed meteorologist’s pronouncement on the perfectly normal weather during non-hurricane season. It’s pretty. Not a cloud in the sky. Nothing to report here. Not even a single death. “The only thing I didn’t hear you play was ‘Open Arms.’ It’s on your set list, right? That’s the song we were listening to when Sam first asked me to be exclusive. You have to sing it.”

  “Open Arms”? By Journey? The “Open Arms” that was about thirty years old and had probably been played more at weddings than even “Wind Beneath My Wings”—which he drew the line at and would continue to draw the line at until the end of time? Or until the end of this particular wedding since this was the last and final time anyone would refer to him as a wedding singer ever again.

  But . . . “Open Arms”? Surely she was kidding.

  “Um, no. I didn’t see that one on the list I was given. Maybe somehow it got left off.”

  “Well, make sure you add it. Sam would be so disappointed.”

  From a few yards back, April laughed. She tried to cover it with a sudden hacking cough—one that Kristin bought but Jack could spot as fake even if he hadn’t been standing ten feet away from her. Right then, Jack decided to close the distance. Maybe it was a small kinship he’d felt with her since their little date last night. Maybe it was because she felt like the only familiar person in the room. Maybe it was just that at this particular moment in time they shared a private exasperation with Kristin. Whatever the reason, he felt like being around her. Even if her parents flung imaginary daggers at his chest as he approached.