"My dear Lindsey," Marilyn said again.
Lindsey lifted a brow. This was, after all, the same woman who had quietly spread word almost ten years ago that any real estate agent willing to show Lindsey homes in Bliss would never sell another house in the entire county, which was why Lindsey both worked and lived in Willow Glen, the trendy city thirty minutes from Nat and Noah and Dad. Not many people had the guts to cross Marilyn.
But Marilyn couldn't take anything from Lindsey.
Not anymore.
Marilyn draped her coat over the clean chair and lowered herself onto the edge of the seat. "My friendship with your father has made me consider reevaluating some of my life truths," she said.
Lindsey waited. She'd seen love-and hate-do remarkable things to people, but Marilyn lived and breathed leading the Most Married-est Town on Earth. Divorce attorneys didn't belong in Marilyn's life picture. Period.
"While it would've been preferable for your sister's first husband to perish of natural or heroic causes rather than to have departed her life through divorce," Marilyn said, "it's obvious that Natalie's second marriage to our dear CJ is a blessing for all involved, and that Bliss is better for the opportunity they had to become one. And that"-Marilyn's eye twitched again-"would not have been possible without the intervention of professionals such as yourself."
Tonight would be a two-glasses-of-wine night. "That's very open-minded of you," Lindsey said.
"And as you seem to have a good deal of practice with … breakups … it occurred to me that we have a unique opportunity to capitalize on your … talents, and to benefit Bliss at the same time."
Marilyn was still peering down her nose with her crystal blue laser-flingers, and other than a brief show of pink that had quickly receded from her cheeks, her Queen General poker face was firmly in place.
Good thing Lindsey had plenty of practice reading between the lines.
Bliss had been without a professional matchmaker since their last one retired seven years ago, and Marilyn thought her friendship with Dad could open the lines of communication for Lindsey to come home and do what she was supposedly born to do.
Lindsey's refusal to live up to Marilyn's idea of her destiny was the other reason Marilyn had put a bounty on the head of anyone willing to show Lindsey real estate in Bliss all those years ago.
Marilyn's way or the highway, and Marilyn's way was having Lindsey trained and ready to be the next woo-woo psychic matchmaker in Bliss.
Lindsey preferred the highway. "I'm quite happy with the profession I have now, thank you."
"Of course, my dear," Marilyn said. "I would never suggest you abandon your … profession."
Lindsey cleared her throat.
"But Bliss would be so grateful if one of our own returned home to judge the Battle of the Boyfriends next month."
Lindsey's lips parted.
Then snapped shut.
The Battle of the Boyfriends had started as a wedding band competition in the seventies. The winning band was typically booked for the biggest and best weddings in Bliss. But over the years, the battle had evolved as competitors used their time onstage to dedicate love songs to their girlfriends or crushes. Now every year, a dozen or more men got onstage to sing for their women, and every year, there were hookups, proposals, heartbreaks, and earplugs. It wasn't as big as the Husband Games-a series of Olympic-style domestic challenges for new and old husbands alike that capped off the week of Knot Festival every June, and which Nat now organized for Bliss in Mom's place. But the Battle of the Boyfriends was legendary in its own right.
A music-blind divorce attorney as a judge for Bliss's annual competition didn't fit. Even if Marilyn was trying to make nice with Lindsey for the sake of her special friendship with Dad.
"What do you really want?" Lindsey asked.
"My dear Lindsey-"
"Don't ‘my dear' me."
"I'm simply offering an olive branch."
"I've never much liked olives."
Marilyn smiled brighter. And though Lindsey had nothing this woman could take away, her stomach dipped. Nothing good came of Marilyn smiling like that. "A grape vine, then," Marilyn said.
Lindsey studied her. Her short, dyed-and-highlighted-to-perfection brown hair was immaculate as always, her white business suit cut entirely too similarly to Lindsey's light gray business suit, the determined set to her square jaw hiding the beginnings of a natural sag beneath her chin. Her lipstick was bloodred and perfect, her shoulders square as though she'd been raised by Southern debutante mamas. All in all, she exuded I will not take no for an answer.
Marilyn wanted more than to offer peace.
She wanted Lindsey back in Bliss, acting as matchmaker.
No-that wasn't exactly what Marilyn wanted. At least, it couldn't be the only thing Marilyn wanted. A gasp of surprise slipped from Lindsey's lips before she could stop it.
Marilyn arched her brows-mildly, so as not to cause wrinkles most likely-and her smile didn't waver. But then again, if Marilyn knew what Lindsey suspected, she wouldn't show it.
Lindsey stood. "It was kind of you to think of me, Marilyn, but Bliss has far better options for everything you need. I'll consider the olive branch extended though."
"Think it over for a few days," Marilyn said. "Take a week, if you must. It would be lovely to have a daughter of Bliss return home as a judge for the Battle of the Boyfriends."
"My answer is final. And I have work to do."
Marilyn's lips pursed, but she stood as well. "Regardless, the position will still be open should you change your mind. Talk it over with your father. I'm sure he'll have a level-headed opinion on the matter."
She tucked her wool coat over her arm, gave Lindsey another gracious smile that made her look as friendly as a hungry tiger, and then strolled to the door.
"Oh, and Marilyn," Lindsey said.
"Yes?"
"I won't help you marry Kimmie off either."
Marilyn's shoulders visibly twitched. "That's quite presumptuous," she sniffed.
But long after she left, Lindsey had no doubt Kimmie was the real reason Marilyn had stopped in today. And if Lindsey was right, Marilyn would return with more carrots until Lindsey agreed to help find Kimmie a man. It was a little-known secret that Marilyn had sold half of her bakery to a distant relative to fund Knot Fest a few years ago, after a flood had nearly wiped Bliss off the map. And it was even less well-known that Marilyn's relative had passed away, leaving her half of the bakery to a Chicago playboy who had spent the last year taunting the Queen General. Marilyn wanted Kimmie married off to someone who could both help Kimmie manage the bakery she would inherit one day, and also manage-or get rid of-their silent partner.
Lindsey smiled to herself. Marilyn, the bakery, the matchmaking scheme-this was normal for the antics in and around Bliss. And the closer Lindsey got to life returning to normal, the further she got from remembering the blip in her life that was Will.
Chapter Four
WILL WANTED TO believe he should've stayed in Nashville, but by Wednesday, it was clear Nashville didn't have what he needed.
By Friday night, Will conceded defeat. He'd irritated half of the songwriters in Nashville and a good portion of his label's management by not liking any of the songs he heard from anybody else. He'd also lost all the tunes whispering in his ear after his trip to Bliss. Even Vera couldn't find the music again for him.
He was swinging his bags into his truck when Mikey arrived at Will's Nashville mansion.
"Ain't enough to aim for the Country Music Hall of Fame? Have to aim for the Dumbass Hall of Fame too?" Mikey tossed his own bags in the truck and climbed into the cab. "Know better than to talk you out of it. So let's go be stupid together."
Now, two nights later, they were settled in a furnished rental house in a quiet neighborhood in Bliss that Will's assistant had arranged for them.
But the house didn't have food yet-or tunes-so that night, Will and Mikey climbed out of Will's truck in the frigid, half-empty parking lot at Suckers, an aptly named watering hole not far from the house. A giant neon sign that wouldn't have been out of place in Vegas lit the night. "Can't help thinking being here is a bad, bad idea, buckaroo," Mikey said.
"It's this or a couple years off touring."
"Had a good run."
"Yeah, might as well close out my career with Hitched."
Mikey's shoulders twitched.
Next to Mari Belle, Mikey had been the loudest in protesting Will's last album. If you're going back to that dark place, you're going alone this time, Mari Belle had said. I thought you burned those songs.
You should've burned those songs, Mikey had chimed in.
Probably they were right. For Will's peace of mind, though not for the Billy Brenton empire.
Two years ago, Will had gotten drunk at his label's Christmas party. He'd started talking about all those old songs he'd written about Lindsey. Apparently he'd sang what he could remember of a few of them.
There was a reason Will didn't drink much.
The brass had called him two days later, wanting to hear more. And since Will never got rid of a song, he still had 'em tucked away. He'd thought he could handle it, that enough time had passed, that the songs probably sucked worse than ten straight nights of sharing a bus with nine other guys on a straight chili diet.