32
Ripley
Boone turns off the lights and walks toward the table with candles glowing atop the cake. As he walks, he sings "Happy Birthday" in the most devastating rendition I've ever heard.
When he stops, I'm dangerously close to tears. I rein it in and take a deep breath, preparing to blow out the candles.
"Hold up. You gotta make a wish first."
The top of the cake looks like it's in danger of setting off the fire alarms with all thirty of the candles, so I know I need to think fast if I'm going to have any frosting that's wax-free.
"I don't need anything. This is already perfect."
"Just make a wish, Ripley. Something big and scary that you've never dared wish before."
With his face flickering in the candlelight, something comes to mind. Like Boone ordered, it's big and scary, and I've never let myself think about it before.
"That. That right there. Whatever you're thinking right now, hold it in your mind and blow out those candles, birthday girl."
I swallow back the lump in my throat and take a deep breath. Part of me is terrified to do it because of what it could mean if that wish came true, but another part of me jumps to the forefront and makes sure every flame is doused by the time I finish.
"Happy birthday, Ripley," Boone whispers before his lips slide across mine, stealing a kiss.
When he pulls back, my mind is blank except for the wish shining like a beacon.
* * *
"I need two vodka tonics with lime, a Budweiser, and a margarita," one of the cocktail waitresses calls across the bar, and I snap into action.
It's Tuesday, and one of Nashville's hottest new artists is setting up onstage. The White Horse is packed tonight. Hope is off, and the rest of us are hustling to keep up with orders from people at the bar and waitresses on the floor.
I set the drinks on the tray and slap the ticket beside them.
"Thanks, hon." With a nod, the waitress disappears into the crowd, balancing the tray like the pro she is.
I give my ankle a stretch, still feeling the twinge that creeps up on me. Running down the bleachers, vaulting over a fence, and sprinting through dirt at the rodeo didn't help matters, but I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.
I move down the bar, wiping it with a rag as I go, and look up at the next group to take their orders. I freeze as I make eye contact with the two women.
Holy. Shit.
I look around, but no one seems to notice that a country music legend is sitting at the bar, or that one of the hottest female artists of the year is perched on the stool next to her.
Tana Vines and Holly Wix.
Actually, now I suppose she's technically Holly Wix Karas, wife of the infamous billionaire who tracked her down after a one-night stand and married her. I followed the whole story on a gossip site that I now avoid after seeing pictures of me with Boone on there.
Pull it together, Rip.
"What can I get for you, ladies?"
"Sprite for me," Holly Wix says with a smile. "But Tana needs a glass of your best red."
Tana shoots Holly a look. "You told me you were planning on pumping and dumping. You can drink, dammit. I'm not drinking by myself."
"I can't do that. It just doesn't feel right."
Tana rolls her eyes. "Wait until kid number two. You won't think twice about it."
"Either way, I'm not drinking tonight. We're lucky Crey was still in his office, or I probably wouldn't have made it out of the house in the first place."
My gaze bounces back and forth between them like a Ping-Pong game.
"That man . . . I swear. He would've put a team of ten security guys on us rather than just my two."
For the first time, I see the two men in suits taking up space just to the side and behind the women, blocking them from view with shoulders the size of linebackers.
"That's why we have to make this quick before he tracks us down, swoops in, and carries me out of here."
My eyebrows shoot up. I knew this Karas guy sounded like an asshole in the press, but . . .
"You know you love that alpha shit. God knows I do too. When Mick lays down the law and says he's going to paddle my ass . . ." Tana shifts. "Anyhoo, there go my panties."
I feel like I'm overhearing a conversation I shouldn't be privy to, but I can't stop listening as I fill a glass with ice and Sprite and reach for our best bottle of red.
I set the glasses in front of them, and it hits me that Holly and Boone have recorded duets together. They even did one live . . . Oh hell, was that the night Amber stood him up? Crap, it was.
Her presence here can't be a coincidence.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, ladies?"
Holly leans an elbow on the bar and looks me in the eye. "Yes, there's one big thing. I'd really like to hear you sing, Ripley Fischer. Someone showed me a video, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. And then I saw another video, and I called up Zane Frisco to get the scoop."