A/N and Disclaimer: I own nothing as always thanks for reading and supporting me with your lovely reviews this is a slow burner romance, so I hope I don't put you all to sleep with character development…

Chapter 3

Sam

Nashville, Tennessee

December 15

"Sam? Are you in there?" Two short raps on the trailer's door followed, and Sam jumped up from the small couch where he'd been sitting.

The show had set up trailers in the soundstage's parking lot for when contestants needed a moment of privacy, to call family or shed a few tears after receiving biting criticism from the judges. Sam had told Mason he'd be in trailer three going over "contract negotiations" with April. There were no contract negotiations, however. He simply needed to get away from the prying eyes of the other contestants, and the hushed gossip that followed him, for a moment of time.

He was about to say, "Just a minute!" when the door to the trailer door swung open. Cedes poked her head inside.

She took in the scene, her eyes moving from his face to his hands, which were in front of him . . . and holding clay. A ball of clay had fallen from his lap when he stood, and rested near his feet, one long part connecting the lump to the sculpture of his dog he had been working on.

"Don't you know how to knock?" he asked, ignoring her while he continued to work on his art.

"Why are you never where you're supposed to be?" Cedes retorted. That was fair enough. Sam followed his own schedule and rules, only bending to those of the show when he absolutely had to. He got away with it, but while he benefited from the privilege his last name provided, what he longed for most was freedom from it.

"Besides, I did knock. Twice." Cedes tugged on the sleeves of her hoodie, tucking the ends over her hands and then crossing her arms over her chest, a sure sign she was annoyed. Sam was starting to recognize her tells. "So, you are an artist, huh?"

"Yes, I sculpt, knit, and do macaroni art, too," Sam replied. "But it's not . . . something I advertise, okay?" Then he pointed at the door, which still stood open. "Could you close that before McConaughey leaves and create havoc on the set?"

Cedes obliged, then glanced at McConaughey. The dog was not going anywhere. He was fast asleep on a fur-covered pillow, lying on his back with his stumpy legs sticking up in the air. "Does he always sleep like that?"

Sam chuckled. "Yep, he's one of a kind."

"Look, I would love to take a deep dive into the whole 'Sam Evans, Incognito Sculptor' thing," Cedes said, absentmindedly tugging on the hem of her short skort. Her long forest green cardigan hung just about an inch above the skirt. "But Will is in a mood, he has a meeting he said can't be changed, so we need to do the rehearsal now."

"Well, Will can wait another darn minute. And why are you all made up like that?" Sam asked, noting Cedes's stage-ready makeup and sleek side ponytail.

"It's a dress rehearsal, remember? Full costume and makeup and these ridiculously uncomfortable shoes." She stuck one long leg out in front of her, showing off the crystal heels of her red bottom shoes before losing her balance and pitching into Sam. As he steadied her, the warm scent of chocolate wafted into his nose and he suddenly wished he didn't have to let her go. Which confused the hell out of him, because 99 percent of the time Cedes Jones was a thorn in his side.

"You really aren't a stiletto gal, are you?" He set her back on her feet, but her sweet scent lingered, as did the unwelcome desire to take her in his arms again.

"Says the guy who never has to wear anything uncomfortable."

Sam looked down at his outfit—jeans slung low, held up by a leather belt with a wide buckle, cowboy boots, a T-shirt over which he would throw a leather jacket. This was his everyday outfit, but also his onstage one. He knew it wasn't fair.

"Anyway, we'd better head inside. Need me to carry anything?" Cedes looked pointedly to the couch, where Sam had tried to hide his art supplies, a lilt of amusement on her face.

"All good, thanks." He shoved the macaroni boxes, glue, molds, clay, and yarn, and knitting needles into the black leather messenger bag he was rarely without. This was going to be a whole thing now. Cedes was what his mom used to call the "busybody" sort—unable to mind her own business, even when it was clear she should. Plus, the last thing he wanted to do was have to explain why he had an arts and crafts studio in his America's Newest Star trailer, because it all linked back to his mom and gran, and he didn't want to talk about them.

McConaughey chose that moment to get up and stretch when Sam called out to her. Cedes reached into her pocket and pulled out a jerky treat, holding it between her fingers. Sam was about to protest but then Cedes said, "It's organic chicken, no wheat."

He shrugged, annoyed that Cedes was feeding McConaughey—who was on a strict diet, because gluten made his skin itch—but also pleased at her thoughtfulness.

"You're a really good doggie. Yes, you are," Cedes said, crouching down to smooth the flyaways on McConaughey's ears, running her hand along his coat. "My grandma used to do pottery and other sculptures, and this modeling clay is not easy to mold. She also knitted. The macaroni art is something new to me."

Sam was about to say, "Okay, but let's change the subject" when the door flew open again. This time there was no knock, no warning at all. And in a split second McConaughey had bolted out the open door.

Mason looked stunned as McConaughey ran past him. Sam was mere seconds behind McConaughey, but Cedes beat him to it, racing out the trailer after the dog. However, she forgot about her shoes, jumping out the door and skipping the stairs altogether.

At first Cedes landed on her feet, heels and all, which impressed the hell out of Sam. But then she fell sideways, hard, and was a moment later sitting on the ground holding her left ankle with a pained expression on her face.

"Cedes, NO!" Sam yelled as he pushed around Mason and jumped from the trailer as well, landing easily in his boots. He crouched beside her, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Don't worry about me," Cedes said between clenched teeth. She looked pale even though her chocolate skin was not translucent, and Sam knew she had to be in a lot of pain. "Get McConaughey."

The dog, not interested in the parking lot, returned back toward Cedes and Sam, then plopped himself down and rested his head on Cedes's exposed thigh.

"Good boy," Cedes murmured, her voice catching with the pain. Then she pulled another piece of jerky out of her sweater's pocket and gave it to McConaughey.

"You shouldn't reward him, you know," Sam said, fastening McConaughey's harness so he couldn't escape again.

Mason was now beside them, apologizing and sweating profusely, despite the fact that it was December in Nashville and not at all hot. "Ms. Jones, Mr. Evans, I am so sorry. Mr. Schuester told me to get out here and find the two of you, and then I came to the trailer. I know I should have knocked."

"Mason, it'll be alright, man." Sam didn't have time to be angry with his assistant right now. "Can you take McConaughey back inside and call and tell Will we need a minute?"

The assistant, wide eyed as he glanced at Cedes' rapidly swelling ankle, took McConaughey in his arms. "What should I tell Mr. Schuester when he asks why you two need a minute?"

"Don't give him an explanation. Just let him know that we need a got darn minute!" Sam's exasperation boiled over. Twenty minutes earlier he had been happily sculpting in the trailer, humming one of his favorite Christmas tunes, Nat King Cole's "The Christmas Song," which had also been one of his mom's favorites. It was the song they used to sing on repeat while decorating the tree every holiday. He had been feeling relaxed and nostalgic just before Cedes had shown up, but now he was back to being pissed.

Cedes put a hand on Sam's arm. "Mason, tell Will we are going through one of the verses together and we'll be right there." Sam had to admit Cedes ran circles around him when it came to tact and good manners.

"Go on, before he storms out here and we're all in trouble," she added. Mason nodded, and headed back inside the soundstage's building.

Sam returned his focus to Cedes. He ran gentle fingers over her ankle, which was too swollen for her to walk on. Cedes pulled her leg back slightly at his touch. "I really sprained it badly, huh?"

"It could be broken." Sam said hoping it was just a sprain and not something worse.

"I'm fine. I've sprained my ankle before while walking on flat concrete. Sometimes it rolls and I fall down. I think it's from an old basketball injury.."

"You are too short to have played basketball; besides your ankle looks like it swallowed a tennis ball. It really might be broken." He carefully pressed on the swollen area again, and she cringed. "You should probably get an X-ray."

"I wasn't on a basketball team, smartass, I injured it during P.E. when I was in the ninth grade, and there is no way that it is broken; I would know," Cedes said, shaking her head. "We just need to get inside. Like I said, Will was in a mood. I overheard him on the phone. Something about his wife."

Sam had never liked Will's wife who was almost half his age—he had heard rumors that Will had invested a lot of his money in the play Funny Lady, a sequel of Funny Girl, and although the audience had loved his wife as the third Fanny Brice in the original play; they said her latest play was now losing money all over the place and was causing Will to be in financial trouble.

"Will you help me up?"

Sam came behind Cedes and crouched so he could slide his arms under hers. "Ready?"

She nodded.

"Okay, one, two . . . three." Sam stood, hoisting Cedes up as he did. She leaned back against his chest for a moment, and he held tight. "You okay? Can you put any weight on it?"

Still holding Cedes under her arms, he peered around to see her face when she didn't answer him. She did not look good. "Are you going to pass out on me, Cedes?"

She shook her head, then determinedly set her bad foot on the ground, gingerly shifting her weight. She drew in a sharp breath, and Sam took her weight back into his arms as she stood again on one leg.

"I can't walk. How am I going to perform?" She sounded close to tears, and Sam felt beyond guilty. Sure, he didn't ask her to jump out of the trailer in high heels, but she had done it to try to catch his dog.

"Well, lucky for you, I do a hundred push-ups a day and can bench press two hundred pounds," Sam said, shifting beside her without letting her go.

"Yeah I know, you mention that a lot when I complain about my workout."

He laughed, then picked her up in his arms, careful to make sure her skort was will pulled down and she wasn't exposing her butt cheeks.

"What's the plan here?" Cedes asked. "Are you going to carry me around all day?"

"If I have to." Sam gave her a smile. Not the Evans one, a real one this time. "Besides, I didn't get my workout in today, and I'd say you have enough weight that I probably won't need to. You are not two hundred, but you are probably closer to it than one hundred."

She hit at his arm, rolling her eyes—but it was good-natured, Sam noted. Progress.

As he walked back to the soundstage, easily carrying Cedes in his arms, he said, "You know, I don't just make dog sculptures, knit my dog sweaters, and make macaroni art of him.."

"No?" Cedes replied, her eyes meeting his.

"I also knit sweaters and booties for premature babies in the hospital. And I've been known to create things for my family and friends out of material other than clay and macaroni. These are just things easy to take on the road with me. I have a kiln at home. I normally bring clay and even Play Doh with me when I have to perform because working with them calms me." He wasn't sure why he blurted those personal details out, and he felt a little embarrassed by his verbal diarrhea. But then she gave him a warm smile, which made him glad he had.

"Well, look at you, Sam Evans. Surprising me yet again," Cedes said. "Who taught you how to do all these different types of art?"

"My mom and gran did," he replied, breaking eye contact.

Before Cedes could ask any other questions about his mom and gran, Sam said, "Can you reach the handle?" They were now at the building's door. Cedes stretched an arm out, clasping the handle.

"Easy does it," he said, maneuvering carefully to avoid any part of Cedes hitting the edges of the doorway.

"What do we say?" Cedes asked. "I don't want them to make me go to the hospital."

"We'll just say you turned your ankle, because of those ridiculous shoes. And that if they don't start putting you in more appropriate footwear, well, you'll sue them."

"I can't sue over shoes!" Cedes laughed.

"Sweetheart, this is America. You can sue over anything."

"Fine," Cedes said, her arms tight around Sam's neck. "I shall insist on more comfortable shoes from now on, or I will sue their asses."

"That's my girl," Sam murmured with a grin.

He was instantly self-conscious, as if only then remembering Cedes was barely his friend, let alone his "girl." He wasn't used to this off-kilter feeling, and he didn't like it.

Just then Will came around the corner, speeding up when he saw Sam carrying Cedes. He was pushing a wheelchair, which was on set for any injuries or if a contestant got woozy during a performance.

"Mason filled me in. How bad is it?" he asked, setting a hand on Cedes' knee. Sam glanced at Will's hand on Cedes's bare leg, and had the urge to push it off.

"Not the best, not the worst," Cedes replied, giving Will a warm smile, to Sam's chagrin.

"Sam, let me take Cedes. You need to go back and get your jacket. Dress rehearsal is starting in ten minutes."

"Uh, that's okay. I can grab it after Cedes is settled. She needs some ice for that ankle."

"Already done. Mason is getting it ready as we speak. Come on now." Will gestured for Sam to set Cedes down in the wheelchair. He lowered her to the seat as gently as he could, and Will set one of the footrests in the highest position to support her injured leg.

"Thanks, Sam," Cedes said. But then she turned to Will, thanking him for getting the wheelchair, and Sam felt like a third wheel. Another feeling he did not love.

"Our poor songbird has a broken wing," Will said, crouching beside the wheelchair, his forehead creased in concern. "Think you can perform from the chair?"

"My voice isn't sprained," Cedes replied.

"That's my girl," Will said. Sam hated the proprietary way Will addressed Cedes, all the while chastising himself for saying precisely the same to her only moments before.

As Will pushed Cedes down the hall, Sam stood by the door, watching them until they'd turned the corner.

Cedes

Nashville, Tennessee

December 16

Cedes limped from wilted houseplant to wilted houseplant in her apartment, as she either over or under watered the plants. She lived in an affordable neighborhood near Nashville known for its trendy shops and restaurants. Cedes had taken the apartment because she could see the edge of the Music City Center from her tiny balcony. When she had moved back to Nashville last year, after raising enough money to make a go of it again—America's Newest Star was just a long shot on the horizon—she had decided that this time around, she needed to try to put down roots and convince the universe she really did belong here. Houseplants seemed like a good way to do that—they literally had roots. So she had visited a local greenhouse and loaded up on them. But all her plants, even the aloe plant, which she had believed was impossible to kill were now dried-out husks. The only plant that was still alive was the Christmas cactus. But it was stubbornly refusing to release its festive bloom, and its leaves were starting to brown around the edges. She resolutely watered all the plants anyway, hoping for a miracle.

When that was done, she sat down on her couch and picked up the Tana Lopez autobiography she had been planning to read for ages. It was rare to have one and a half days off from the reality show's rigorous taping schedule, and Cedes had been looking forward to it. But now that she was alone, she found she missed the hustle and bustle of the set.

And, if she was being honest with herself, she really missed Sam, too. He had been very kind to her after she hurt her ankle the day before. Truth was, she hadn't exactly hated being fussed over all day by Sam Evans. And he had stood by her side while she explained to the producers that wearing heels was clearly a health hazard and how she would still be wearing stylish but more practical footwear from now on, thank you very much. All things considered, it had not been her worst day. She had seen a new side of Sam. A side of him that was kind and caring underneath his unbothered swagger. A side of him that did all types of arts and crafts. Maybe, she was actually starting to enjoy being around Sam. What did that mean?

A loud buzzing snapped her out of her reverie. For a moment she had no idea what she was hearing. Right. Her apartment buzzer. She stood and hobbled to the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Sugar plum! It's your granny!"

"What?! Grandma!?"

"Surprise! Merry Early Christmas! I've come to stay with you for a few days!"

"Hang on, I'll come downstairs and help you upstairs with your bags! Stay right where you are!"

An elated Cedes limped down the hallway to the elevator, hoping her grandmother wouldn't notice she was injured—but, of course, it was the first thing she commented on when Cedes entered the downstairs lobby.

"What in the world happened to you baby girl?" my granny exclaimed. "Are you hurt? I didn't think singing on a televised contest was a contact sport!"

"I'm fine," Cedes said, trying not to grimace as she lifted her grandma's small suitcase and headed for the elevator bank. "What's important is that you're here. How on earth did you get here?"

"Put down that bag and give me a proper hug. And then, let me carry it. I may be old, but I am certainly not too old to carry a tiny bag—especially with you in such a rough shape! I'm glad I came. You obviously need me! And to answer your question, by airplane, you know I didn't drive here, surely."

"But why?"

For just a second, sadness crept into her eyes—but then it was gone and Cedes wondered if she had imagined it. "Because I miss you terribly and the idea of not seeing you this Christmas because of your taping schedule broke my heart a little. Now, how about that hug, lovebug?"

Cedes threw her arms around her grandma. She seemed smaller since the last time Cedes had seen her, during her last trip home to Lima six months before, to sing the anthem at a Cavaliers basketball game. As she gently squeezed her grandmother's fragile shoulder blades, she felt a tingle of alarm but pushed it away.

"Let me get a good look at you." Her granny pulled back and gazed up at her granddaughter with eyes the same rich hue as Cedes' whiskey brown. "Ah, there's my baby girl. How I've missed you."

Cedes breathed in her grandmother's familiar Christmas scent: White Diamonds perfume and candy canes. "I've missed you, too."

They made their way toward the elevator bank, Cedes limping along and Grandma peering about at the lobby, nodding her head approvingly all the while. "I like this place. It is not at all as seedy as I imagined it."

Cedes laughed. "You pictured me living somewhere seedy?"

"Well, the Nashville music scene used to be a bit more rough around the edges than it is now. Or so I heard. My career saw me playing in some different locales than Nashville, as you know."

It was her granny who had first sparked a love of singing in Cedes. Before Cedes had been born, she—then Sadie Smith, not Sadie Jones—had been part of an all-female group, similar to that of the Dandridge Sisters, who traveled the Chitlin Circuit and performed often at New York's Cotton Club singing and dancing. By the time Cedes came along, Sadie mostly only sang in the choir at church, but she had made sure her granddaughter's life was full of music.

Upstairs, Cedes gave her grandma a tour of her small but cozy apartment—galley kitchen, her bedroom, the tiny balcony overlooking Music City Center, living room, and tiny bathroom. Then Grandma Sadie opened her suitcase and took out her quilting supplies which she spread across the couch which included the beginning of a beautiful quilt. "There we go, that warms the place up a little, doesn't it?" She glanced up at Cedes and raised an eyebrow. "Takes some of the attention away from all those pitiful dead plants. You should probably stick with singing and stay away from horticulture, my dear."

Cedes laughed. "You're probably right, granny. And thank you for the sculpture of me singing in amber. It's beautiful."

"I have something else for you." She sat down on the newly livened up couch and pulled a little gift-wrapped package out of her purse. The wrapping was covered in tiny silver stars. Her grandma's eyes danced. "I came all the way here to give you your Christmas gift in person, and I can't wait another minute for you to open it!"

"I am sorry that I don't have anything for you," Cedes said, limping over to the couch. "I had been planning to ship some gifts home . . ."

"Nonsense! I do not need a single thing in the world except time with you. Now, go ahead, open it."

Cedes carefully eased the paper off the gift to reveal a little blue velvet box. She popped open the lid and saw a platinum and diamond nose ring in the shape of a tiny horseshoe. "Wow! Thank you, Grandma," Cedes said. "It's perfect."

"I know it," Grandma said with a grin. "Your mom and granddaddy have always hated that nose ring of yours. In my day, it was a big deal for women to wear pants, for heaven's sake. You should be able to express yourself in any way you see fit as long as you are not hurting yourself or other people." Her expression changed again for a moment, and Cedes thought she saw that shadow of sadness pass over it once more. "Plus, I like the idea of you having something special from me to keep close. A good luck charm for when I can't be by your side." Her voice seemed to break. "I'll always be with you, you know."

"You'll just be in Lima not a million miles away," Cedes said, her throat suddenly tight, too. "I'll come home to visit again soon. Once the show's over."

"Once you've won that show you mean," Grandma Sadie said. "And you're the shining star I've always known you were going to be." She reached for her granddaughter's hand and squeezed it, and Cedes had to resist the urge to throw herself into her granny's arms and have a good, cry.

"Grandma Sadie, what's wrong with us?" Cedes said, smiling through the tears she felt dampening the corners of her eyes. "We don't see each other for a few months, and we get like this?"

"I know, I know," Grandma said. "Not really the Jones family style to emote quite this much, but it has been a very long time since we've seen one another. That's all." She squeezed Cedes' hand again. "Now, catch me up. I'm seeing your face in all the newspapers, and you're always on the evening news. You and that white boy Sam Evans." She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, inquisitive. "You tend to brush me off whenever I ask about him on the phone."

"Right. Me and Sam. Grandma, the thing about that is—"

But Cedes' grandmother spoke over her, her brow now furrowed with concern. "The thing is, I'm worried about you, Cedes. It looks like you two are having a marvelous time—but I'd hate to see anything derail you. I always thought you'd get your career sorted first before you worried too much about romance. I remember you telling all those boys sniffing at you in high school and college that you wouldn't consider a relationship until you had won a Grammy. I don't mean to meddle, but the women in this family don't have the best luck when it comes to love, you know that."

This was true. Sadie had fallen in love at first sight with Marvin Jones, Cedes' grandfather, while playing for a group of soldiers who had just returned from the Korean War. When Sadie talked about it—which was rare now, after all that had happened—she said he was simply the handsomest man she had ever seen in a uniform. But, she would add as the years went by, that was not a good reason to marry a man. She even once said she couldn't think of any good reason to marry at all. Cedes's Grandfather Marv was a good and quiet man—but traditional and set in his ways, difficult to really know and/or understand.

Sadie and Marv had a whirlwind wedding—rushed, Cedes understood, although it was never openly discussed, by an unplanned pregnancy. Then they settled in Lima and Marv made it clear the only sort of singing acceptable for a wife of his to do was at church, or while doing housework. This was not something Sadie had realized about Marv when she had fallen for him. Cedes' Uncle Marvin Jr. was born, her mom, Marilyn, came along almost fifteen years later, and Sadie resigned herself to being content living the life of a stay at home mother and devoted wife. But she never stopped missing her singing days. She once told Cedes her longing to sing was something she kept waiting to get over, only she never did. So, once her youngest child, Cedes' mom had finished high school, Sadie dropped a bombshell: she planned to move out and pay the rent on her own apartment by teaching singing lessons to youngsters. Perhaps most scandalous of all—to Marv, at least—she supplemented her income performing jazz standards once a week at a club in Columbus. She still returned to the family home a few times a week, to put meals in the fridge for the man who was still her husband in name only. Not exactly a romantic story for the books.

Then Cedes' mother had her own wrong turn when it came to romance. At nineteen, shortly after Sadie and Marv's swept-under-the-rug split, Marilyn married her high school sweetheart while in college. Shane was the opposite of her father and that is what drew Marilyn to him. He was more charming than handsome. He was probably still charming, wherever he was. She never knew him. There was a photo of him in her high school hallway, huge and grinning, holding a trophy—but Cedes had always avoided looking at that photo. What she knew of her parents' love story was that Shane had swept then-dance team leader Marilyn off her feet. Promising her cocoa babies and after he went professional in football he would help her with her singing career while isolating her from her family and , he had taken off when Cedes was two, leaving nothing but a note behind saying marriage and fatherhood just weren't for him when he was severely injured just before the NFL draft picks. Her mother divorced him using desertion as grounds for the divorce and had their last names changed from Tinsley to Jones and moved in with her mother, so she could finish college and became a teacher, and her father's name had never been mentioned again. Cedes told herself she didn't care about him, but his continual absence did hurt. These two marital disappointments had tarnished her view of true love. She thought achieving her dreams was more important than risking it all for love. Although she wasn't going to rule out love and marriage forever, she just wasn't going to make it a priority until after she won her first Grammy. So, of course, Sadie would be concerned to see her veering off course like this.

But true love was not in the cards for Cedes and Sam.

"Grandma, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not going to let romance get in the way of my dreams." She was about to tell her grandmother the truth, something she had been too nervous to do on the phone or by text lest someone overhear her secret. She had signed a nondisclosure agreement, but she knew her Grandma Sadie was a vault.

Cedes opened her mouth to explain everything—but was interrupted by the sound of her doorbell. "Hang on, Granny."

"Cedes? Hey . . . it's Sam here." He sounded uncharacteristically shy. "McConaughey's favorite freeze-dried raw kibble comes from a store near here, meaning I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd check in and see how your ankle is."

Cedes was surprised by this—and felt a rush of warmth rise to her cheeks. "Come on up, Sam," she said, then went to let in her second guest of the day. She opened the door to Sam standing in the hall, holding a small box.

"Hey," he said, chewing his lip for a second.

"Hey, yourself."

"So, I noticed you like to drink tea on set for your voice—and we both know the stuff they serve is garbage," he said, holding his gift out to her. It was a box of Ginger Chamomile Tea, from Nashville Tea Co. "This is so much better."

"Thank you, Sam," she said, touched by his thoughtfulness. She offered to hang up his leather jacket, and felt the warmth of his skin as their hands touched.

"Well, I thought an emergency tea delivery was in order, since you're injured and all. This was my mom's favorite blend. How's the ankle?"

"Hell-oo-oo?" Grandma called out from the living room.

Sam stopped talking and looked at her quizzically.

"You have another visitor. I'm interrupting you."

"It's my grandmother. She just arrived for a surprise visit." Cedes leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. "She has no idea. She thinks we're . . ."

"Right." He ducked his head and whispered, too. "We pretend all the time, so what's the harm in doing it now?"

Cedes looked up at him for a long moment, confused about what she was feeling. Seconds before, she had been ready to tell her grandmother the truth. But now, she wasn't sure what the truth was. "My ankle is starting to feel a lot better," was all she said, before she turned away and led him into her apartment to make introductions.

"I'm Sadie Jones, lovely to meet you," Grandma said with a smile. "But Cedes just calls me Grandma, of course."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Sam said. "Please, don't stand up. You look so cozy there." He approached the couch and reached out his hand to shake hers. "I love that quilt. You didn't do that yourself, did you? According to my grandmother who I used to help knit and quilt, that hurdle stitch is not easy to pull off."

"I sure did, young man," Grandma replied, surprised. Cedes went into the kitchen to turn on the kettle and found herself smiling as she listened to the sound of her grandmother and Sam chattering on about the complexity of hurdle stitches.

Then Sam called out, "Now, Cedes, you're injured! You ought to let me make that tea."

"This is not the privileged, entitled, egotistical young man I expected to meet," Grandma Sadie whispered when Cedes was back beside her on the couch.

"Shush!" Cedes glanced through the galley kitchen door to see if Sam had overheard.

"Do you have any milk?" he called.

"I do," Cedes called back.

"Sam, I am just such a huge fan of your father," Grandma Sadie said as Sam served the tea.

"Oh yeah?" Cedes noticed his smile dim a watt or two when his dad came up.

"What was it like, being raised by the great Dwight Won't Do Right Evans?" Her grandma's fandom was making her sound positively girlish.

"It was . . . well, never a boring moment," Sam said. "We got to travel a lot. I met a ton of musical greats."

"Grandma, you should tell Sam about your singing career," Cedes suggested, and caught a grateful look from Sam at the topic change.

"Oh, please," Grandma said dismissively. "I'd hardly call what I had a career."

"Not true," Cedes said. "My grandma's got the most amazing voice."

"Well, that must mean you come by your incredible voice honestly," Sam said, while Grandma beamed at him, clearly charmed. Cedes loved seeing her grandmother so happy talking with her and Sam. It was later that Cedes' stomach growled and she hoped no one noticed.

"Uh-oh," Sam said with a laugh, glancing over at Cedes. "She's hungry. You know what that means, right?"

Grandma Sadie shared his laughter. "I sure do! She's been like this since birth. You need to keep her blood sugar at a certain level or she gets hangry."

"Grandmother! Sam! That is not true."

"It is so true," they both said in unison—and Cedes found herself laughing along with them.

"I took the bus here," Sam said. "But— well, I have access to a driver." He looked embarrassed when he said this. Cedes was coming to realize Sam didn't exactly enjoy all the trappings that came along with being an Evans. "Ms. Sadie, have you ever been to Nashville before?"

"I can't say I have."

"Well, we can't let the inside of this apartment be the only thing you see. Let me take you two out on the town."

"I don't know, you looked pretty tired out from the trip, Grandma. We could always just order in."

"Up to you, of course," Sam said. "But I've got a regular table at a place owned by a good friend of mine. It's not fancy, but it's got the most comfortable seating, and is my favorite spot for down-home cooking. A good meal might be just what Sadie needs to feel restored."

"Young man, I can't argue with you there," Grandma said, pushing herself up off the couch. "I have reached the age where I will never say no to a good time, or a good meal, when it's offered."

"But, Sam . . ." Cedes began.

Sam looked at her—and Cedes saw realization dawn on him. "Right. Ms. Sadie, you should know, when Cedes and I are out in public together, things can get a little crazy with the media. Maybe you're not up for that."

Cedes hoped her grandma would agree and say she wasn't up for it. Pretending to be in love was going to feel even more disingenuous with her grandmother there to witness the deception—all the while not having a clue that her favorite granddaughter was lying.

"We'll be fine," Grandma said decisively. She turned to Cedes. "Come on, dear. Let's the two of us go freshen ourselves up for a night out. We'll want to look nice for all those nosey photographers."

Cedes smiled wanly and followed along. When they were in the bedroom, Grandma Sadie took Cedes' hands in hers. "Now, that is a nice boy," she said. "Maybe our family's womenfolk streak of bad luck in love is finally over. Maybe all we needed was a white boy with green eyes and Southern charm to break the pattern."