A/N and Disclaimer: I own nothing as always thanks for reading and supporting me: the wait is over...
Chapter 8
Sam
Vail, Colorado
December 11
Sam looked out the window and saw the snow that had been coming down steadily all night was finally slowing. He couldn't believe he'd been away from Nashville long enough that the snow was back for another year. Sam had only intended to stay for two weeks, but somehow almost eleven months had passed. Some days he wondered if he'd ever go back.
He strummed his guitar, humming the tune as he did, then with a restless sigh set the guitar back down. Nothing was going like he thought it would. He now had cabin fever mixed with a touch of guilt, which seemed to increase with every month that passed, and this wasn't helping him deal with his depression at all.
He needed a distraction. He turned on the television and flipped through the few channels he could get out here in the middle of nowhere without a satellite or cable. He settled on a movie on the public education channel that was about an orphan named Anne who apparently had an affinity for getting in trouble.
"This movie will have to do," he stared at his phone and saw the string of missed calls and messages—some having arrived days ago, others weeks ago. A wave of guilt rose up. Then the movie went to commercial break, and McConaughey's head poked up from under his blanket, letting out a short, sharp bark.
Sam looked from McConaughey to the television, where a mattress commercial was playing.
"What the . . . ?" He sat forward and listened intently. The commercial ran often and the jingle was very familiar. Then he slapped a hand to his forehead and leaned back against the couch. McConaughey crawled into his lap and lay his head up against his chest, watching him. Waiting for him to sort out what his pet already had.
"That's what I've been playing, and humming, isn't it?" Sam covered his eyes, then squeezed the bridge of his nose.
"I can't believe I had stolen a commercial' vs jingle for my song. He remembered Cedes telling him how she started writing music this way because she had watched an episode of Unsung on the Clark Sisters, and found out that was how Twinkie started. Of all the . . ." He let out a frustrated groan. "McConaughey, I'm officially washed up at thirty-three."
His phone dinged again, and this time Sam read the text. It was from his manager, an upset April.
April: You need to bring your sorry ass home.
April: A little reminder via video (also, you signed a contract, remember?)
April: "All I Want for Christmas," Sam Evans, is you back in the studio. You don't even have to come gift wrapped with a bow on your head for it to count as my present!
Sam chuckled at that, then clicked play on the attached video.
It was a clip of Sam and Cedes, singing their holiday cover of "All I Want for Christmas." He struggled to watch it, his hurt feelings still close to the surface.
He and Cedes may have been faking a lot of things, but the magic they created together, both on and offstage, you couldn't fake that. But he had misjudged both her and the situation. He still felt sick when he remembered Cedes' tears and cutting words the night they'd won.
He had since ignored her calls and texts. Most of his time in Vail had been about trying to pretend that Cedes Jones didn't actually exist, even if the rest of the world still believed that they were an item. It was immature and, quite frankly, self-destructive, but he also didn't see a way out of it now. He had let it go on for much too long.
Later, after another failed attempt at songwriting (and watching the video seven more times), Sam decided to head into "town."
About thirty minutes later Sam arrived at the base of the hill, where the locals went to shop not at the expensive chalets and resorts that most of the tourists frequented while skiing at Vail.
"I can't believe that you're still here. I thought you'd be long gone by now," Holly, the owner's daughter said, giving him a hug.
"You and everyone else." Sam gave Holly a lopsided smile.
"So, what brings you by?"
"Just wanted to drop this off; it's an early Christmas gift."
He pulled a large package, wrapped in candy-cane paper that he'd found in the cabin, out of his backpack.
"Oh, you didn't have to do this!" Holly took the wrapped package in her hands, then shook it a couple of times.
"Be careful they are sculptures inside," Sam said. "For your whole family."
"Personally, I prefer to be surprised by a Christmas gift . . ."
Sam chuckled and mumbled an apology for ruining the surprise.
The Holidays had often invited Sam, his mom, and his sister to join them for dinner at the bar when they were at the cabin while Dwight toured. In some ways he felt more at home at their place than he did back in Nashville.
"Anyway, I should probably head out," Sam said. "Have a holly jolly holiday."
"Like that is my first time hearing that," Holly replied.
Sam said a final goodbye and shut the door behind him. He considered heading to the bar for some lunch, but then his phone vibrated in his pocket. He expected to see April's name flash on the screen, but it was his sister, Stacie's name instead.
He frowned, contemplating calling her back when he got to the bar, but he had a rule that he never ignored a call from Stacie. Ever since that night when she had been trying to reach him—with the hardest news he had ever received—and he'd ignored her calls.
"Hey Stace," he said.
"Get your flat butt back to Nashville, Sam. ASAP." There was some shuffling in the background. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear.
Sam stopped walking. "Stacie? Is everyone okay?"
"Everyone here is fine," Stacie replied. "But can we say the same about you?"
Sam ignored her comment. "You can't stress me out like this. Are you sure everything is fine? Where are you?"
"I'm home. In Nashville."
"Since when?" Sam asked. Stacie lived in Ireland, and didn't come back home all that often.
"Oh, since about five hours ago," Stacie replied. "Look, Sam, I don't know what's going on with you, but you need to come home. It's almost Christmas. Don't you want to see your favorite sister?"
"You mean my only sister," Sam replied. "And of course I want to see you, but Christmas isn't for another couple of weeks."
"It's fourteen days away, Samuel," Stacie said. "Speaking of Christmas, how's Cedes?"
"Not your best segue, Stace." Sam sighed. "Why are you asking about Cedes?"
"Because she's your girlfriend?"
"Okay, did April call you? Don't bother, I know she did. And she never—"
Stacie cut him off. "You've gone AWOL, Sam. You won't even answer texts anymore apparently. So, you can hardly blame me, and April, for worrying. Seriously, what are you doing? It's been eleven months."
"I'm coming home soon," Sam replied. "I promise. Leave me alone for now, please."
There was a pause, then Stacie said, "Fine. But you have to stop ignoring the people who care about you."
They ended the call, and Sam shoved his phone back into his pocket, raising his eyes heavenward and taking a deep breath as snowflakes landed on his nose.
A truck pulled up—"Holiday's Auto Shop" printed on its side—towing a white sedan with a dinged-in front fender. Happy Holiday stepped out of the driver's side, a shock of white hair poking out from below his well-worn woolen hood.
"Hey, Hap!" Sam called out. He started to make his way toward the truck when he was stopped in his tracks. There was someone else sitting in the passenger seat. She was trying to gather her belongings, so he couldn't see her face, but he would recognize Cedes Jones from anyone anywhere.
Seeing her, Sam felt like time was moving through a vat of molasses. He could not comprehend what was happening, or why Cedes was here, in Vail.
"Sam, what serendipitous timing!" Happy held open the passenger-side door. "I have your sweetheart, Cedes, here. She told me she was on her way to visit for a few days, and a snowbank got in her way."
"What? Is she okay?" Sam tripped over a chunk of ice in his rush to get to the truck, still feeling disoriented by Cedes' sudden appearance. He caught himself before he landed flat on his face.
Cedes stepped out of the truck and thanked Happy effusively. She still hadn't acknowledged Sam or even looked at him.
"No thanks needed at all; I'm just glad I was there at the right time." He shut the door, rubbed his bare, well-calloused hands together. "That rental car company at the airport should know better than to send someone up the mountain in a car like that."
He clapped a hand against Sam's arm. "Good to see you, Sam. I was wondering if you'd headed back home."
"Not yet," Sam replied, staring at Cedes. His breath caught in his throat. He was powerless against her. A strong wave of something moved through him, and he realized it was longing, with a tinge of regret. He had missed her so darn much. There was no use denying it.
Now Cedes stared right back at him, her expression difficult to read. When they didn't speak, or immediately embrace, Happy glanced curiously between them.
Then Happy said, "Well, I'll leave you to it. Cedes, don't worry about your rental car, that's what insurance is for, and I'll take a look at it and take care of it for you."
Now Sam glanced at the car, with the bent fender, then quickly back at Cedes. "Are you sure you're okay?" He looked her over, wanting to see for himself that she wasn't hurt. She seemed unharmed. She looked as beautiful as ever. It had been so long since he'd seen her, he was struggling to think clearly.
Cedes looked away first. "It was only a slow slide into some snow. I'm fine. The rental car, maybe not so much. But luckily Happy came along right after it happened."
Sam noticed how she was dressed: too lightly for the weather, in ankle boots that were no match for the deep snow, and a hat with the embroidered words "Kiss Me in Vail" on her head.
As though reading his mind, Cedes smiled sheepishly, tugging the hat lower. "I got this from the tiniest airport in the world."
Sam merely nodded.
Cedes walked over to him, close enough that he could smell the familiar scent of cocoa butter. His chest constricted.
"I knew you were here," she said. "But I didn't expect to find you right here."
"Why are you here?" Sam asked, raising his goggles on top of his head. His eyes were not playing tricks on him. Cedes Jones was in Vail.
"What happened to your face?" she asked, instead of answering his question.
He ran his fingers over his coarse beard, which had come in a reddish brown tone versus the dark blonde hair on his head. "You don't like it?"
"Not particularly. It doesn't suit you. Hides those trouty pouty lips of yours."
Sam laughed and shook his head. He had the sudden urge to shout at her to go back to Nashville and leave him be. Or to take her in his arms and kiss her. What the hell, Sam?
Sam kept his tone light, trying not to let her get under his skin. "So, how can I help you this afternoon, Cedes? You obviously didn't come here, without any suitable winter clothing or gear, to comment about my facial hair."
"You haven't answered your phone or replied to the, oh, almost a thousand text messages I've left you."
They stood there a moment longer—and then Sam said, gruffly, "What do you want, Cedes?" He no longer had the energy for this conversation.
"I want you to come back to Nashville with me." For a moment, Cedes looked like she might cry. Sam noticed a few other things: the dark circles under her eyes; the slight rash she always got on her cheeks after having to wear heavy makeup for shows; the braids poking out from the hat—which was how she wore her hair before they became a duet on the show. They were box braids that she could do herself. He had been impressed when he asked her about it. She said it was a protective hairstyle.
"Didn't you have a show last night?" Even if he hadn't talked with Cedes, he had been following what she'd been up to.
Cedes nodded. "It was the last stop on tour with Tana. I ditched the wrap party to come here."
"How did you even know where to find me?" He hadn't remembered ever talking to Cedes about the cabin in Colorado, but even if he had, it wasn't exactly easy to find on a map. The directions were more like, Drive toward the mountains, then when you hit the fork in the road turn left, and after the row of seven evergreens, take a right at the Holiday's Corners sign . . .
"April gave me the address."
"Did she now?" Sam tried to feel animosity toward April, but he felt as tired as Cedes looked. "Look, I'm sorry you came all the way here. And the whole 'car into the snowbank' thing. But I'm not going back with you. End of story."
Cedes suddenly looked furious. "End of story? Oh hell to the no, Sam Evans, you do not get to 'end of story' me. We had a deal."
"Trust me, April reminds me frequently about my 'contractual obligations,' " he grumbled. Sam had to hand it to Cedes—April had been calling and leaving voicemails relentlessly, but she had not gotten on a plane and showed up in a snowstorm to get him. "But I'm not skipping out on anything, okay?"
Sam waited for her to berate him further, but she had gone quiet and didn't look right. He set his hands gently on her upper arms. "Are you going to fall out on me?"
"I'm okay," she said, but her voice betrayed her.
"Oh, I know you are," Sam said. "But we should get out of the cold—I can barely feel my fingers and toes. And when was the last time you had something to eat?"
"I don't remember," she replied. "But I can't be bribed with a good meal, Sam. You're coming back with me."
She moved closer still, and the scent of cocoa butter was oddly soothing, even if the expression on her face wasn't.
Cedes
Vail, Colorado
December 11
Sam led her down the snowy road, her bag slung casually over his shoulder, as if it weighed nothing. The Holiday's tavern they were headed toward was strung with unruly Christmas lights, half of them burnt out.
"I'm guessing this place isn't exactly known for its food," Cedes said. The wooden sign, hanging askew, said "The Place" in uneven, fading lettering. Her stomach growled and she wished she could give it some sort of warning that it shouldn't get its hopes up too high. She wished she could send that same message to her heart for her own protection. The moment she had seen Sam it had started racing as fast as it did before she went onstage. And she hadn't been telling him the truth about the beard not suiting him. He looked rugged, handsome, and more relaxed than he did in Nashville. Almost like he was an entirely different guy.
But he wasn't. He was still the same guy who had ghosted her for almost an entire year. She had come all the way to Vail to get him—and he still refused to come back.
"Trust me, they have delicious soups and stews served in a bread bowl, and great French fries, tater tots, and hash browns covered with cheese, chili, and/or onions," he was saying. "I come here all the time. It's not a bad spot, trust me."
"Hey, Sammy. Haven't seen you for a few days." The woman behind the bar was pretty, in a fresh outdoorsy way. Cedes couldn't help it, she felt a pang of jealousy.
"Brittany, you know wild horses can't keep me away," Sam said, grinning back.
Cedes was standing awkwardly beside Sam, not sure what to do or say. Was he really flirting with another woman in front of her? True, Cedes was just his fake girlfriend, but this Brittany, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, didn't know that! Cedes cleared her throat and Sam glanced her way as if he had just realized she was still there. "Oh. Brittany, this is—"
"Cedes Jones. I've seen you on TV together, but I was beginning to think Sam had made up the fact he was dating you." Brittany grinned, then beckoned them to have a seat. "Come on, sit. Drinks, on the house! It's a town tradition if you drive into a snowbank. News travels fast in this town."
Alcohol for accidents? Cedes gave Sam a quizzical look, but he just laughed. She hoped they were some sort of delicious food—but doubted it. She perched herself on a barstool beside Sam, peanut shells and sawdust crunching under the stool legs as she moved them.
"The drink helps you to forget your accident and heals any pain you might have after it like whiplash. I call it Firewater and it is exactly what it sounds like," Sam eventually said, which was not reassuring at all.
There were a few other patrons, all focused on a hockey game playing on a television in the corner. Most of the people watching the game had on hoods or jerseys bearing a logo with a huge, white snowy wave going through a giant "A" A man walked over to the jukebox in the corner and moments later, the blare of The Killers' "Don't Shoot Me Santa" filled the room. Cedes grimaced.
"Not your favorite Christmas song?" Sam shouted over the din.
"Calling this a song is a stretch," Cedes shot back. "It's was one of the worst Christmas songs especially with school shootings and then having Santa be the shooter was totally demented, so definitely not my favorite."
Sam accepted two shots of the brown liquid from Brittany. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said to her, and Cedes felt another jealous pang. She hated when Sam called her "sweetheart"—but apparently didn't want him calling anyone else sweetheart, either. She grabbed a shot glass and slammed it back without thinking, then started coughing and sputtering while Sam looked on, amused.
"Hey, you might want to go easy," he said. "You look exhausted."
"Hasn't anybody ever told you never to tell a woman she looks tired?"
"Hmm, I do think my sister mentioned that once," Sam said, with a crooked smile that looked even cuter underneath his new beard.
"Anyway, I'm fine," Cedes insisted, even though her entire throat felt like it had been coated in hot cinnamon.
"Okay, then, tough girl. Want another?" Sam drawled.
To prove him wrong, Cedes nodded. "I sure do," she said in a strangled voice. "Two more, please."
"And cups of cocoa," Sam said, glancing at Cedes. "Mind if I order some food for us?"
"Be my guest."
"Also, two bowls of broccoli and cheese soup. And a large order of home fries to share."
Brittany gave them their drinks and winked at Sam and Sam winked back. Cedes grabbed another shot and drank it back. This time she didn't cough.
"Whoa there, cowgirl, you haven't even eaten anything yet," Sam said. "I don't really want to be carrying you back home later. Maybe you need to slow down?"
"Back home? Who says I'm going home with you?"
"This town has exactly zero hotel options, and you have no car. You're stuck with me or rather I'm stuck with you."
Cedes rolled her eyes, then pointed at the two shots sitting in front of him. "Why don't you drink one of those to numb the pain of having to deal with me, then?"
"Nah. I'm really a one Firewater drink a night kind of guy."
"Fine, then. I'll have yours." She reached for one of his shots and glanced at him. "So . . . you and the bartender, huh?"
"What are you talking about?"
As if on cue, some man shout-growled play "Mistress For Christmas!" next.
"She seems to like you a lot."
"Well, I would hope so. We've been friends since my mom used to bring Stacie and I out here when we were little, and she's engaged to one of my buddies out here."
"Um, that's great then."
Sam looked down at his watch, then he looked back up at her.
"What?"
"Yep, this is about right," Sam said. "You haven't eaten in a while, right? This is the point when you start to get hangry.."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're like a gremlin. Back in Nashville, I remember that I needed to keep you fed every five hours or you'd turn into a monster."
"Keep me fed? I wasn't your pet, Sam. And that's not how the movie went."
His smile faded somewhat. "No. I guess you weren't; it was you couldn't feed them after midnight," he said, turning his attention to the game, even though Cedes had never heard Sam say he followed hockey.
Despite her annoyance with Sam, the drink's heat was now dulling into a pleasant warmth that spread through her chest and all the way down to her toes. Brittany appeared from the kitchen, two steaming, cheese-covered bread bowls in her hands.
"Your fries will be up in a moment," Brittany said.
Cedes dug into the soup immediately.
"That better?" Sam asked after she'd had a few bites.
"You're right, this is really good," she said, her mouth full. She noticed the bar was starting to fill up; most of the tables were now taken. "Why is it so busy here in the middle of the day?"
"It's karaoke day."
"Karaoke day?"
"Yeah. Once winter sets in and it starts to get dark early around here, nobody tends to go out much at night. Way too dangerous on the roads—or the roads are closed on account of snow. So the wise owners of this tavern decided to have their karaoke night during the day. It just makes sense."
"I'm sure it does."
"Most people just snowshoe or cross-country-ski home later—and there are a few volunteers out patrolling the paths, making sure no one who's had too much to drink falls in a snowbank and freezes to death."
"Sounds perfectly reasonable."
"Yeah, but it's pretty awful. I personally am of the mindset that day-drinking and karaoke do not mix."
"It actually sounds like fun," Cedes said.
He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "That, ma'am, is because you've been day-drinking."
"We should do a song."
"Out of the question," Sam said, turning his attention to his soup. "No way."
Cedes stopped eating and picked up a shot glass, shaking it gently at him. "Well, I guess this is the only fun I'm going to have today," she said, knocking it back.
"Seriously, Cedes, you're going to be on your butt—"
"Well, that's fine, because I need to drown my sorrows." She hadn't meant to say that, and tried to smile to make the words go away.
But Sam tilted his head. "Sorrows?"
Suddenly, she felt a bit queasy. He was right—she shouldn't have been so liberal with the drinking on an empty stomach. Brittany arrived with the fries, and Cedes dug into that as a way to avoid Sam's question.
"Cedes. What's going on?"
"Oh, I don't know," Cedes said, finally gaining control of her emotions. "I've been back here in the States, working my ass off, and you've been . . ." She looked around. "Here, avoiding everything? I've been trying to reach you all year to try to talk to you about that night, and you just ghosted me. Have you thought about me, or anyone who's been trying to help you, at all?"
"Let's talk about that night, then, Cedes," Sam said, his expression now cold.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again—realizing she couldn't. But not for the reason he thought. After too many whiskeys, if she told him about her grandma, she knew she would completely fall apart. The tears were still stinging at her eyes but she blinked them away. You didn't unbottle something you'd kept inside for so long in a tavern filled with strangers, in the middle of the afternoon. "You really let me down," she said, knowing that wasn't quite fair, but also that it was at least part of the truth.
"Come on. It was a fake proposal."
"That's not what I mean! It wasn't about the proposal." She lowered her voice. "We can't go back in time. I know that." She also knew that if she could go back in time, she would have told him everything, the night they won America's Newest Star, about why she was so upset, why she had to take off so fast. But it was too late for that. "And things aren't great between us, but we still have to see things through. I wish you would come back with me and finish what we started. You know that's why I'm here, Sam. To bring you back."
Sam just nodded and looked away again—even though he had asked her to tell him what was on her mind.
Cedes put down her fork.
"That's it? No comment?"
"None," he said.
She released a blustering sigh. "You're impossible, Samuel Dwight Martin Evans, did you know that?"
"You keep telling me so. And, well, you're not exactly . . . possible Mercedes Shanice Jones," Sam muttered. Cedes glanced at him sideways and suddenly felt a tipsy giggle build up inside her.
"I'm not exactly . . . possible?"
He just shook his head and frowned. Cedes took another bite of her soup and looked around at the full tavern. There was a warm buzz in the air as conversations rose around them and someone put Dolly Parton's version of "Pretty Paper" on the jukebox. It was one of her favorite Christmas songs and helped pull her back from the edge of her dark mood. She hummed along for a bar and thought of her grandma, but this time, it didn't feel like a knife was stabbing into her heart. She could almost hear her grandma's voice, telling her to get over what was bothering her. "You can be right, or you can be happy, Mercedes," Grandma always used to tell her. Sam wasn't going to budge, at least right now. But she was in a tiny, snowy town that was actually quite quaint. She was eating good food and listening to good music. Sam could be his miserable, idiotic self—but maybe she could try to be happy, for just a little while? She turned to him. "Aside from you being here," she quipped, "this place is not half bad, you know."
"It's not even a little bit bad," Sam said. "There's a reason I choose to stay. It's good here. For me." His gaze moved up, to a space above the mirror behind the bar, where a series of photos were affixed.
"I guess that's all that matters. What works for you," she countered, immediately forgetting about her decision to try to have a good time.
"And why exactly do you think it would be right for you to keep up this charade?"
"We don't all have a standing invitation to sing at the Grand Ole Opry, Sam or sing anywhere."
"I don't have a standing invitation to—"
"But you will. And you know it. You won't even have to do anything to get it, either. It's in your bloodline. You're Dwight Evans's son. You can disappear for a year and come back and everyone will welcome you with open arms."
"That's bullshit," he said in a low voice. "I work hard."
"So that spot on America's Newest Star, the fact that they were contractually obligated to not kick you off until the final episode—you earned that?"
"Hey. You seem to be forgetting you might have been kicked off if it weren't for me."
"Exactly! Because my way wasn't paved for me. And you seem to be forgetting you didn't stand a chance against Jesse St. James if it hadn't been for me. For us."
"Is this why you came here? To rehash the past?"
"No. I came here to bring you back. And then—"
"And then what, Cedes? And then we do our song and never talk to each other again?"
He was staring at her so intently, and she didn't know why the stab of sadness was back. Did the idea of never speaking to Sam Evans again make her that miserable? Cedes watched Sam as his eyes returned to the space above the bar. She followed his gaze and it landed on a black-and-white photo of a man and a woman standing on the tavern stage, singing into the same microphone, eyes closed, rapt.
Cedes was about to ask him about the passionate couple, when Brittany returned, a bit breathless now. "You two want a couple more whiskeys?"
"Fine. Why not?" Sam said. "Cedes here is clearly trying to have herself a good time."
"Yes thank you Brittany," Cedes said. Despite him saying he was a one Firewater kind of guy, Sam slugged back one of his shots as soon as Brittany was gone. Meanwhile, Cedes kept staring up at the photos on the wall.
"That's your dad, right?" she said. "For a second, I thought it was you. But you'd never dress like that. In a Stetson. And that beautiful woman is your mom?"
"That photo is probably thirty-three years old." Sam said. "Dad bought the cabin where they were married, as a wedding gift for my mom. She always said there was nothing like a fresh snowfall to help you remember how beautiful the world could be." Sam smiled at the memory, his eyes on the photo, and Cedes nodded because she understood. It felt good to be in a snowy setting. It was almost like going home.
"They were here that night, celebrating Mom's last album release," Sam continued. "Actually, her only album release—and they performed one of her songs together." He glanced back at the small platform with the stools and the karaoke machine on it. "Right up there, as the story goes."
Dwight Evans and his wife, Mary Ellen, were staring into each other's eyes like fate had decreed they would never fall out of love. Cedes wished she could take that photo down and get a closer look, so she could discover any secrets it held that might help her understand Sam and convince him to come back to Nashville. But maybe she also wanted to look at it so she could understand true love. And maybe she couldn't stop staring at the photo because the way Dwight and Mary Ellen Evans were looking at each other reminded her of herself and Sam when they sang together.
Cedes glanced back at the karaoke stage. If they could sing together, she and Sam, would that help? Would it start to feel like old times—when they were getting along and making great music? She glanced over at Sam to see if he felt it, too, but it was impossible to read his expression.
"Do you think your mom regretted not pursuing her career?" Cedes asked. After Mary Ellen Evans became a mother, she just dropped out of the music business, and never sang publicly again.
"Of course not," Sam replied, with a hint of defensiveness. "She wanted what we had as a family. Can we drop this?"
Cedes realized that maybe Sam was just as invested in guarding his pain as she was in guarding her own. She felt a wave of empathy for him. The walls he had built around himself were so well-constructed.
In the background, someone was testing out the karaoke mic. Moments later, a group of young women took the stage and launched into a version of "I Feel Like A Woman'." There were five of them, all crowded around one mic. The one in the middle had her head thrown back, and Cedes felt a tug. She understood that joyful abandon. She knew that when she was down, or anxious, there was only one thing that could make her feel better: singing. Impulsively, she walked up to the stage and wrote a fake name down on the sign-up sheet—but the young man running the machine recognized her.
"Cedes Jones! I don't think anyone will mind if you jump the line. What song do you want to sing?"
"Patti LaBelle and Michael MacDonald's "'On My Own', " Cedes said, thinking fast.
"Are you and Sam planning to treat us to a duet? Should I wait for him to start the music?"
"No, I'll go ahead and sing both parts. He's not in the mood," Cedes said with a laugh.
"Alright! Cedes Jones is in the house," he crooned into the microphone. The bar erupted in hoots and hollers. The only one not cheering was Sam. He looked like he wished the sawdust and peanut-shell-covered floor would open up and swallow him.
Cedes took the two steps up to the stage and nearly stumbled, but stayed upright. She grabbed the microphone and felt that familiar burst of energy. Even though she was in a town in the middle of nowhere singing karaoke in the middle of the afternoon, it felt just the way it did when she was on tour with Tana. She loved this.
"Hmm... hmm... hmm... ha/So many times said it was forever/Said our love would always be true/Something in my heart always knew I'd be lying here beside you.../On my own.../On my own...On my own..." She closed her eyes.
When she opened her eyes, she thought the whiskey had caused her to hallucinate. Was that Sam Evans, stepping onto the stage beside her, his smile tentative? Then he grabbed the mic and sang a verse, shooting her a wink halfway through. Even after a year, they could still pick up where they left off—onstage, at least. "So many promises. Never should be spoken/Now I know what loving you cost /Now we're up to talking divorce, and we weren't even married."
"On my own… Once again now… One more time…by myself….No one said it was easy, No…" He was grinning down at her as she sang, and she smiled up at him—and wondered for a moment if the two of them looked just the same as Dwight and Mary Ellen, all those years before. Sam sang "But it once was so easy." And leaned down and sang "Well, I believed in love (I believe). Now here I stand. I wonder why," with her. She grabbed back the microphone from him feeling the warmth from the whiskey turn into full-on heat. This always happens when I sing with Sam, she reminded herself. It doesn't really mean anything. It's probably just that I haven't seen him in such a long time.
That was why the heat felt so strong today. The song ended with them singing "I have faith in me. . ." And the crowd in the bar went as wild as they would have if Cedes had been standing in a stadium on tour with Tana again. "Thank you all so very much," Cedes said into the microphone as the song ended, doing her best Patti LaBelle impersonation. Sam put his arm around her waist and leaned in. He took the mic out of her hand.
"You're drunk as the proverbial skunk," he said softly. "Let's get you outside for some fresh air."
She made her way unsteadily down the steps of the stage and toward the door, smiling at patrons who waved their phones in her face and took photos of the both of them.
Outside, she spun around. "Why are you always telling me what to do?" she slurred.
"Last time I checked, you came all the way here to try to tell me what to do."
He was standing close, looking intently at her. His breath was even more cinnamon-scented than usual, because of the added cinnamon in his whiskey.
"Why'd you come up onstage with me if you said you didn't wanna sing with me?"
"I came up there because . . ." He stared into her eyes for a long moment. "Because I had to. Because I couldn't not sing with you."
Their lips were close and Cedes felt electricity flow through her body. She wanted him to kiss her, she realized. The very idea of that was making her dizzy. She tried to take a step back and get her bearings, but nearly stumbled and lost her balance. Sam grabbed her and held her steady. They swayed for a moment, there in the gently falling snow. Like they were dancing.
"I'm so sorry," Sam said softly.
"What exactly are you apologizing about, Sam?" She pulled him closer to her, avoiding his gaze. She thought she could feel his heartbeat underneath her cheek.
"I'm sorry I didn't call or text you back," he said. And he did sound genuinely sorry. Before she could think too much about what she was doing, she reached up to touch the new beard she liked so much.
"Cedes . . ." He put his hand to hers. "Why can't things be easy with us?" He looked in pain, and suddenly Cedes wanted him to be happy. She didn't want things to be difficult between them. She wanted everything between them to be as easy as it was when they sang together. As it had that last night together onstage when they won America's Newest Star. And in the minutes before, in her dressing room, when she had actually thought that he was someone she wanted in her life forever.
But for now, she gave in to the kiss. The spicy, familiar taste of his lips, the new scratchy feeling of his beard on her skin, the way his hands felt on her back as their bodies were pressed close, making her feel shivery all over, but hot at the same time. It wasn't clear who had kissed whom first. When they finally came up for air, she kept her body where it was, warm against his.
"Cedes," Sam said.
She looked up at him as the snow fell softly around them. "Let's go back to your place," she said, realizing as she did that there was no place in the world she'd rather be.