If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(45)

I looked at Eli, curious about childhood days without siblings to bicker and play with. “What kinds of things?”

He raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “Great summer camps in faraway places. Music lessons.”

That did sound nice. None of us Turners ever got to take private lessons at anything, although we’d played sports for town and school teams, and we’d had all the basics—fishing rods and bikes and skateboards. Best of all, we’d had our dad, who made the best homemade kettle corn, gave the biggest hugs, and laughed as easily as I did. “I noticed all the guitars in your house. Are you a professional musician or a hobbyist?”

As soon as the crease appeared between his eyebrows, I wanted to rub it away. “I was a songwriter.”

He’d mentioned sending a package to Nashville. “‘Was’?”

A truck shifted gears on its way up the hill behind us, its low rumble like a thunderous warning.

“Been taking some time away from it all.” He didn’t need to say more for his tone to tell me that whatever drove him to step back wasn’t something he would discuss. “Spent more than a year traveling around Asia before moving here recently.”

“Why Asia?”

“I needed to immerse myself in something completely different—a whole new culture, new foods, new topography.”

Sounded like he’d gone on a sort of spiritual journey. If I had the money, maybe I’d take off for parts unknown to speed up my own evolution. “So what brought you here?”

“An old friend. He’s taken over his parents’ business—a music bar and restaurant called the Lamplight.”

“You know Phil?” The bar owner, Phil, was Kevin’s age, but they weren’t close. Kev had been an athlete, not a quiet kid like Phil, who’d been into deejaying in high school. If I recalled correctly, Phil had gone to school at Belmont to learn the music business—which would have sounded like an awesome plan to me if only I had liked school—so I’d thought it a little sad when he ended up coming home last year. But then I’d learned that his dad was sick—MS or something—and his mom had needed help. Now Eli’s connection to Clyde—who played there and helped Max book some gigs on open-mic nights—made more sense, too.

“You know Phil?”

“Everyone knows that family and the Lamplight, especially those of us who love music, which I do. Mad kind of love—as you probably guessed from my albums. I think songwriters are the most talented storytellers on the planet.” The statement brought my dad to mind so sharply I felt a twinge. “Did you perform your own stuff, or write for others?”

“Both, but mostly I sold my songs.”

“Anything I’d know? And bear in mind I know a lot of songs, not only the pop stuff most people hear on the radio.”

He graced me with another of his wide, appreciative smiles. “‘Come ’Round Home’ and ‘Only You’ got a lot of play.” He looked at the ground like he’d been caught bragging, but I almost shot off the bench.

“Brad Peyton’s hits?” I loved good country music, especially when sung by a bass with a rich vibrato. “Wow! I’m super impressed now. Where do you get your inspiration?”

That shadow came racing back to his eyes. He was bent over, elbows on his knees, fingertips tapping together. “Let’s just say it’s lost now.”

The air around us got heavy, like the thickness that settles in before a storm, except the sky remained blue and sunlight poured over us. I hadn’t been wrong about that sorrow I’d sensed, although the scope of it seemed bigger than I’d originally guessed. A divorce maybe? Or like me, a beloved parent snatched away. God knows I’d slept more during the first six months after my dad died than I had in the six prior years combined.

I probably should’ve kept my big trap shut, but I couldn’t stop myself. “You know, I’m not the smartest person. In fact, my family would tell you my life is a hot mess. But the one thing I do know is that nothing lasts forever—not the good or the bad. Whatever’s got you blocked, I hope you find new inspiration soon. I know you will, actually. Probably when you least expect it.”

I looked away then, choosing to focus on Mo and his kisses. Kisses I might rather get from Eli—let’s be honest.

Eli didn’t say much except to mumble a quiet thanks before he stretched his legs and rose from our bench. “Well, I’d better let you get back to your day. Nice bumping into you, Erin.”

My heart sank to my toes when he effectively ended our conversation. Apparently, he didn’t want a pep talk.

“Thanks again for your help. First you get ripped off by my ex, next you dog-sit free of charge. My IOUs are piling up.” I subdued the instinct to grab his shoulders for a quick hug, settling for a wave. “See you around!”

He offered a casual salute as his final goodbye. I told myself it was for the best. I had a move to deal with anyway.

All in all, still the best post-office run ever.

Take that, Mary!



“You guys rock.” I high-fived Lexi’s boyfriend, Tony. Not only had he let me borrow his pickup to move my stuff, but he’d also helped carry the few pieces of furniture I kept.

Mom had been anxious, telling me where I could and couldn’t put my things. I couldn’t really get mad. It was her house. At least she didn’t mind watching after Mo while my friends helped me unload the truck.