Run, Rose, Run(52)

Ethan was quieter, and not just because he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. He was wondering what sort of person would live in a place like this, surrounded by traffic and noise and lights at all hours of the day and night.

He’d been here once before, when he was very small. On a road trip north with his parents to see family in New Hampshire, they’d driven into the city. They’d planned to spend the day sightseeing, but his parents were so overwhelmed by the crowds and the giant buildings, not to mention the pedestrians who seemed to fling themselves into the streets without regard for DON’T WALK signals, that they’d headed straight back out again.

“Did you ever take family vacations?” he asked AnnieLee as she was perusing the menu outside an Italian café.

“Not hardly,” AnnieLee said.

“We camped in the summers, if that counts,” Ethan said. “Though once we stayed in a hotel in Kitty Hawk. It had a pool and a hot tub, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I didn’t set foot on an airplane until I went into the army.”

“What flavor of gelato do you think stracciatella is?” AnnieLee asked. “Should we try some?”

She was trying to change the subject, however ungracefully, and Ethan felt what might’ve been a small flare of annoyance. But it was her day—so why not let her talk about whatever inanities she wanted to?

“Sure. One scoop of whatever that is, and another of chocolate,” he said.

“I’ll be right back.”

When she came out again, she had a double-decker cone for each of them. “This represents twenty bucks’ worth of gelato, so it’d better be amazing.” She took a bite and her blue eyes got huge. “It is,” she sighed.

Ethan laughed. The city thrilled her today, and even if she wouldn’t open up to him, he loved watching her delight. Everything seemed brighter and fresher through her eyes. He wished he could tell her so.

But instead, he slung his arm around her as they walked. And when she leaned into him, he felt the world go a little brighter for him, too.





Chapter

45



AnnieLee rested her forehead against the window of her hotel room, gazing out at the jagged skyline, the glittering city lights, and the people rushing by far below. She felt giddy, exhausted, electrified. She couldn’t have imagined a day like this, not ever.

After walking around for hours, she and Ethan had returned to the lavish Mark Hotel on the Upper East Side, collapsed onto the sofa in her suite, and ordered room service—burgers, salads, and Cokes—which they’d devoured while watching the end of Die Hard. Then Ethan had called Ruthanna to give her the report on the ACD deal. AnnieLee heard a gleeful shriek through the phone, and not ten minutes later, a hotel attendant had appeared in the doorway with a magnum of Dom Pérignon.

Which meant that AnnieLee, who’d never tasted champagne before, was now perhaps a little bit drunk on it.

She turned her back to the view and watched Ethan noodling with her guitar on the couch. He was leaning back against the cushions with his boots on the coffee table, and there appeared to be a large spot of ketchup on his white T-shirt.

He was probably half drunk, too.

“Almost heaven, East 77th Street,” he sang, channeling John Denver.

“Velvet sofa, soft slippers for my feet,” AnnieLee sang, pushing away from the window and sitting down on the couch, a careful distance away from Ethan.

Ethan poured them both more champagne, and then he held up his glass. “A toast,” he said, “to today’s great news. And to country music’s future number one star.”

AnnieLee clinked her flute against his. “Oh, Ethan, I don’t know,” she said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“Well, it is,” Ethan said. He lightly pinched her arm. “See?”

“Ow, unnecessary!” She laughed, swatting his hand away. “I mean, the deal’s real. But success isn’t guaranteed.” She took a big gulp of champagne. She couldn’t tell if the wine was making her feel better or worse, but it was delicious.

“Nothing’s guaranteed, obviously,” Ethan said. “But if you ask me, your chances of success are pretty damn good.”

AnnieLee fell back against the pillows. “I’m so tired,” she whispered.

“Maybe I should sing you a lullaby,” Ethan said. “Hush, little baby, don’t you—”

“No covers!” AnnieLee said. “Sing me one of your new ones, why don’t you? I’ll bet you’re writing all the time.”

She watched his profile as he pondered this request. From watching him at the Cat’s Paw, she knew he didn’t always like playing what he’d written; he preferred to hide behind other people’s words. That might’ve seemed strange to some, but not to AnnieLee, who’d been hiding something bigger than lyrics since long before she got to Nashville.

She scooted a little closer to him. “Come on,” she said. “You won’t find a friendlier crowd than yours truly.”

Ethan laughed. “I can think of a lot of words I’d use to describe you, but friendly isn’t way up there.”

AnnieLee crossed her arms. “Oh, really? What is?” This is going to be interesting, she thought.