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  Wanting to tell Hope his ideas now, Johnny reached a hand toward her pillow, frowning and lifting his head when he found it cold.

  Like, really cold. Not just she-went-to-the-bathroom cold.

  Johnny jackknifed in bed. “Hope?” The weighted silence cut through him like a sword and he lunged out of bed, jogging toward the balcony. “Hope.”

  When he didn’t find her outside, he spun around and spied the bathroom door open across the huge room. The light was off. She wasn’t in there. She wasn’t here.

  Somehow, with his throat closing up, he pulled a pair of sweatpants out of his suitcase, tugging them on and striding toward the door, throwing it open. “Hey.” He pointed at the security guard positioned at his door and noticed his finger was shaking. “My girlfriend…she’s supposed to be here. She’s missing.” Calm down. You’re shouting like a lunatic. “Did you see a blonde leave my room? Huge blue eyes. No one could miss her.”

  Was it his imagination or did the color leach from the security guard’s face?

  “Who are you, anyway?” Johnny asked, ready to pull out his hair. “Where’s Stan?”

  Before the new guard could formulate an answer, hotel room doors started opening along the hallway. Out of one sauntered Johnny’s manager, Gus, and Citizen’s bass player, Raoul, emerged from the other.

  “What the fuck could be this important before nine a.m.?” Raoul complained, rubbing at his eye. “I was dreaming about those twins I met in Cincinnati.”

  “A lot is important before nine a.m.,” Gus muttered. “Like packing. Since your plane to Detroit leaves at ten.”

  “When am I ever on time for a plane?” Raoul asked.

  Johnny turned his back on the two assholes, facing the security guard again. “Did you see her or not? I need to know. If she’s not here, I…” His stomach plummeted and he rocked back on his heels. “Jesus. I don’t even have her phone number.”

  “Who?” Gus wanted to know.

  “Hope.”

  Raoul approached, scratching his crotch. “Is she the girl who turned your brain to jizz on stage last night?”

  “Yes,” Johnny said through his teeth. “She was here. Now she’s gone. And if I don’t find her, I’m not getting on the fucking plane. Everyone needs to understand that.”

  “Whoa whoa whoa.” Gus laughed. “You just met this girl. Now you’re going to change our plans for her? We’re on a strict schedule, Johnny. We don’t show up in Detroit with enough time to set up the stage and run through a sound check, we get sued.”

  Johnny took a slow step toward his manager. “Then I guess we better find her, huh?”

  Raoul stepped in between them, holding up a finger. “I have a theory,” he said. “Kind of crazy, the way you’re so attached to this girl, J-man. Matter of fact, it was pretty crazy how she turned you into a stone pillar on stage. I mean, that’s never happened, you goddamn professional, you. So after you’ve spent a night with this girl…it’s kind of got me wondering…” He squinted an eye at Johnny. “Is that writer’s block still intact?”

  “What does that have to do with finding her?” Johnny snapped.

  “It’s a simple question.”

  Johnny plowed his hands through his hair. “No, the block is gone. I’ve got lyrics for fucking days floating around up here.”

  Gus scrambled to pull the ever-present pen out of his jacket and started turning in circles, probably to find a piece of paper. “Thank God, thank God…” he muttered.

  Raoul threw back his head and whooped. “I knew it.”

  “Knew what?”

  “She was the muse, man. You were visited last night by the fucking muse of rock and roll.” He stumbled backward toward his room. “I gotta call Keith Richards.”

  Panic blinded Johnny. Jesus, please. Please don’t let her have been a mythical being he’d never see again. His legs wanted to collapse at the possibility. “She’s not the muse,” he said hoarsely, hearing her laughter in his head. “Stop saying that.”

  “Look at the evidence, bro!” Raoul came back. “She struck you stupid. Your song writing mojo is back. And now she’s vanished into thin air. Muse, I say. Muse.” The bass player leaned to the right and pointed at the security guard. “You didn’t see her leave, did you?”

  The guy shook his head vigorously. “Nope. No one’s come through here, sir.”

  Raoul cringed. “Gross. Don’t call me sir.” He sighed. “I’m going back to bed. After I call Keith Richards.”

  “Tell him he owes me money,” Gus called after him.

  The door slammed behind Raoul.

  Johnny fell sideways against the hallway wall, the corridor widening and narrowing around him, his vision distorting itself. Was it possible? Could Hope have been the muse? Keith Richards didn’t say anything about falling so in love with the muse you couldn’t imagine living without her, had he? If so, Johnny had missed that part.

  Gus slapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go write some hit songs, huh?”

  Before Johnny could respond, the elevator door opened. Thinking it might be Hope, his heart skyrocketed into his throat. But it was only Stan, his regular security guard. He was holding a pink box.

  “Hey,” Stan said, stepping out into the hallway. “Everything okay?”

  “No.” Johnny contemplated bashing his head against the wall. “Not unless you know where I can find Hope.”

  “Is she the blonde girl who gave me these donuts?”

  Johnny turned slowly, optimism reaching up to choke him. “When was this?”

  “About an hour ago.” Stan’s gaze ticked between Johnny and the new security guard. “She was the same girl who left your room before we traded posts.”

  Relief almost toppled Johnny. “Fuck you, Keith Richards. She is real.” His head fell back on a grateful exhale but came right back up. “Hold up. Why did she bring you donuts?”

  “She brought them upstairs,” Stan said, starting to look uncomfortable, along with the other security guard. “I know it’s been a good long while since you entertained female company, Mr. Scott, but when she came right back down into the lobby, I kind of assumed…you weren’t interested in seeing her. I thought you’d asked her to leave.”

  Johnny almost laughed, the idea of asking Hope to leave was so absurd. He never wanted to be without her. “I didn’t ask her to go. I’m keeping her.” Dread formed like icicles in his stomach when he noticed the new guy was white as a sheet. “What did you say to my girlfriend?”

  “You guys aren’t supposed to have girlfriends,” he blurted. “A different chick in every port, isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?”

  “Not for me, motherfucker.” Johnny lunged forward, catching the guard by the collar of his polo shirt and throwing him up against the wall. “Last time I’m going to ask. What. Did you say. To Hope.”

  His Adam’s apple dragged across Johnny’s knuckles. “I might have implied you’d made promises in the heat of the moment and she was just another groupie.” He let out a high-pitched laugh. “I also might have, uh…let her think you’d asked me to send her away. I thought I was doing you a solid, man—”

  Johnny reared back with his fist and delivered a right cross to the security guard’s face, feeling bone crunch under his knuckles. “You’re fired.” Johnny said raggedly, tossing the whining man aside. He could barely focus, he was so angry and miserable—his Hope had brought him donuts and gotten thrown out like yesterday’s garbage. She thought he’d ordered it done. Instead of giving in to the agony, though, he found Gus’s eyes and held. “Please. I have to find her. Now.”

  After a moment, Gus nodded. “Think. Did she tell you anything that might point us in the right direction?”

  “She has a favorite spot outside of town. A field with a tree in the middle. She brought me there, but…I don’t think she goes every day. I can’t wait that long—” Johnny cut himself off, memories from last night finally making it through his panic. “Waitress. She’s a waitress.”

 
; Gus rolled his eyes. “That narrows it down.”

  “Her brother’s name is Wyatt—”

  “Okay, save the rest.” Gus blew out a breath. “Let’s head into town and ask around.”

  Johnny was already blowing down the hallway toward the stairwell.

  “You want to put on a shirt?” His manager called after him. “Maybe some shoes?”

  Johnny kept going, refusing the let more time than was necessary pass in which Hope believed he hadn’t meant every single word he’d said last night. And more. More that he hadn’t said out loud but could barely keep inside now.

  When Johnny reached the lobby, he made for the exit. As soon as his bare foot touched the sidewalk, he was swarmed by cameras.

  “Johnny, where are your clothes?”

  “Is it true you haven’t written a song in fourteen months?”

  “Who is the mystery girl you were spotted with backstage last night?”

  At first, he was annoyed beyond belief. How dare they talk about Hope at all. She wasn’t just any name to be thrown around. He didn’t have time for this shit this morning. He needed to be out ripping down walls until he found his girlfriend.

  Then a light bulb went off in his head.

  Use them to your advantage.

  “I need your help,” he announced to the paps—and for once in their lives, they fell silent. Could this really work? “The mystery girl. Yeah, she’s being extra mysterious this morning.” They laughed somewhat incredulously that he was giving them the time of day. “I seem to have misplaced the girl of my dreams. Could I send her a message here?”

  A moment ticked past, before they all jumped into motion.

  “Of course, Johnny.”

  “Look into my camera.”

  “Fuck off, Ted. Look into mine, Johnny.”

  Johnny held up a hand to silence them. “Hope…” He picked a lens and looked into its depths. “I know why you left and, Christ, I’m so sorry, baby. Look at me.” He took a deep breath and felt his heart squeeze in his chest. “You know we fell in love last night. You know it was real. You’re having doubts about that, so I’m coming to find you, okay? I’ll take all the doubts away, one by one, just stay put while I figure out where you went.” His laughter was tinged with impatience. Why wasn’t he holding her yet? “I can’t figure out how an angel is out there, just walking the streets, in the first place. It shouldn’t be that hard to find you, right?”

  With a hard swallow, he skirted past the group of cameras and got into the first taxi.

  “Where to?” asked the driver.

  “You didn’t happen to pick up an angel about an hour ago?”

  The driver shook his head sadly. “Sorry, no. My shift just started.”

  Johnny blew out a breath, just as his manager slid into the backseat beside him, sending Johnny a wry look. “Take me into town. I’ll go from there.”

  *

  Hope stared at her reflection in the break room mirror.

  Her waitressing shift had already started and she could hear the breakfast rush din through the door. She needed to get out there and start taking orders, but her legs were made of cement. How had she managed to go home, shower and give Wyatt some lame reassurances that she was fine? The whole morning was a blur. She’d always thought a broken heart would be contained to the chest. It wasn’t. The split ran all the way down to the tips of her toes.

  Worse, she couldn’t seem to banish this…unsettled feeling.

  Was she restless because she couldn’t reconcile the Johnny she fell in love with last night…with the kind of man who’d change his mind so easily? Or was her uncertainty simply another awful side effect of heartbreak?

  A knock on the door made Hope turn. “Sorry, I’m coming—”

  “Hope, you have to get out here,” called the other waitress, Becky.

  “I know.” Hope tightened the strings of her apron and headed for the door. “Sorry, Becky. I’ll skip my break today and give you an extra-long one—”

  “Hope!” Becky squealed, opening the door and dragging her out by the elbow. “Look at the television.”

  “Why—”

  Hope’s mouth smacked shut when she saw the scene playing out on the ancient Panasonic television, which had been mounted above the diner counter no later than the eighties. A shirtless Johnny Scott, his hair in fifty directions, approaching a screeching gaggle of media and shutting them all up with a few words.

  “I need your help. The mystery girl. Yeah, she’s being extra mysterious this morning.”

  Wait. Was he talking about…her?

  “I seem to have misplaced the girl of my dreams. Could I send her a message here?”

  Hope’s heart was in danger of beating out of her chest, but not even self-preservation could force her eyes away from the screen. No, she couldn’t look away from the incredible sight of Johnny if she tried. “Hope…”

  Becky turned to look at Hope, mouth agape. Hope guessed she looked about the same level of shocked. Was this really happening?

  Johnny started straight into the camera and Hope’s knees started to shake. “I know why you left and, Christ, I’m so sorry, baby. Look at me.” He paused for breath. “You know we fell in love last night. You know it was real. You’re having doubts about that, so I’m coming to find you, okay? I’ll take all the doubts away, one by one, just stay put while I figure out where you went.” Frustration pulled his dark eyebrows together “I can’t figure out how an angel is out there, just walking the streets, in the first place. It shouldn’t be that hard to find you, right?”

  And then he was gone, replaced by a news anchor.

  Becky shook her by the shoulder. “You were at the show last night. Is he talking about you, Hope? Lord, please tell me yes, I need some excitement in my life.”

  “Yes,” Hope whispered, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, he was talking about me.”

  Before her fellow waitress could respond, one of Hope’s regulars burst through the door. “Y’all have to come see this. Johnny Scott is walking around town in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.”

  Becky took off running, nearly knocking down Hope in her haste to get out the door. Slowly, Hope walked toward the front window of the restaurant and peered through the lace curtains. And there he was. Johnny Scott, jaw set with determination, walking into each restaurant that lined the block, one by one, and coming back out. Moving on to the next.

  It would take him another three minutes to reach this restaurant.

  A sound of joy broke from her mouth. No way was she going to make him wait that long.

  Hope ripped off her apron and ran through the near-empty restaurant, bursting through the door. Traffic had stopped to watch the Shirtless Johnny Scott Parade, so she wandered into the middle of the street, waiting, and a moment later when Johnny left the Chinese takeout place on the counter, signing an autograph without so much as a pause in his step, Hope called his name.

  Johnny halted in place and his reaction to seeing Hope was breathtaking.

  He doubled over, resting with his hands on his knees a moment, before he straightened and started weaving his way around stopped cars, closing in on her like a heat-seeking missile.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed when he reached her. “I’m sorry I believed anything you didn’t tell me yourself. I should have known—”

  “Yes, you should have.” Johnny kept coming, backing Hope up until her hips met a parked car. His throat worked with emotion as he cupped her face, kissing her mouth like it was a priceless treasure. “I’ll forgive you if you spend the next seventy years with me.”

  Tears flooded her eyes. “Of course I will. I love you.”

  “Dammit, I love you, too.” His jaw flexed. “Hope, don’t ever disappear like that again.” He hoisted her up into his arms and buried his face in her neck, squeezing her so tight she could barely breathe. “I was almost convinced you were the muse.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s a long story.” He lifted a hand and tuc
ked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking at her like she couldn’t possibly be real. “How about we tell it to our grandkids?”

  “Yes. Yes.” Heart full to bursting, Hope leaned up and kissed Johnny’s waiting mouth, gasping when he slipped his tongue into her mouth. “Let’s go live,” she murmured. “Let’s do it all together.”

  “That’s the plan.” He set off down the street, a rock star carrying a waitress toward a lifetime of adventure. “How do you feel about a ranch, baby?”

  THE END

  Want more Tessa Bailey?

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