the text multiple times, Sawyer still smiled at his kid brother’s teasing. He supposed he deserved some ribbing. After all, as the older sibling, he’d tortured Chase unmercifully while they were growing up. It was hard to believe his baby brother was finishing up college next year...
Seriously, tho, long time, no see. When are you coming home for a visit? Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving. Mom and Dad won’t ask you, but I think it’s important you come home for a while. Final exams wrap up on Friday, and then I’m going to be free all summer. Hope 2 C U soon?
Sawyer frowned, as he had the first time he’d read the text. There was something in Chase’s suggestion that hinted of uncertainty, even perhaps vulnerability. But then again, how much could a person really read into a text message?
Still, Chase was right. It had been way too long since Sawyer had last seen his family, and he couldn’t even remember when he’d last visited his hometown. Certainly not since he’d moved to Nashville, and his career had taken off. Then it had hit him.
Rory.
It was the perfect chance to see her again, since his schedule was free for the next few weeks. Sure, Perle would probably prefer that he spend that time doing interviews and the like to leverage his recent AHR win, but he’d wrapped up his concert tour the weekend before last. Soon he’d have to hit the studio to begin laying down tracks for his next album, but he only had a few songs ready to record. Songwriting hadn’t come so easily in the last couple of years. He’d taken for granted how much Rory had influenced his desire to compose songs—without her in his life the music didn’t flow like it once had. Maybe talking to her would spark some fresh ideas. He’d always been eager to get the words and music down so he could play them for her and get her feedback. Besides, he reasoned, he deserved a minivacation after the breakneck pace he’d set over the last two years.
And just like that, he’d made the decision to come home. He’d booked the flight immediately and replied to his brother that he’d see him soon. But even though he was looking forward to time with his family, he was most excited about reconnecting with Rory.
And that was how he found himself in front of Callahan’s restaurant, trying to muster up the courage to head inside. He’d put this off for too long, and even though he didn’t want to wait another minute, he wasn’t sure what to say other than “I’m sorry.”
He owed her an apology. But even more than that, he wanted her back. It had become crystal clear to him in the hours after the awards show, when all his dreams were coming true, that something was missing. That something was really a someone.
He wanted Rory. Needed her. No amount of awards could replace her. She’d been his greatest source of inspiration for as long as he could remember. She had been his constant, through years of doubt and failure. He’d been foolish to think he wouldn’t need her once he hit the big time.
It hadn’t taken too much investigative work to learn she was working that afternoon. He knew, from previous phone conversations with his mother, that Rory had gone to work for her brother after she and Sawyer had split. He also knew she’d moved back to town and into the apartment above the restaurant. According to his mother, Connor’s restaurant had finally taken off. It was mentioned as a four-star dining experience in numerous travel and culinary magazines, and it had gained huge recognition when Connor was the runner-up and then the grand prize winner in the annual Best of the Bay competitions two years in a row.
Sawyer had to admit that the exterior of the place didn’t look anything like he remembered back when Rory’s dad had owned it. The Rusty Anchor sign had been replaced with a sharp, pub-style design, and the name had been changed to the family one of Callahan’s. The place had a cozy but classy feel to it, from the redbrick facade to the black-trimmed window frames. His gaze skipped upward, toward the second floor. He wondered if Rory was up there now or if she was already down below in the restaurant. Either way, his stomach somersaulted at the thought of her being nearby. He was close. So close.
He was a ball of mixed emotions, excitement and nerves competing for first place. What would she think of him showing up here? Would she recognize it as an effort on his part to make things right? Or would she merely see it as an intrusion?
He guessed there was only one way to find out. With another tug on his baseball cap, he drew a deep breath and headed inside the restaurant.
* * *
WHEN RORY CLOCKED in for her shift at Callahan’s that afternoon, she prayed there would be no discussions about Sawyer’s Artist of the Year award. Given that he was a hometown boy and she and he had been known so long as a couple, it was often impossible to dodge his name in conversation, especially from those who didn’t understand that Rory was no longer a part of his life. She had become adept at pat responses: “No, I don’t know what he’s up to these days. He’s so busy recording and touring, you know.” Most people missed the sarcastic edge to her words, but occasionally, someone would cock their head and make their apologies before blessedly changing the subject.
She grabbed her apron from the back room and said hello to Rafael. He mumbled an incoherent greeting in response, his attention fixed solely on the washing machine he was attempting to fix. Rafael had been with the restaurant well before it had become a highly rated, popular establishment. As one of the few original employees, Rory was fond of him, in large part because of his longtime loyalty to her brother. Now that Callahan’s had become a success, Rafael had been promoted from busboy and occasional line cook to maintaining the restaurant and property.
Tying her apron in place, Rory left Rafael to his work and headed back through the kitchen to check what section she’d be working that evening.
Twenty minutes later, she had settled into her server’s routine. She’d topped up the beverages at all six of her tables, provided a fresh bread basket to table eighteen and put in the appetizer order for table sixteen. She approached the computer to tabulate the bill for her four-top at table twelve and noticed the hostess seating a lone diner at table fifteen on the outer edge of her section. It was a slightly isolated table by the window, and one that was sometimes requested by customers dining alone.
Vanessa, the hostess, caught Rory’s eye and hurried over. “I just seated a cute guy at table fifteen.”
“I saw,” Rory replied as she stuck table twelve’s bill into the receipt folder. “I’ll get to him in a minute. I have to finish up with twelve.”
“Okay, but I wanted to give you a heads-up—he asked to sit in your section.”
That got Rory’s attention. She raised her head and zeroed in on the newcomer. He was slouched over the menu, a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. His posture was relaxed, but she noticed him drumming his fingers impatiently on the tabletop.
Her stomach clenched. She’d seen that gesture a thousand times over the years, in the back rooms of bars before they’d gone onstage, in the airport before he’d shipped out for army basic training, and the day he’d sat her down in a restaurant not nearly so nice as this one to tell her about the record deal from Nashville...right before he broke up with her.
She knew every emotion that accompanied that gesture—excitement coupled with adrenaline and just enough nervousness to keep him cool under pressure. Her entire body tingled, and she wondered if she should try to pass off his table to someone else.
She immediately dismissed the thought. He’d asked for her section. He knew she was here.
Drawing a deep breath, she headed for his table, dropping off table twelve’s check and promising to return for the payment shortly. Ten steps later, she was at his side.
He was facing away from her, looking out the window and over the water. She debated how to begin, whether to admit she recognized him through his thin disguise or behave as the server she was and ask if he’d like to start with something to drink.
In the end, he saved her from having to decide. He shifted in his seat, pulling his eyes away from the gray-blue of the Chesapeake’s water, lifting his gaze to meet hers.
“I forgot.”