They finished laying down the track Gray wanted to re-record and went their ways.
His stomach growled. Yep, just like his dad, putting music first and forgetting about everything else, including food.
He hopped in his car, a brand-new navy-blue SUV, and drove straight to Maisey's who could silence the tummy grumbling quickly with her blue-plate special.
When he walked inside, he scanned the nearby tables. He spotted a blonde who didn't look like his usual type of follower with her makeup-free face and ponytail. Her look screamed librarian with her floral skirt and sensible shoes.
Intrigued, he moved in her direction, and the closer he got, the more familiar she became. She was the pink panty girl—the one who couldn't decide if she wanted to leave them or take them.
Engrossed in a book, she didn't notice his arrival until he slid onto the bench across from her.
Her eyes snapped up and opened wide, the look on her face was shocked. He didn't know her, but by the recognition in her expression, she knew exactly who he was.
"If you're missing your pink panties, I found them."
She opened, then closed, and then opened her mouth again.
"Who are you?"
He leaned over the table. "Take a closer look darlin', you know exactly who I am." Then he pushed back until his spine flattened against the back of the booth. "What do you get out of leaving your underwear on my fence? I have to say, you don't look like the type."
She took three breaths and appeared to grow with each one. "You mean, a big-boobed, botoxed bimbo?"
Seemingly affronted by his accusation, he wasn't sure if her agitation came from getting caught or being categorized as one of many.
"See, you do know me."
"Hardly. And I don't know what you're talking about. My underwear is on my person, and the only time I take them off is for laundering."
"You don't know what you're missing." Initially, he intended to shame her for her behavior, but now he was egging it on.
She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. "Would that be gonorrhea?"
"Never had it. Never will. Safety first and fun later." He slid from her booth. " You are a young, attractive woman, and you should be having more fun." He turned and walked away. Shit, that whole exchange sounded like a pickup when it was the opposite.
He moved several booths away and sat so that he faced her. With her long blonde hair and sweet country smile, she wasn't his usual devotee. He attracted women who were a tad higher maintenance. Her description wasn't too far off.
Maisey moved toward him at lightning speed. She didn't have to look where she went because she walked through the restaurant like it was a memorized maze. She said, with her eyes on her order pad, "What's it going to be." She glanced up. "Holy hell, what happened to your hair?"
"I imagine it's on its way to some woman who needs a wig." That made cutting it off worth it.
She stared at him for several seconds, then smiled. "I like it. It suits you."
He raked his hand through it. It would take a lot of getting used to, but it was easier. All he had to do was shower and add some hair gel, and he was set. His longer hair took hours to dry.
"What do your friends think?"
"They think I look like a little league coach."
"Honey, if there was a little league coach who looked like you when Dalton was growing up, I would have been the team mother." She tapped her pad. "Blue-plate special?"
"Yep, that's how I roll. I'd love a glass of water too."
She scribbled his order on the pad and took off with her white loafers squeaking with every step.
He stared at Blondie in the booth. He hadn't noticed the crayons on the table or stacks of cardstock. She was entirely focused on her project and not him. Maybe he was wrong about her being the one who left her pink underwear. If she were a fan, she wouldn't ignore him. Instead, he'd be calling Merrick to get her removed from his booth.
A few minutes later, Maisey delivered his plate of chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans smothered in butter. He lifted a bite to his mouth and caught the blonde woman looking, but she immediately lowered her head.
A blush rose from her neck to her ears—cute ears with a single pearl in each rather than the big O hoops. Deanna's voice came into his head, The bigger the O, the bigger the ho. Now that would be a song to write.
He did his best to ignore her, but each time he glanced her way, he found her looking back. It wasn't with adoration, but something that looked like confusion.
The bell above the door rang, and he turned to see a woman and a small child enter. The woman in her thirties glanced his way and marched toward him.
She looked familiar, and so did the kid, but he couldn't place either. She stopped in front of his table and stared.
"You won't remember me, but maybe you'll remember her." She yanked a picture of a dark-haired beauty from her purse. "You and Layla hooked up in Madison while you were on tour."
The woman in the picture had eyes the color of robin's eggs and a mouth that … yep, he remembered her. She also had a drug problem. After their second night together, he found her in the bathroom with lines of the white stuff.
She showed up at several of his concerts after Madison, but he had her escorted out. He didn't do drugs, never had, and never would.
She tugged the little girl forward, so she stood in front of him. Her eyes weren't like her mother's, but a combination of green and blue.
His heart stopped beating long enough for his head to spin. Her eyes were just like his.
"Why are you here?" He prayed the little girl was hers, and they
