He wasn’t sure he did, but he noted a hint of urgency mixed with the concern in Roger’s expression and nodded. “I’m on my way home now. I’ll talk to her.”
“Good,” Roger replied, though neither his voice nor features reflected much relief. A far-off drumroll of thunder signaled the leading front of the storm that had been gathering all afternoon. Roger looked at the sky, grimaced, and added, “I won’t hold you up.”
West strategized his approach on the way home, but the downside of a five-minute commute was precious little thinking time. He knew Roxy well enough not to come at her head-on. That would just trigger her defenses and make him the enemy trying to dismantle them. He didn’t want to trap her in her own words, either. He didn’t want to trap her at all. He wanted to help. He wanted, he admitted to himself, for her to confide in him. And that decided his approach. He’d open with a simple, non-threatening question like, “How was your day?” and let her talk. Ideally, the whole story would flow out, and whatever it was, they could deal with it together. Thunder rumbled like doubt from the heavens.
Gusts of wind scattered dogwood leaves across his windshield when he pulled his truck to the curb. He hurried up the front walk, beneath the cover of the porch, and into the entryway of…his empty apartment. Not even the sound of Lucky’s padded footfalls greeted him. “Reckless?” he called and heard his voice echo off the walls.
From below he heard a bark, followed immediately by a frenzy of them. Doors below squeaked on hinges and then small paws beat a rapid path upstairs. Slower, more measured footsteps followed. The dog shot through the door, skidded across the kitchen toward West, and then jumped up and down on its back paws, tongue lolling, as if to say, “Here! Here! I’m right here!”
“Down.” West pointed to the floor. “Down.” The dog plunked his butt on the floor, his body twitching with suppressed energy. “Good boy,” he said and scratched between Lucky’s ears. Round, dark eyes rolled with joy.
Roxy entered at a much more sedate pace, wearing a black tank top with “HEARTBREAKER” bedazzled across the chest in small red rhinestones and red drawstring sweat shorts. “Hey.” She paused at the threshold and offered him a somewhat cautious smile before crossing the kitchen silently on bare feet. “How was your day?”
“Oh, you know.” He gave the dog one last pat and then backtracked to put his keys on the top of the armoire in the entryway and lock his weapon in the cabinet below. “Nonstop action. Played taxi to a group of kids having a hard time remembering summer break is over and first bell rings at eight fifteen, liaised with the mayor’s office about the Labor Day festivities, and…” He returned to the kitchen to find Roxy giving Lucky a handful of treats. “Conducted yet another investigation into the vandalism of Mr. Cranston’s garbage bins.”
She straightened, and her smile relaxed a bit. “So, the usual?”
“For the most part.” He closed the space between them and rested his hands on her shoulders. Hers flattened on his chest. “How was your day?”
Her gaze dropped, and it took him a minute to realize she was staring at his badge. “Pretty much the same.”
She wasn’t going to volunteer anything. A concrete block of disappointment sunk deep and heavy in his chest. “How was your meeting with Roger?”
“Good. He said it was a fair contract. I, um”—her eyes found his—“I signed off. It was electronic, so…”
“So, it’s a done deal.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You’ve officially sold your first song. I’m proud of you. We should celebrate.”
Her shoulders shifted under his touch, as if the weight of his hands, or the weight of his words, made her uncomfortable. “It’s no big deal. Just one song. Probably nothing more will come of it.”
He tipped her chin so he could see her face. “It’s a big deal, Roxy. It could open more doors for you. Even if the song doesn’t get recorded, the advance will put a nice chunk of change in your pocket. That alone gives you options.”
“Maybe. I haven’t really thought about it.”
Thunder clapped abruptly from almost directly overhead, sudden enough to make her jump. Lucky barked as raindrops tapped at the windows. Not quite a downpour yet but building fast. “Relax, you two.” He gently squeezed her stiff shoulders. “It’s just a little weather. You know, I’ve accrued some PTO. We could celebrate by taking a trip to L.A. You could meet with the PlayHard guy, pick up your check in person, sing a few more songs for him.” He traced the curve of her chin with his thumb. “We could walk on a beach at sunset. I could chase you into the surf. Do a few things to put smiles on our faces and sand in inconvenient places.”
He’d hoped for some enthusiasm, or at least a laugh, but instead she dragged her lip between her teeth and looked away. Wind rattled the windows. “That sounds like, well, like the best offer I’ve had in…ever. But—” Misery swam in her blue-green eyes when she finally looked at him. “Can we hold off on this conversation until the advance comes through? I only just signed the contract. I guess it doesn’t seem real yet. Every time I think about the money, I hear my mama warning me about counting my chickens before they hatch. I’m keeping my head in day-to-day stuff, you know?”
She was avoiding the conversation until she’d made up her mind about what she wanted to do, or she’d
