His Melody (11 page)

He flipped through pages of lyrics and poems in his notebook as he thought about Melody. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her at dinner, and Regan had noticed. He didn’t know if anyone else had. After dinner, Regan had asked him about it. He’d simply stated the part of the truth that he was sure about—Melody wasn’t going to be around long.

Melody. What to think about her? She was the reason he’d gotten out his notebook for the first time in months. He’d been blocked for a while, but suddenly he felt inspired.

He used to go to poetry slams at a place up in Glennville every week, but he hadn’t been in a while. He simply didn’t have anything to say. His material had been really angry right after he left New York. Then it mellowed out. Next it was sad. Then empty.
Just words with no emotion behind them.
No feeling.

He snorted when he thought about the way his agent had tried to turn him into a white rapper gimmick. She’d tried to make him into something he wasn’t. He didn’t want to be anybody’s stereotype or wildly skewed expectation. He wanted to share his views—his feelings—with the world or nothing at all. At least that was the way he’d once felt. Now he wrote for himself. Nobody else needed to know, see, or hear what he was writing about.

He didn’t want to be a part of that world anymore. He’d found out the hard way that the fast-paced life of the entertainment world wasn’t for him. Life in Sweet Neck suited him just fine. The only people he cared about, and the only people who cared about him, were here. Forgetting that had led to the destruction of not only him,
but
those he loved. From Isadora, his girlfriend who’d died of an overdose, to his friends and family, he’d let them all down and he couldn’t stop blaming himself for the deaths of two of them, no matter what anybody said—Isadora and his father. Well, any of them besides Donnie. Donnie agreed with him completely about at least that one thing.

Austin hadn’t spoken to his father for five years before his death. He’d last spoken to his dad when he was nineteen. He was twenty-nine now. Still, his father had left the shop to him. In the letter that Austin wasn’t to open until after his father’s death according to the will, Dad had said that he hoped the shop could do for Austin what his father hadn’t been able to. After everything that’d happened, his father still held out hope for him. That night, after the lawyer gave him Dad’s letter, he’d gone to his mother and asked for help. The next day, Regan and his mother took him to rehab.

He wondered what Melody would think of him if she knew all that.
Probably not a whole lot.
In any case, she’d be gone soon. He had no business wondering what she would think about anything.

After smoothing his hand over a blank sheet of paper, he wrote her name at the top of it in big, block letters. He stared at the letters—black ink on a white sheet of paper. Then, the words started to flow, faster than he could write them. He spent the next couple of hours scribbling furiously onto the pages.

Chapter Thirteen

Monday morning, Austin stood in the kitchen, sipping coffee as he waited for Melody to finish breakfast. He’d sent Donnie and Avery ahead to the shop, telling them he’d be a little late that morning.

“You not eating anything?” she asked. She shook her short black hair out of her face and sipped from a glass of orange juice.

“Not hungry.” He never ate breakfast no matter how much his mom fussed with him about it. His compromise with Mom was a protein shake after his morning run. Sometimes he’d throw an egg or two in the shake. Mom wouldn’t let him out of Sunday breakfast before church, though. Sunday breakfast and dinner were mandatory for everybody who wanted to live in that house in peace.

“It’s delicious,” she said in a
sing-song
voice. So was she in a low-cut sundress that clung to every soft curve she possessed.
And those shoulders.
Soft and definitely feminine, but still
well-defined
. He was going to have to buy
a burlap
sack for her to put on if she was going to continue living in his house and wearing dresses like that, or he’d never be able to think of anything other than her body. Then again, with that body, she’d probably make a burlap sack sexy, too.

“I know,” he replied, using the same
sing-song
tone.

Melody brought a forkful of eggs to her luscious lips. His eyes moved to her slender neck when she swallowed.

“Your mom can really throw down in the kitchen,” she said. “Can I take her home with me?”

“Not a chance.”

She grinned. “I don’t blame you.” Her fork scraped the plate as she scooped up more eggs. “I told her I’d help with dinner tonight.”

“I hope you can cook then.”

After polishing off a piece of toast, she stood. “I like to think so.”

“Good,” he said, tugging a baseball cap with the shop’s logo on it on his head backwards. “What?” She was staring at him.

“I usually don’t like the backward hat thing, but it’s
kinda
sexy on you,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Melody James. Are you flirting with me?” he asked as they walked out of the kitchen.

“Austin Holt. I just might be.”

He chuckled. “Well, let’s get you over to Radio Shack, and then we’ll head to the shop.” Donnie and Avery had opened up that morning since he wanted to wait around until Radio Shack opened and take Melody over there like he’d promised to. Donnie would’ve thrown a fit, he knew, except for the fact that he liked Melody. Donnie made it clear that he didn’t want any extra responsibility if he didn’t get to be in charge. He showed up, worked on cars, chatted up customers—most everybody in town loved Donnie—and that was it. “You ready?” he asked as he opened the kitchen’s side door that led out to the wraparound porch.

“Let’s do it,” she said, walking through the door that he held open for her. He followed her at a slight
distance,
admiring her the sway of her hips as she walked followed the porch toward the front of the house and to his truck.

At Radio Shack, Austin let Melody borrow some money that he didn’t plan on letting her pay back, but she didn’t know that yet. She picked up a pack of batteries for her CD player, headphones for it and her mp3 player, and a few other things. When they were done in the store, they headed to his shop. In his office, she made a point of stepping over a pile of boxes in the middle of the floor. He admired her calf muscles as she did so. She had to be a runner, or maybe she was naturally blessed, or both.

“Okay, so, obviously I need to get to work,” she said as she looked around the cluttered office. “Where should I set up?”

“Anywhere you can find a spot.”

“Do I get a desk?”

He lifted his cap and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t think there’s really room for two, do you? But we can share.”

She grinned, sitting on the corner of his desk. “This is my side.” She reached over, putting her palm in the center of the desk to mark her territory. He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting downward. He just couldn’t help it. She couldn’t be wearing a bra with that dress, but could her breasts really be that perky without one? They were kind of on the big side for that to be so.
So perfect and round.
The idea of reaching out and touching them almost seemed worth the slap he would surely get if he did so.

Melody cleared her throat, and he was jarred out of his mental calculations. He tore his eyes
away,
his face feeling like it was on fire. “Uh, sorry. What was that?”

“I asked if you were enjoying the free show,” she said. She now sat up straight, and her arms were crossed over her chest.

“I’m sorry. I just—I well…” What could he say? The answer was yes, but he couldn’t say that for obvious reasons. He rearranged some pencils and order slips lying on his desk in lieu of an answer to her question.

She got up from the desk. “That was harsh. You’re a good guy, Austin. I can tell that about you.” She walked over to him. Twisting her wedding ring around on her finger, she said, “It’s just that I’m often surrounded by guys who think I’m part of their signing bonus or who think networking involves sex. I’m used to being defensive about these things.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

She put a hand on his arm. “You’re so easygoing.”

He put his hand over his, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I try to be. No use in getting worked up over the small stuff. Won’t change anything anyhow.” At least that was how he felt about it now. He hadn’t always been a laidback kind of guy.

She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “That’s a good philosophy.”

“Hm.” It’d sure taken him long enough to cultivate it. Standing there with her so close had his blood running hot. She often did that to him. All he wanted was to get her undressed. He couldn’t think that way.

Remember Isadora? You’re poison to every beautiful thing you touch.

He realized his hand had found its way to her lower back. What was he doing? “I need to get to work,” he said. He pulled away. He had to get out of that room because the thing he wanted most in the world was to back her against a wall and pull that sundress up over her hips. Then find out if he was right about her not wearing a bra or not.

“Yeah, me, too,” she said. Was it just his lust-filled overactive imagination, or did she sound disappointed?

“I’ll be out in the garage if you need me,” he said.

“Yep. You got a shredder? Some boxes? Garbage bags?” She swiveled her neck, doing a visual search of the office as she spoke.

“Sure.” He showed her where to find everything she’d asked for and then escaped to the place where he was always able to find peace—his garage, surrounded by cars.

Out there with the cars, he could feel close to his dad again. Cars were the
thing
that had always brought them together. They still did, even after his dad’s death. Out in his garage, he felt peace. As long as Donnie kept his mouth shut, that was.

Chapter Fourteen

Donnie burst into the office a little after noon. He was tall and skinny—the definition of lanky—with brownish red hair. Nothing about him reminded Melody of Austin except for the long, straight nose—they definitely shared a nose. Except Austin’s was a little crooked, as if it’d gotten broken somewhere along the way in his twenty-nine
years.

“Lunch!” Donnie hollered into the room. “Whoo, girl, I’m starving. C’mon. Let me treat you.”

Melody put the papers she’d been sorting through back into the box from which they’d come. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t let me buy you lunch.
The prettiest thing in Sweet Neck?
Psht, impose? You’d be doing me a favor, not to mention wonders for my reputation,” he said before giving her a crooked smile. “I’d be the one doing the imposing.”

“Okay, let me just tell Austin—” Melody started toward the door, but Donnie shook his head.

“Aw, girl, don’t worry ‘bout him. He’s under some lady’s car right now, and he’s doing a lot of cussing. I think we’d best leave him be.”

She laughed at the mock serious expression on Donnie’s face. She’d already learned you couldn’t be around Donnie too long without catching his infectious smile. The only time he seemed to lose his jovial nature was when he was talking to his brother one-on-one.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said. She grabbed her purse—habit. After all, nothing was in it—and followed Donnie outside.

They got into his black Impala SS low-rider. Everyone in the family had a thing for rebuilt classics apparently. She slid onto the leather front seat and Donnie removed the sun blocker from the windshield and tossed it into the backseat.

Raking a hand through his dark hair, he said, “Okay. Get ready for the best meal you’ve ever had in a restaurant. Outside of Mom’s cooking, Rose’s is the only cooking I trust.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”

Donnie had shed his coveralls and left them back at the shop. He wore a white, ribbed, sleeveless undershirt and baggy jeans, emphasizing his skinniness. He drove them a short distance they could have walked out to
main street
and down a bit, parallel parking in front of a storefront with the words “Rose’s Diner” etched onto the frosted glass. A giant pink rose was painted beneath the words.

They walked inside, and Melody closed her eyes for a minute, relishing the rush of cold air as they did. The smell of deep fried food greeted them at the door as well. Suddenly, her mouth watered for fried potatoes. A buxom woman with brown, rosy cheeks and a huge smile along with a nametag reading “Rose” greeted them. She wore a peach short-sleeved dress that had a row of buttons down the front. It reminded Melody of what a waitress in a diner in the fifties would’ve worn.

“Hey, Donnie!” Rose exclaimed. “And you must be Melody,” the woman stuck her hand out to Melody.

“Yes,” Melody said, a little stunned the woman knew her name.

“Nice to meet you,” Rose said.

Melody returned the greeting, and Donnie leaned in, supplying the answer to her unasked question. “Word travels fast in Sweet Neck. We don’t have much to talk about down here.” He then formally introduced the two women before nodding at Rose and saying, “She gets all my money.”