A love song.
Biting back the “No” that threatened to jump off his tongue, he diplomatically said, “I could certainly do a new arrangement of an existing song by changing the lyrics.”
The client frowned, looking over at Rose. “I thought you said that we’d be able to choose whatever custom elements we wanted for the day?”
“Of course you can,” Rose said. “Tyce, Mr. Washburn would like you to write an original song for his bride.”
“I understand that,” Tyce said, knowing he had to spin this carefully. “I’m just thinking about the end result. With a reworking, you’re absolutely sure of what you’re getting ahead of time, especially if you pick a song that you know your fiancée already loves. Only now, it will have her at the heart of it.”
“So you’re saying that a re-arrangement offers the best chance of a good result?”
“Yes,” he said. He shot his most reassuring smile the client’s way. “You will still be making an incredibly personal gesture, and Theresa will still be a part of the song, but you will also be showing her just how well you know her musical tastes by picking out the song that she loves most in the world. When you think about it like that, it’s actually almost
more
romantic.” He hoped that last bit wasn’t overkill as Rose shot daggers at him with her eyes.
“Yes, I guess so,” Mr. Washburn said, sounding a little more convinced. “And there aren’t many other places that would be able to arrange swans at the wedding. Well, I think we’ve covered everything else, and I’ll be back with Theresa to work out the final details on her dress. I’ll email you soon with the song.”
“Wonderful,” Rose said, shaking Mr. Washburn’s hand before showing him out. Tyce started to head back to the main hall to help RJ finish up, but Rose caught up with him halfway there.
“Tyce—”
“You’re about to ask me if I’ll reconsider writing this song, aren’t you?”
“You can see the client isn’t happy about it, and we didn’t build the Rose Chalet’s reputation by giving customers
almost
what they wanted.”
“I know,” Tyce said, “but he seemed happy enough by the time he left.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, “but I don’t understand why you won’t at least try to write a song.”
He really liked Rose, felt that she was more of a friend than just a boss. Still, he couldn’t help a flash of annoyance at her comment. “If Anne told you what she thought was the best way to go about a dress design, or Phoebe explained that she had a better idea for a floral display, you’d accept it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would. But I’d want to know they’d given it their best shot first. That they weren’t just settling for second best.”
“I am giving it my best shot.”
“Easy, Tyce,” Rose said in a gentle voice. “I was just hoping that whatever’s stopping you from doing this, it might be something we can talk through.”
He felt his shoulders slump, the weight of the bad day—and the sleepless night—dragging him down. “It’s been a long time since I’ve written a song.”
Five years.
Rose looked like she was waiting for him to say more, and he was afraid she might press him further. Instead, she simply said, “Please promise me you’ll at least try.”
Tyce nodded reluctantly. “I’ll let you know if I can make it work. Otherwise, assume we’ll be re-working her favorite song.”
“Thank you, Tyce.” Rose gave him a small smile and put her hand on his arm. “You know I’ve always trusted you to do your best by our clients. I still do.” With that, she turned and headed back for her office.
With her vote of confidence ringing through his head, Tyce went out to the parking lot and dug his guitar out of the trunk where he’d left it. He sat down on the hood of his car, guitar in hand, because he knew as well as anyone that the way to get inspiration to show up was just to start playing. The longer he tried to build up to it, the harder it would be.
He tried strumming his way through a simple three chord progression to see if any inspiration would bite. Nothing. Not so much as a glimmer of a lyric. He tried running through a few riffs instead, but they were tired old standbys. There wasn’t the faintest hint of anything original coming through.
Then again, had he really expected anything else?
He hadn't written anything original since that night with Whitney five years ago. He’d started to write a song the morning after, but he’d broken it off after the four bar introduction, because there hadn’t seemed to be any point. He could still play those four bars without thinking about them, the finger-picked notes ringing out.
He just didn’t know what came next.
Not without Whitney.
* * *
Five years ago, just moments after their first kiss
...
Tyce hadn’t been looking for love, for a partner, for a woman to share the rest of his life with. He was a young musician with the world at his feet; it was all waiting to be explored. Waiting to be conquered.
But what he and Whitney had just shared had been every symphony, every ballad, every single one of his favorite songs all wrapped up into one sweet, perfect kiss.
He and Whitney would do that conquering, that exploring together. He didn’t know how he knew it, after only a few hours with her, just that every piece of his heart—and every part of his soul—knew it to be true.
They took their vegetarian hot dogs and walked to a bench that looked out over the bay. For the first time since they’d met, they didn’t speak, but the silence as they enjoyed their meal, with Milo sleeping at their feet, was a perfect one. They’d walked for long enough that the first rays of light were beginning to rise up through the darkness, casting an incredible glow out over the water, but Tyce could barely take his eyes off of Whitney’s beautiful face.
After they finished their hot dogs and sodas, she turned to smile at him. “Do I have mustard on my face?”
She didn’t, but it was more fun to pretend that she did as he gently ran a finger along the corner of her mouth. “Right here.”
Whitney reached up for his hand and held it against her cheek. “Tyce, I—”
Her cell phone rang loudly, jarring both of them on the bench. Her hand slid from his. “Sorry. It must be Annette making sure I’m okay. I should get it.”
But when she pulled the phone out of her pocket he could see the word “DAD” on the screen, along with a picture of a nice looking middle-aged man.
She frowned and put it up to her ear. “Dad? Is everything okay?”
The early morning was quiet enough that Tyce was able to hear the other side of the conversation, even though he didn’t want to eavesdrop.
“I’m fine, honey. Just calling to wish you luck before your first day in my,”
her father broke off with a laugh, “
well, it's your office now, isn't it?”
Tyce could feel Whitney tense up beside him, one muscle at a time. She’d been so relaxed, had looked so happy over the past few hours that they’d walked and talked...and kissed.
But now her mouth was pinched and her eyes were shadowed as she said, “Thanks, Dad. It’s going to be—” She couldn’t seem to find the word for a moment. “—great. Don’t worry about anything at the company. I’ll make you proud, I promise.”
“Your mother and I are already so proud of you. We never expected you to want to take over my position. It’s the best gift you could give us, honey.”
She swallowed hard. “I love you, Dad.”
“We love you, too. Be sure to call to let us know how your first day goes, or if you have questions about anything at all.”
As she put the phone down on her lap, Tyce was struck by the sense that in one short phone call he’d lost the woman he’d just found. Her previously vibrant energy was muted now, as if the fog had moved from covering the bay to wrapping around her, instead.
“I need to go get ready for work.”
No.
He didn’t want her to go. Especially not like this, not when it felt like the bond they’d created was threatening to snap apart.
“It’s early, still,” he said as he reached for her hand. “Stay a little while longer.”
But instead of linking her fingers with his the way they’d been for so much of the night, she brought her hand in closer to her body.
“Tonight has been—” She looked at him and everything she felt was in her eyes. The passion, the longing...and the sudden sadness. “It’s been amazing, Tyce. And I’m so glad we met. But—”
He didn’t think, just put his hands in her hair and kissed her again. He would do anything he needed to if it would keep her from listing all her reasons that they couldn’t be together.
After a split-second of surprise, she kissed him back just as passionately. And yet, when they finally pulled apart, she looked sadder than ever.
“You’re wonderful,” she told him, “but I can’t be in a relationship right now.”
“Why not?”
“I owe it to my family to give one hundred percent of myself to the business. This was my last night out before taking over for my father. I can’t let him down. Thank you for making it more special than I could have ever hoped it would be.”
Didn’t she hear herself, the way she made it sound like she was walking into a prison cell, locking the door behind her, and tossing the key out of reach?
“It doesn’t have to just be one night, Whitney.” He could see she didn’t like the way he was pushing her, but how could he let her go? “At least give me your number.”
He held his breath as she pressed her lips together and looked away from him. Finally, she gave him the seven numbers he so desperately wanted.
She reached for his hand. “You’re amazing, Tyce. I can’t wait to hear your songs on the radio.”
It sounded as if she was saying goodbye, but when she leaned over to press one more soft kiss to his lips, he lost track of everything but her scent, the taste of her, the sweet pleasure of knowing he’d found the woman of his dreams.
When she suddenly stood up and quickly walked away, he knew she didn’t want him to follow her. She obviously needed to focus on her job today. And he would let her do that, because he respected her.
But she also needed to know that he hadn’t given up...and that he would be waiting for her when she was ready to date him.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dialed her number, surprised when she didn’t pick up and her voice mail came on.
But it wasn’t Whitney’s voice speaking in his ear.
“Hello. You’ve reached the San Francisco SPCA. Our business hours are eight a.m. to five p.m., Monday through Saturday.”
He woke Milo as he jumped up off the bench and scanned the bay front for Whitney.
But she was gone.
That was when he saw it, the sticker on the side of the bench where she’d been sitting, with the SPCA logo and phone number.
She’d left him with no last name, no phone number...and no way to find her.
* * *
For the past five years, Tyce hadn’t been able to write anything worth listening to. He’d tried putting a few things together, and they’d come out by the numbers—so awful that he hadn’t even bothered letting the rest of his band hear them. Worse, without that buzz of writing new songs and hearing people respond to them, everything else about life in the band had seemed pointless. Other
T5
members had written a few things, and they’d played the old songs, but getting up on stage hadn’t been the same. So he’d quit before his friends could throw him out for doing such a half-hearted job as lead singer.
Now he noodled aimlessly up and down the guitar neck as he thought about the way the Rose Chalet job had come along right after he’d left the band. Since then, Tyce occasionally filled in with other bands. The combination was a good one, giving him a regular pay check along with a few moments up on stage every now and again.
What more did he need?
Tyce hit the guitar strings hard, discord ringing out. The Rose Chalet was fine, but he wasn’t kidding anyone. Not even himself.
He needed more. So much more. He needed his creative soul to be fulfilled.
And he needed his heart to be made whole.
Whitney had been right. She might have settled for second best by going into the family business, but he’d done exactly the same. He’d settled for a nice, easy, comfortable job rather than putting himself out there to go after his dream.
Tyce loved the friends he had at the Rose Chalet. He loved being able to make a living with music.
But it wasn’t writing that perfect song.
And it never would be.
Chapter Five
“I can’t believe he’d accuse me of not following my dreams,” Whitney said aloud as she got ready for work.
On the bed behind her, Clementine, a black-and-white tabby cat, stretched out and yawned.
“I know,” Whitney said as she put on her suit jacket. “I shouldn’t be making such a big deal about what he said. It’s just…how can he say that about me when he’s hiding away at a wedding venue?”
Clementine sat up, staring up at Whitney until she stroked the cat’s ears.
“Okay, so maybe I wanted to be a veterinarian when I was a kid, but what does that have to do with my life now?”
Her cat mewed in response.
“If I left the business, who would take over? Annette?” Whitney laughed at that thought, but there was little humor in it. “Come on, let’s get you some breakfast before I go.”
Clementine leapt down off the bed, brushing against Whitney’s legs while she put food in a bowl. One day, she’d manage to get to work without being covered in cat hairs.
“You’d probably like it if my cousin were in charge. You always ignore me when she’s in the house.”
That was just how cats were. The person who gave them food and disposed of the dead mice they brought in was never as much fun as the person who made a total fuss over them. On top of that, Clementine recognized a kindred free spirit when she saw one. After all, wasn’t it true that cats did exactly what they liked, slept through about half the day, and expected you to put up with them simply because they happened to be gorgeous? Clementine and Annette were a perfect match.