I huffed a laugh. “No, I’m sure my mom would love you.”
He gasped. “She’s not a member of the I Hate Wyatt Nash Club?”
“Shut up,” I teased. “I just feel like a latte and a walk.”
He watched me like he could sense the lie. Why had I said latte? I actually hated coffee. I much preferred tea. And I couldn’t resist a good scone. I realized that probably made me sound more British than Wyatt, despite him being the one with the accent.
I met his intense gaze hoping he wouldn’t call my bluff. The coffee shop had started out as an excuse to avoid him seeing my house, but now that I was thinking about scones, I truly did like the idea of stopping in.
“So, what, you expect me just to drop you off here at night and let you walk home?”
“It’s not a big deal. I like walking. It’s when I do some of my best songwriting.”
He considered it, then shook his head. “Nope. It’s late and it’s cold. If something happens to you, I’ll never be able to appeal for the disbandment of the I Hate Wyatt Nash Club. I can’t allow it. Get your order to-go. I’ll wait.”
“What about Scarlet’s no food and drink rule?”
“I didn’t say you could drink it in the car.” He winked.
Wyatt-freaking-Nash just winked at me. I had no words. Luckily, I didn’t need them.
He spoke again. “Keep the lid on and I’ll make an exception just this once.”
I ignored my galloping heart, got out of the car and walked around to Wyatt’s side, leaning down. He rolled the window down and I gave him my I’m-not-joking expression that I’d perfected after countless hours of babysitting. “Wyatt, I don’t need a ride. I’m giving you an official pardon.”
I expected a witty comeback, but something like disappointment flickered across his emerald eyes. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
Wyatt recovered his easy smirk, tipping his cool black fedora at me. “Goodnight, Penny Layne.”
“Goodnight.”
I waited on the curb, watching wistfully as Wyatt’s taillights faded into the distance. Scarlet’s rumbling purr grew fainter by the second, only making my chill worse. When I was alone, I shivered, letting my shoulders slump. Regret filled me as I turned away from the coffee shop and headed up the hill to my house.
As much as I wanted a nice hot tea for the short walk home, I wanted to have lunch money for tomorrow more. But even more than that, I realized I wanted to be back in the warm interior of Wyatt’s car, listening to him sing along to classic rock, calling me Penny Layne and making my heart race with his annoying little smirks.
So much for the I Hate Wyatt Nash Club.
Lola was right. I needed to be careful. If I wasn’t, Wyatt’s charms would easily disarm me.
This was only day one of our partnership. How was I ever going to endure two weeks of the feelings that were now crowding my chest? I could already see the outline of a love song forming in my head. I tried to shake it away, but it wouldn’t budge.
I was so screwed.
Chapter Sixteen
Wyatt
I was up with the sun the next morning, not at all surprised by the rush of anticipation that had me showered, dressed and ready to head out the door more than an hour early. I hadn’t been able to get Layne’s song out of my head all night.
But that wasn’t a bad thing. It was a great song. I’d laid in bed tossing my baseball while letting the words trip through my mind. Sometime around four in the morning I gave up my fight for sleep and got up, plucking one of my acoustic guitars off the wall. I strummed the familiar melody of Layne’s song, tweaking little parts here and there.
My leg bounced with excitement when I found a rhythm that spoke to me. I wished I had Layne’s number. I wanted desperately to call her and play the tune, knowing she was possibly the only other person on the planet that would be as excited as I was over the genius sound I’d just compiled for us.
I’d been so stoked to share it with her that I’d searched for her online. I was hoping to find her on social media so I could send her the new track I’d recorded on my phone, but no luck. Layne had to be the only girl at Northwood not blasting her life online for all to see. I even searched through old posts on the school’s gossip site, the Trojan Tattler, to see if I could find her there. But I came up empty.
I’d seen Lola’s name a number of times, and way too many posts about me and my apparent appeal among the female student body, but it was like Layne didn’t even exist.
Honestly, it made me even more desperate to get inside that pretty little head of hers.
Not getting her number was an oversight I planned to remedy today. I did a quick search online for her address and headed downstairs.
“You’re up and at ‘em early,” my mother said from the breakfast bar.
“Yep, I’m giving Layne a ride to school.”
Her eyebrows rose and she set her newspaper down. “So, you’ve agreed to help her after all?”
“Oh, er, yeah. Do I need to fill out some forms or something?”
My mother did her best to hide her shock. “Nope, I’ll take care of everything,” she replied, beaming.
I scowled at her. “I’m not doing this for you.”
She gave me a smirk that looked much like my own. “I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to. Your know-it-all grin does the job for you.”
She took a sip of coffee to hide her smile. “I don’t care why you’re doing it. I’m just happy you found something to be excited about.”
“Who says I’m excited?”
My mother glanced at the wall clock, then picked up her newspaper again. “No one, darling. Have a nice day.”
I rolled my eyes, but even my mother’s playful patronizing couldn’t dampen my spirits. It was true, I was excited.
As I drove toward town, I realized I hadn’t felt a spark like this since I left New York. Sure, baseball was fun, and I was good at it, but I was never going to go pro. Maybe college ball if I hadn’t messed up my ankle, but not now.
It had devastated me at first, but I was adjusting to my new reality. Besides, it was music that had always owned my heart. Unfortunately, thanks to my father’s prevalent position in the industry, I childishly refuted it—until now.
I didn’t know why I was making an exception for Layne. Maybe it was because without baseball I was just bored. Whatever the reason, I decided not to overanalyze things too much. I rather liked the weightless feeling in my chest. It probably wouldn’t last, but that was even more reason to enjoy it while I could.
When the coffee shop came into view, my GPS app told me to turn, but I decided to make a last-minute detour. No sense showing up emptyhanded if I didn’t have to.
I pulled up in front of a white two-story duplex. A small yard with drab-looking grass led up to a weathered porch with two doors. I frowned and double checked the address I’d looked up on my phone. It didn’t mention whether Layne lived in unit A or B.
Well, I guess I had a fifty-fifty chance.
I left Scarlet’s warm interior and faced the blustery late March morning head on. At least the two coffee cups warmed my hands. I decided to go for door A. There was a yellow porch swing on that side and I could picture Layne sitting there in the summer with her guitar and songbook.