Page 8 of The Perfect Melody

“No thanks.” Turning my attention to Alexander, I continue, “No offence but if I’m seen with you tonight, people will assume there’s something between us, and I have no interest in whatever scheme you and my mother have cooked up.”

“You’re not exactly my type either,princess—my team arranged this.”

Relieved he’s about as invested in this stunt as I am, I’m quick to respond. “Well, I’m not doing it, so your team will have to find somebody else for you to pose with.”

Alexander shrugs. “Fine by me. Later.”

“Melody, you will go after him?—”

“I will go back to the hotelright nowif you don’t drop this,” I warn.

“Have it your way.” She lifts a hand to make a shooing motion at someone off to my right. “I thought you might be difficult, so I arranged for the photographer to get shots of the two of you talking. Those will have to do.”

You have got to be fucking kidding me. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No, I’m excellent at my job. You should be grateful I’m here to keep you on track. Without me, you’d have already faded into irrelevance.”

Screw this. “I’m going back to the hotel.”

“No. You have to stay for another hour, or it will look like you don’t?—”

“I’mgoing. Since you’re so great at your job, you can deal with how it looks.” I stride away from her as quickly as the crowd of cheerful partygoers around us allows.

Miranda will never stop. Since ending my call with Liam this morning, I almost talked myself into believing I was overreacting, but I’m not. She’s the problem, not me.

My resolve hardens the further my feet carry me from my mother. I need to get away from all of this, and it has to be now. Waiting is no longer an option, not when I’m one bad interaction away from burning it all down, consequences be damned. I’m going to Pine Grove. There’s so much to do, but for the first time in a long time, I feel a spark of something so unfamiliar it takes a moment for me to name it. Hope.

Chapter Three

Austin

“Pay up, sucker,”Dev crows, rubbing his tawny-brown palms together as my silver boot lands on yet another of his houses. Grimacing, I count out the colourful notes, then reach across the table to place them in his waiting palm. His happy wiggle is better suited to a puppy rather than a thirty-year-old man.

“Doesn’t look like it’s your night, mate,” Jeremy says, clapping a fair, lightly tanned hand on my shoulder. The movement makes the long strands of his brown hair sway, and the ends brush the sides of his neck just above his shoulders as he settles back in his seat.

Looking at my rapidly dwindling stack of pretend cash on the table before me, I have to agree. I raise my broad shoulders in a lazy shrug. “If I didn’t let one of you lot win sometimes, you’d all stop coming to game night.” Dev rolls his brown eyes at my cocky smirk.

“Quit your yapping and let Jer roll. Unlike you miserable sods, I have a husband I’d like to get home to,” Reggie interjects before our good-natured bickering can really gather any steam.

We’re gathered for our weekly game night in Jeremy’s gastropub, Quill & Dagger. He closes earlier on Sundays, so the place is empty except for our little group. Despite the chairsstacked atop the empty tables surrounding us, the pub still feels cosy. All the dark wood, exposed brick, and pendant lighting creates an inviting atmosphere that makes people want to linger. There’s not much decoration on the walls bar a handful of strategically placed sconces and the odd framed cover of some of Jer’s favourite mystery books. He wanted the place to have a theme without being too on the nose about it, and I’d say he’s succeeded. There’s even a small bookshelf tucked away in a corner with a take-one-leave-one system, which is a hit with the locals and tourists alike.

“Don’t rush me,” Jeremy says, cradling the dice in his large hands and closing his eyes. Superstitious fucker’s always going on about manifesting positive energy for each roll. I’m not one to knock someone else’s beliefs, but in the year he’s been hosting our Sunday game nights, Jer hasn’t won once.

“Yeah, don’t rush him, Reg. He’s giving the dice a pep talk,” Dev, the newest addition to our little group, having moved to town three months ago, quips.

The dice clatter across the board, and Jeremy moves the iron forward nine squares, shoulders slumping when he realises he’s landed on one of Reggie’s hotels. He hands over the last of his brightly coloured notes, then crosses his tattooed arms over his chest. “I’m out.” Reggie grins in triumph and adds Jer’s properties to his portfolio, head bowed low while he organises the cards in front of him, giving us all a clear view of his freshly redone flat twists.

The game only lasts another half an hour before Reggie emerges victorious. “So,” he begins, as we pack the game away, “Are you about ready for the reopening of Bowman’s?”

The bar has been in my family for three generations now and, after a long overdue family sit down last summer where Mum finally agreed to hand over the business, I’ve taken the helm. I implemented a few smaller changes right away, but once wegot through the festive season, I made sure everyone knew we’d be closing our doors for a few months to give the bar the full refurbishment it desperately needed. Now we’re only a couple of weeks away from the soft reopening, with the grand reopening scheduled for the week after. The rapidly approaching big day fills me with equal parts nerves and excitement.

“Everything’s on schedule. There are only a few finishing touches left, and I’ve organised staff training for next week to make sure everyone’s familiar with the new ordering system and food and drink menus before the soft opening.”

Dev snickers when I say ‘soft opening’ because he’s got the sense of humour of a teenage boy.

“You’ve got this, mate.” Jeremy clears the glasses from our table, and the tight feeling in my chest loosens slightly at his encouragement. When he first arrived in Pine Grove and opened Quill and Dagger, I’d been determined to dislike the man luring away my customers with his fancy new gastropub. Then my sister came to town last summer and convinced Mum and me to eat here with her, her boyfriend, and his son. Jeremy and I ended up chatting and, much to my dismay, we clicked instantly. I’d been so focused on Bowman’s that I made little time for socialising, but Jer, Reggie, and Reg’s husband Francis welcomed me into their circle with open arms. Francis occasionally joins our board game nights, but usually spends his Sunday evenings hanging out with his book club friends after hours at the local bookshop, Wordplay.

The four of us wrap up our game with Reggie unsurprisingly emerging victorious. Reg and Dev head out right away while I hang back to help Jer clean up, not that there’s much left to do. It’s not that the others are unwilling to help—Jeremy banned them from setting foot behind the bar after the night Dev accidentally bumped into Reggie making him knock over an almost full bottle of expensive tequila.