Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Have you listened to the song, Bristol?”
“Nope.”
After Anson’s lovely “Let It Burn” debut, I refused to listen to any of his other songs. Another lie, but whatever, I was on a roll today. I wouldn’t listen to a whole song on any of his albums. If one song happened to come on the radio, which was nearly every damn hour, I changed the song. Even Ida, Anson’s grandmother, finally stopped trying to get me to listen to his music. She had it in her head, as well, that they were all written for me, infused with some secret message that was meant for only me to understand. Pffttt. Hardly. I knew it was childish that I didn’t listen to them, but if Anson truly wanted to talk to me, he had my number. It hadn’t changed in the last six years. He most certainly didn’t have to send a message to me in musical Morse code or anything.
Good God. I sound so bitter…even in my own head.
“There’s this line in the song…” Mindy went on.
“I don’t care!” I sang as I snapped a few more pictures, even though I didn’t need them.
“Where he sings, ‘Sittin’ on the flat rock, that night we fell so in love. She is the only woman in my heart, the one I still pray for to the man up above.’ How romantic is that? And so, so familiar, almost like I’ve heard a story about a crazy-in-love couple…and a flat rock…the night they fell in love.”
That made me pause for a moment. I swallowed hard and then forced the stupid thought out of my head. It hadn’t been about me. It couldn’t have been about me. I slowly turned and faced her.
She smiled and nodded. “See! Lyrics that only you get. He’s most definitely sending you a message…and that message is that he still loves you.”
With a tilt of my head, I studied her. “How do you get that he still loves me from that line?”
Mindy sighed, a little too dramatically if you asked me. “Bristol, please! Sitting on the flat rock? Hello, Flat Rock Ranch? Y’all used to spend so much time out there. It’s where y’all first said you loved each other. Don’t pretend like you don’t remember.”
“He could be talking about any flat rock, Mindy.”
“The one I still pray for to the man up above? No, you and I both know he’s talking about you! Ugh, Bristol, almost all of his songs are about you, I swear. If you’d just listen to them all, truly listen to the words—”
I huffed. “According to Josh, Anson has had his fair share of women. He’s most likely talking about the latest fling he slept with on a flat rock or something. Can you imagine all the little groupies who line up to sleep with him? Gross.”
“Josh? You’re really going to listen to him with any shred of belief? The guy you dated and then dumped because you found out he was looking at wedding rings?”
I cringed. It’s true. I had done exactly that. Josh had been fun to be with for the short time we dated. He was carefree and loved to do the things I did, which wasn’t a surprise, since we were friends first. He was supportive of me and went along with all the social media staging and interaction—which was practically a full-time job—and even helped me when I was trying to plan the tea room.
But when it came right down to it, he wasn’t the man I saw myself settling down with. As much as I wanted to move on, my stupid heart wouldn’t let me. The sex was good. Not mind-blowing, but he always made sure I was taken care of in that department. Of course, he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, but he was good to me. I just wasn’t in love with him.
Just like I hadn’t been in love with the other two guys I dated after Anson and before Josh. I told myself I wasn’t comparing them to him, but my heart knew I was. No one would ever be able to heal the part of my soul that I had given to Anson. No matter how much I wished someone could.
“Some reporter showed up at Ida and Irwin’s place the other day.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Carl showed up with a gun and told him to get his city-slicker ass off of his folks’ porch or he’d become a permanent fixture there.”
I covered my mouth in an attempt not to laugh. Carl, Anson’s father, didn’t take kindly to reporters showing up on his parents’ front porch. Not to mention, I had it on good authority that Carl hadn’t spoken to Anson since he left for Nashville. He never could forgive him for walking away from the family ranch in pursuit of a singing career. Regardless of how successful Anson was now, he left what was supposed to be his legacy. Pearl, Anson’s mom, told my mother that Carl did follow Anson’s career and had since he’d left, but would never admit to it.