Excitement fills me because I’m almost certain I now know where he is, and it’s no wonder I didn’t find him in town. Because he’s not in town.

I give Jester one last snuggle. “Hopefully I’ll be back soon with Daddy.”

He maows at me as I carefully let myself out and make sure he doesn’t escape. He’s an inside cat and has never been outside. Not that I’m aware of, at least. I can’t imagine Tomas would change his mind on keeping the orange tabby safely inside.

Hurrying out, I lock the door behind me and make my way back toward Sarcan. It’s nearly nine o’clock when the Falls Inn comes into view around a turn and relief floods me when I spot Tom’s truck sitting in the parking lot.

Doesn’t mean he’s alone but it does maybe explain why he hasn’t called me back yet. He might not even be able to hear his phone.

I can do this. I can do this.

I pause in the doorway and let my eyes adjust. They’ve rearranged things since the last time I was here. I peek around a new dividing wall in the entry and now I can see the little riser that acts as a stage. On it, Tomas holds what looks like a glass of liquor in one hand as he belts out a heartbreakingly mournful version of Elvis’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.”

I am a horrible person. I really am. I never should have left Tomas or Maudlin Falls. I should have stood up to my mother when she insisted I take this job and guilt-tripped me to hell and back about them paying for my college and law school tuition.

Which I never asked them to do. They insisted that I go to college and law school, and that they’d pay for it. When I’ve tried to pay them back, or at least arrange to make payments, they refuse to take my money every time.

No, I guess my mom prefers having the emotional ammunition against me.

I should have been secure enough in who I am and my love for this man—it should have been enough.

When his song ends, he unsteadily steps off the stage and heads to a table down at the front corner of the dining room. He’s apparently the only one seated there and sets down his glass but doesn’t take a seat. He makes his way to the restroom and disappears inside. From the way Tom’s staggering, I hope Phil confiscated his keys. My guy doesn’t have a high tolerance for alcohol and a couple of beers can get him plastered.

I could follow him into the bathroom.

But another idea hits me.

A woman I don’t know is already up on stage and singing a song P!nk made famous. I hustle my way over to the DJ, who I recognize, slip him two twenties, and tell him what I want and when. To wait until Tom’s back in his seat before calling me up. I can stand off to the far side behind the DJ and remain out of Tom’s view. But before settling there, I grab Deanna, one of the waitresses, and pay Tom’s tab now.

And retrieve his keys from Phil. Hopefully I’ll be driving my guy back here in the morning to pick up his truck.

I’m tucked behind the DJ stand when Tom returns to his seat two songs later. From his red eyes and puffy nose—and from his playlist, which the DJ let me look at—I suspect he was crying in the bathroom.

I’m a bundle of nerves when the singer on stage finishes and returns the mic to the DJ. As he passes it to me, he smiles and gives me a nod of encouragement. He’s dropped the song down a couple of keys but it’ll still be a hard one for me to sing.

Well, harder. I’m not a great singer to start with.

That’s not accurate, actually. I’m a horrible singer. I can’t carry a tune in a front-end loader, much less a bucket.

But for my guy?

I’ll belt this one out with everything I have.

The DJ doesn’t announce me as I walk onto the stage. Tomas now has his phone in his hand and is playing his voice mails, I think, when the opening strains of Chicago’s “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” start playing.

That’s when Tomas looks up and our gazes lock. I can’t help smiling as his jaw drops.

Did I mention I don’t sing well? There are cats in heat who sing better than I do. Nails on a chalkboard is a more soothing sound. Playing recordings of anything I’ve ever sung is a violation of the Geneva Convention regarding torture and humane treatment of prisoners.

None of that matters. The patrons who recognize me and realize what’s happening start cheering as I step off the stage and walk over to my guy, singing my heart out to him.

Please, let this work!

And as I reach the chorus, I drop to my knees in front of his chair. We’re both crying now and he throws his arms around me while the audience bursts into applause.

I give up singing and hold him tightly. “I love you,” I whisper in his ear. “I’m back for good, if you still want me.”

“Yes!” The booze on his breath nearly knocks me over as I kiss him again, but I’ll kiss him forever. Someone takes the mic from me and as the song fades out another singer takes the stage.

I stand, helping my wobbly guy to his feet. “Let’s go home, baby.”

“My keys.” He nearly falls over as he turns.

I keep him upright and at my side. “I have them.” I also pocket his cell, which ended up on the table.

He tries to turn. “I have to—”

“Already paid. You’re all set, tip and all.” I keep an arm around his shoulders and guide him outside and over to the passenger door of my SUV.

That’s when Tomas balks, putting a hand against my chest. “Herb did see you this morning! They were all right!”

Silently swearing, I help him into the passenger seat and buckle his seat belt for him. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I had hoped he didn’t recognize me. I wanted to talk to you after I finished working today.”

“Wait, what?”

I kiss him to shut him up. I hold his face in my hands and kiss this man the way I’ve dreamed about kissing him. “We can talk later. I’m here for work but if you still want me I’ll come back for good.”

Wide-eyed, he nods, crying again. “Yes, please.”

With my thumbs I gently brush the tears from his cheeks. “Then let me get you home and into bed before you get sick. How much did you have to drink, baby?”

“I…” His sweet brown eyes go unfocused as he struggles to think about it. “A loooot,” he answers in a sweet sing-song tone I know so well.

He’ll definitely be hungover in the morning.

“Okay.” I close the door and round the SUV, getting behind the wheel. “Time to go home.”

* * *

I hold his hand during the entire drive. I think he dozes off a couple of times, because his grip goes slack before he gives a small jerk, like he caught himself, squeezing my hand as he does. Once we arrive, I hurry around to the passenger side to help him out before he face-plants on the driveway.

He’s going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow.

Now I wish I’d taken the time to grab all my things before I left the hotel, but I was in a hurry and didn’t want to jinx our possible reunion.

He nearly trips and falls while getting out, so it’s a good thing I was there to catch him. He tips his head back, squinting as he stares up at me. “Des?”

I smile. “Yeah, baby?”

“Am I imagining this, or am I really drunk?”

I help him up the front walk. “You are really drunk, but you’re not imagining this.” I’ve already got my keys out and use them to let us inside.

Jester comes running to greet us and we have to dodge him as he tries to wrap himself around our legs while we head for the stairs. “I told you I would be back, buddy,” I tell the cat as I help Tomas up to the bedroom. “Let me get Daddy into bed.” I darn near have to carry Tomas the last few steps but finally get him into the bedroom and safely sprawled across his bed.

He stares up at me with those sweet brown eyes of his. “You’re not a dream?”

“No, I’m not a dream, baby.” I brush a kiss across his lips and start to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s get you undressed so you can pass out.”

“Oookaaay.”

More guilt for me to deal with. Had I called him back sooner, he wouldn’t be facing one wicked hangover tomorrow.

There can be no doubt how much emotional pain he was in, based on the songs he was singing and how much alcohol he consumed. My guy isn’t much into public displays of his pain, so the fact that he was doing it at all guts me.

I guess I should have planned to see him first thing this morning and caught him early, before he left the house. Damn my mother for calling me, anyway. And double-damn my flat tire, which I still have to get fixed.

Except I can’t blame Mom for my crummy timing.

A contributing factor to this whole mess in general? Yes.

But I’m an adult and should have stood up to her long before now instead of letting her emotionally manipulate me. Maybe if it came from a place of love with her, I’d cut her more slack, but I’m not going to give up this man again.

Never.

She’ll have to learn to deal with that.