That news had forced him to go in a different direction, and that direction had been far more satisfying than anything else ever had. Buddy had put up a lot of money to bail him out of the bankruptcy. Evan didn’t know just how much, but his manager, Jack, had inferred it was no small amount. So Buddy would be looking for some return on that investment, which would require months on the road promoting the album Evan had worked so hard on.

Recording the album now seemed like it’d happened in another lifetime. That was how far removed he was from the years he’d spent in Nashville chasing the dream, only to watch it all go to shit when his record company went bankrupt. He’d had reason to think in the last year that the bankruptcy was actually the luckiest thing that had happened to him in show business.

What the hell am I going to do?

He’d no sooner had the thought when Grace stepped out of the pharmacy, looking pretty and put together in her work clothes, which today consisted of a lightweight dress and a sweater she immediately shed when she encountered the blast of heat in the parking lot.

Evan got up to meet her.

As she studied him, her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

“How can you take one look at me and know something is wrong?”

“Because your hair is standing on end, and that only happens when you run your fingers through it over and over, which you only do when something is wrong.”

He stared at her, amazed. Had anyone ever known him better or paid closer attention to his every mood, want and need? No, never. “It’s nothing that won’t keep until after lunch. Are you ready?”

They were meeting his parents for lunch at the Oar Bar at the Gansett Boat Works Marina, or, as his father had said, “Lunch with the enemy.” Not that Big Mac McCarthy had enemies. No, he had competitors who were as much his friends as anyone on the island. Evan had chosen the so-called enemy over lunch at their own marina, because he didn’t want interruptions while he and Grace shared their wedding plans with his parents.

Evan took her keys and held the passenger door to her car until she was settled. He got in the driver’s side and adjusted the seat to his much longer legs.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

He blew out a deep breath. “I don’t want to.”

“Great,” she said with a testy edge to her voice.

“Buddy Longstreet called me.”

“As in he called you himself or one of his people called you?”

“He called me himself.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. He’s got some pretty big plans for me now that he’s gotten me free of Starlight.”

“What kind of big plans?”