Perfect Song (Mason Creek Book 2) by Lauren Runow (christmas read aloud .txt) 📕

With a grin, she replies, “He works for my dad, but that doesn’t mean much for me. He’s always liked him though, which I think says a lot since you know my dad is a hard-ass.”

She eyes me, and I laugh.

Aren’t all dads hard on their daughters?

“I know Tucker just as much as everyone else does though. He’s got a great teenage boy who’s always very polite when he comes in here, if that means anything. And of course, I know he sings. Man, that guy can sing.” She smiles, all dreamy-like.

“I haven’t heard him yet—well, for real, I mean.”

She inhales a gasp. “Let’s just say, he puts on quite the show around here. If anyone is gossiping about you two, it’s only because they’re jealous. I’ve heard of quite a few single women who wanted more than the one-night stand they got.”

I instantly feel deflated. I didn’t want to hear that. I don’t want to know he’s the town man-whore. She reads what I’m thinking, as it must be written all over my face.

“I’m not saying he’s hooking up with everyone. And who knows? What I have heard could be all lies. All I know about the man is, he likes his coffee with just a splash of cream, or he drinks an Americano, and whenever he comes in here, he always tips. They say, you can judge a character more by the way they treat the people who serve them, so he’s good in my book.”

I give her a half-smile because I don’t know what else to do. The last thing I want is another relationship with drama. With Jimmy, everyone said he was this amazing guy, yet no one knew the real him and what he got himself into.

Is Tucker the same way? Does he keep all these secrets for a reason?

Jessie smiles big, taking me out of my head. “Here.” She hands me an apple fritter. “You look like you could use a treat. These are made by Joy at The Sweet Spot bakery and are amazing. On the house.”

“Thank you. I’ll take a latte as well. You don’t mind if I sit and get some work done, do you?”

“Of course. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

Once I sit down and open my laptop, I see an email from my boss, Susan, approving a new bio piece on two musicians that I pitched her on. A few years ago, I followed this female artist who was making quite the name for herself on the indie music scene in New York.

After a concert one night, there was an accident outside the venue that killed one of the bandmates, and she disappeared as well. That is, until recently. Adam Jacobson, the lead singer of one of the hottest rock bands, Devil’s Breed, just announced in the most insane way that he not only has a daughter, but he’s also falling in love with her kindergarten teacher, who just happens to be the same artist I loved all those years ago, Sarah Russo.

The two created a song that’s climbing the charts, and I’m hoping they’ll let me tell their story.

Step one was getting approval from my boss to do the piece. Step two will be contacting the record company and making my way through the channels to see if they’ll even allow me the interview. I have my work cut out for me today, for sure.

Later that night, I’m sitting on my bed when a text from Tucker comes through my phone.

How was your day?

Besides hearing about how we’re the town gossip … it was good.

To my surprise, the phone rings with a call, showing his name and the words FaceTime Video underneath it.

“You FaceTime?” I answer, kind of shocked

I didn’t think people his age did such a thing. Shoot, I hardly ever do. It seems like a younger-generation thing to do.

“Blame my son. He always FaceTimes me, and I’ve just gotten used to it since he’s really all I talk to.”

I giggle with my previous thoughts proving my point.

“Don’t listen to the things you hear,” he says, looking as handsome as ever.

I could get used to this type of conversation.

I hold the phone, so I have a decent picture reflecting back to him. “How do you know what I’m hearing is bad?”

He laughs, and it soothes my nerves instantly. “Because I’ve lived in this town for long enough. People think they know me, know my story, but they don’t.”

“Then, what is your story?”

“I’m just a man trying to enjoy life the best I can. And, no, that doesn’t mean bringing every girl I can back to my place. I don’t roll that way. I have a son who I’m trying to teach how to be a man, not some schlep.”

I curl up in my bed, totally at ease with him and our conversation, and prop the phone up, so I can still see it. “And what does being a man mean to you?”

He sits back in his chair, positioning the phone so he can get more comfortable. “Being a man means being responsible. Doing what needs to get done first and foremost before anything else.”

“Then?”

“Then enjoying the fruits of his labor, only being responsible while doing so. You’ll never see me drunk, and you’ll never see me do anyone wrong. You have my word on that.”

“And what’s your word worth?”

“More than gold, baby. A man is nothing if he doesn’t have his word. But enough about that. How was your day?”

I laugh. “I got approval on a big article I want to do, so that’s exciting.”

“Congratulations.” He purses his lips. “Damn, I meant to pick up a copy at the store. Next time I’m at the market, I’m going to pick up a copy though.”

I chuckle under my breath. “Don’t worry. I’m not offended you don’t read it. I know it’s not really your thing.”

“What do you think my thing is?”

I go to speak but can’t seem