finally let out a breath and grinned. The sight of his smile set the crowd off once again, and the clapping intensified a few more notches. He raised a hand to quiet them, but it was still several long seconds before the room was silent.
“I don’t even know where to begin, there’s so many people I need to thank.” He drew a breath. “My band, my manager, Perle, and all the talented folks at Americana Records.” He quickly ticked through his mental list of industry partners, executives and collaborators.
“My family, especially my parents, for buying me my first guitar. I told you I’d pay you back for it one day, and now I guess I can.” He was rewarded with a rumble of laughter from the audience.
“I’m especially grateful to my fans. Every single one of you who bought an album or downloaded a single or attended a show—you are what has made this possible.” He laid a hand across his heart. “And I thank you for that.”
He stopped then, his gaze fixed on the sunburst at the top of his award. He experienced a tug in his chest, as he so often did when he was onstage, staring out at a crowd or accepting an award. In all those times, there was still one individual he had yet to thank.
She was the one person who had made all the difference in his life and his journey to this stage. But he hesitated to name her. After all, it was unlikely she harbored any fond memories of him after the way he’d ditched her.
But wasn’t this the moment? The occasion when he was meant to pay homage to those who had shaped and defined him, the ones who had believed when others had withdrawn their support? If that was the case, there was only one person whose belief in him had been unfailing, no matter the hard times. It was his own pride—the recognition that he was the selfish one who had given up on her and not the other way around—that had kept him from voicing her name.
Well, there was no time like the present.
“There’s one more person I need to thank. And she may be the most important person of all.”
A hush swept over the auditorium. With the stage lights blinding him, he could have almost believed he was alone in the room. He drew a breath and closed his eyes, struggling to find the words.
“Rory, if you’re watching—” he opened his eyes, trying not to wince at the bright glare “—I’m sorry.”
Saying those two words eased a bit of the ache in his chest. He hadn’t realized what a relief it would be to speak them aloud. It bolstered him to continue.
“You deserved so much more than what you got. And truth be told, you hold more talent in your pinkie finger than I have in my entire body.”
If the audience still remained in the auditorium, they had fallen utterly silent—he could imagine he was speaking directly to Rory. Only the faint electrical hum of monitors and amplifiers could be heard.
“If anyone deserves an award for best artist, it’s you. Because you’re the best artist I’ve ever known or collaborated with. Your faith in me helped me to believe in myself. I dedicate this award to you.”
Daisy cleared her throat, and a soft guitar riff from the speakers signaled it was time for him to wrap it up. He also heard a faint reverberation from the crowd, a wave of whispers traveling through the room.
“So, thank you...for everything.”
He tipped the award in acknowledgment and then moved toward Daisy, who was waiting to direct him off the stage. There would be a crowd of reporters wanting to interview him. Applause followed him into the wings, and he heard the ceremony’s host segue the proceedings into the next performance.
Sawyer paused at the hallway that led to the press area and looked down at the award he held in his hands. Though he felt relieved at having finally recognized Rory after all this time, a weight of grief still hung over him. Most days, he was too busy to acknowledge it, but in moments like this, the truth hit him full force.
No matter how many albums he sold, concerts he played, or awards he won, he wondered if he would ever shake the regret of letting her go.
* * *
RORY CALLAHAN TRIED not to fidget as the scones were passed.
It wasn’t that she was bored or having an awful time, she was just uncomfortable. High-tea luncheons weren’t really her type of scene, especially when she’d been forced to dress in a frilly pink sundress and strappy heels thanks to Paige Worth’s stringent dress code for the bridal shower. She tried to slip off the tight heels, but her best friend, Erin, nudged her gently in the side.
“Stop moving so much,” she whispered in an aside. “Paige is shooting daggers.”
Rory frowned and stopped working one open-toed shoe’s heel against the other. She slid a glance in Paige’s direction and caught her fellow bridesmaid glaring in disapproval.
“Well, it’s ridiculous,” she hissed back at Erin, her Irish accent more pronounced with her exasperation. “Why do we have to dress up in these fancy frocks anyway? Harper doesn’t care. In fact, I’m sure she’d have been just as happy having the shower at the Moontide, like I suggested.” She looked in her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s direction. Harper was smiling graciously. If she was unhappy with the choice of venue, she didn’t show it.
Beside her, Erin’s shoulders slumped. “That’s what I would have preferred, too,” she acknowledged, “but Paige insisted. And as the matron of honor...”
“I know, I know.” Harper’s sisters were sharing the role of matron and maid of honor, and that meant that whatever Paige wanted trumped anything Rory or Erin suggested. Tessa, as the maid of honor, occasionally spoke up to veto her older sister’s ideas, but on the whole, Paige was the one running the prewedding events.
“The Moontide would have been a lovely choice,” Rory continued, trying to keep her voice low so as not to be overheard by the other shower attendees, “and I’m sure Aunt Lenora could have used the business.”
Aunt Lenora was Erin’s great-aunt by marriage, and the proprietress of the bed-and-breakfast in Findlay Roads, the Moontide Inn. Erin and her young son, Kitt, lived there while her husband, and Lenora’s great-nephew, Gavin, was deployed overseas in the army.
Erin didn’t reply, and Rory guessed she’d decided to say nothing if she couldn’t say anything nice. Rory bit her tongue and tried to do the same. Harper was about to become her sister-in-law, and it was no good to start things off by complaining about Harper’s oldest sister.
“All right, everyone!” Paige, positioning herself in the center of the room, clapped her hands to draw the group’s attention to her. “Now it’s time for another bridal-shower game!”
Rory stifled a groan. After pin the ring on the groom, when she’d nearly choked on a macaroon at the blown-up photo of Connor used for the pinning, along with bridal bingo and shower charades, she’d had her fill of wedding-game antics. But Paige wasn’t done yet.
“I’ve saved the best for last.” Harper’s older sister was glowing with excitement. Rory had never been one of those girls who became giddy over weddings, even less so in the past couple of years since her breakup with her longtime boyfriend. But over the last two hours, she’d concluded that Paige’s enthusiasm more than made up for her lack of it, where matrimonial mayhem was concerned.
“Tessa
