The Wedding March. Tara Randel

a few bites, and the nausea that followed, Cassie picked at her food. Her stomach was twisted in a perpetual knot lately, making it hard to keep anything down. If she didn’t get over this writer’s block soon, she’d be physically sick as well as out of a career.

      The guest sitting next to her left his seat and within seconds her father took his place. She tried not to stiffen, but too many years of bad blood couldn’t be denied.

      “Nice reception, Dad.”

      A shadow passed over her father’s eyes. “Thank you. I’m glad you could make it, Cassandra.”

      “Why can’t you call me Cassie like everyone else?”

      “It’s your given name.”

      She stretched her neck back and forth, working out the tension.

      An awkward moment passed.

      “How is work on the new album going?” he asked.

      “We’re in the early stages so I’ve mostly been thinking about the project.”

      She spoke the truth. Coming up with songs was all she thought about.

      “You should make significant changes this time. The sound on your last album wasn’t exactly you.”

      She met his gaze, a forest green, as similarly striking as her own. “I’m aware, so yes, I’m going to make changes.”

      He nodded, pleased his sage words brought some clarity to her decision-making. Even when she was a kid he was always critical, whether it was her piano form or music style.

      “Perhaps I can have a small musical part on your next release. I have been known to play the piano quite well.”

      She blinked. “Come again?”

      “It would be fun. Father and daughter making music together. Remember when you were young and I taught you to play the keyboard? It can be that way again.”

      Fun? Cassie shivered as a memory unfolded in her mind. She was ten, waiting for one of her father’s infrequent trips home.

      “Daddy. You’re home. I did it! I wrote a song.”

      Robert dropped his suitcase as Cassie grabbed his hand, dragging him to the piano.

      “I did it, just like you said.”

      “Can’t this wait, Cassandra?” Impatience tinged his tone. “I just walked in the door.”

      “Please. Just listen.”

      He sighed. “Very well.”

      Cassie jumped on the piano stool, made room for him beside her and began to play, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she sang about flowers and puppies and summertime. When the song came to an end, she waited for his critique, her heart pounding. “Well?”

      “Keep at it, sweetheart. One day you’ll get better.”

      Then he rose from the bench and walked away.

      Was he serious? She searched his expression but he seemed sincere. Like years of estrangement didn’t matter and they could become buddies overnight?

      “To be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

      “Let me know. I’m always willing to share my talent with those who need it.”

      Those who need it? How about to get his name in the limelight? That sounded more plausible.

      She couldn’t continue this conversation. Taking her napkin from her lap, she folded it and set it beside her plate. “Please excuse me. I have to go...somewhere.”

      Robert rose and pulled back her chair. “Of course. Save a dance for me.”

      With a nod she took hold of her beaded clutch bag and skirted the table, not sure which direction to head. The string quartet moved off the stage to pack up while another band set up for the reception entertainment. Too bad. She’d enjoyed the chamber music.

      Work that sound into a song.

      She stopped short. Could it be? Her muse finally making an appearance? But just as quickly as the thought flickered through her mind, it vanished.

      She stood still near the slightly raised platform set aside for the band, her mind in turmoil. Hot tears burned her eyelids. Not now. Not here.

      With clumsy fingers, she opened her clutch, searching for a tissue. Dabbing her eyes, she slowly steadied her breath. A masculine voice sounded beside her.

      “Are you okay?”

      Hoping her mascara hadn’t run, she turned to find a man with shaggy dark blond hair smiling at her. Dressed in black slacks and a white button-down shirt, his chocolate-brown eyes held a hint of concern. Flustered, she couldn’t find her words.

      “I didn’t mean to disturb you, but you looked upset.”

      She waved her hand. “It’s nothing. You know, weddings.”

      His brow rose.

      “The emotion and all.”

      “Right.”

      “It’s my dad’s special day.”

      “Congratulations.” He paused, then his gaze moved to the platform and back. “I need to get to work.”

      “Work?”

      “Wedding band.”

      “Oh, right. Sorry.”

      “No problem. Enjoy the rest of the reception.”

      “Thanks,” she said as he moved away. Was it her imagination or did he look familiar? She hadn’t been back to town in years, not since her mother and stepfather settled in Cypress Pointe her freshman year of high school. Did she know him from school?

      With athletic ease, the man leaped onto the platform, then removed his guitar from a case. He set the instrument in a stand by his feet before moving the case behind the curtain backdrop along the wall. When he finally lifted the strap over his head and plugged in his guitar, it hit her.

      Luke Hastings. Only one of the best songwriters in the music industry. A four-time Grammy winner. A man who’d churned out hits before retiring to parts unknown at the height of his career. He’d been in Cypress Pointe all this time?

      She’d seen pictures of him in tabloids and magazines, but never paid attention to his handsome features. In person, he made her breath hitch. Which surprised her more? That he lived in her old hometown or that she’d never noticed how good-looking he was? Both, actually. She’d worked with plenty of guys in LA, yet not one made her head turn like Luke did.

      “Hey, what’s up with you?” her sister asked as she came up beside her.

      “Do you know who he is?” She covertly pointed at Luke.

      “Yeah. Luke. He’s a teacher at C.P. High.”

      Cassie twirled on her sister. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “About a teacher? Why would you care?”

      “Because he’s Luke Hastings.”

      Her sister still looked confused. “So?”

      “So. So? He’s only a genius songwriter.”

      Lauren looked up at the stage, head tilted. “Huh.”

      “Huh. That’s all, just huh?”

      “Cassie, I work in finance. I don’t know songwriters. That’s your area.”

      Cassie glanced over her shoulder, her heart thumping double time. “He’s only a hero of mine. I started writing music after I heard ‘Won’t You Love Me Always.’”

      “I remember that song. You used to drive me crazy singing it nonstop.”

      She