Just when he thought things couldn’t get more awkward, Hank King goes and gives him a compliment. What the hell should he say? Thank you? Nothing? Aw, golly, gee shucks? Considering they were both staring at him, he had to say something. “I can’t quite wrap my head around this. All of this,” he managed.
Hank smiled. “Stay humble, son. That’s probably the best advice I can give you. You remember where you come from and you’ll never stop appreciating where you are or what you have.”
“Dinner’s ready.” Emmy Lou poked her head in. “What are you watching?”
“You just missed him,” Travis said. “Played good, but they pulled him early.”
Jace glanced at Travis, then Emmy. The girl was red cheeked. “I wasn’t asking about Brock.” She sighed.
Travis cut his eyes her way. “Okay, sure.”
“Travis.” Hank shook his head.
“I asked what you were watching.” Emmy’s smile wavered.
The three of them turned toward the television. A woman in a wedding dress was sobbing in the middle of a fancy shop, a group of people on the couch looking disappointed, while some guy in glasses was trying to put a veil on the crying woman.
“Guess the game’s over?” Jace had been too caught up in the conversation, the room, everything—to notice.
“I have no idea,” her father said. “Why is she crying?”
“Do women cry like that when they go wedding dress shopping?” Travis asked. “Why? It’s a dress.”
“What did that say? Fifty-five hundred dollars?” Hank asked, pointing at the television.
“For a dress?” Travis asked.
Jace was laughing now; he couldn’t help it. He knew exactly what the show was; his sister, Heather, loved it.
“My first car cost less than that,” Hank went on.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Emmy Lou sighed, taking the remote from her father. The television went black. “Food’s getting cold.” She shook her head, one eyebrow cocked. “Momma will have a field day if she hears you were watching wedding shows.”
Hank slid an arm around his daughter. “Maybe I was just getting ideas for you or your sister’s big day. You think you’ll want a fifty-five-hundred-dollar wedding dress?”
Jace followed, half listening as they wandered through the massive home. Through open doors, he spied an office, a music room with a baby grand piano, back through the showplace foyer, down the hall to the dining room.
CiCi King was there. Smiling. She had a…predatory smile. One that made him nervous. “You sit by me, Jace.” She sat, patting the chair next to her.
He swallowed, doing his best not to frown. Or run. Instead, he nodded, hoping like hell he wasn’t sweating half as much as it felt like he was. “Yes, ma’am.”
With her platinum hair, perfectly enhanced body, and Southern charm, she was something to look at. But she had a shiny, brittle quality that put him instantly on edge. Her blue-green eyes were hard, no matter how big her red-painted smile was. “I want to hear all about your recording session. What do you think of Hank’s li’l ol’ studio?”
Travis snorted.
A swift kick to the shin had him darting a look across the table at Krystal. She didn’t make eye contact, but she wrinkled her nose and her brows rose high. What the hell was that about? If she was trying to tell him something, it wasn’t working.
“I don’t have a lot of experience, Mrs. King, but today has been beyond incredible.” Which was a little too aw-shucks-golly but true.
“You call me CiCi now, you hear?” She patted his hand. “Sounds like we’ll be seeing a lot of you. No point in keeping things formal.” She stared down the table at her husband, her smile softening. “You get things squared away?”
Hank nodded. “We wrapped up the paperwork at the studio. Jace will be with Three Kings for the next ten shows.” He cut into the chicken, put a serving on one plate, and passed it along. “We only got through three of his songs before we ran out of time, but I can’t wait to hear the rest.”
By the time everyone had their plates and serving dishes were traveling, Jace risked another look Krystal’s way. She, however, was staring pointedly at her plate, stabbing her potato with the tips of her fork.
“I must say, I cannot wait to hear you two together,” CiCi gushed before staring into the basket. “You make these biscuits, Krissy?”