“He accepts you.” Tuesday laid a hand on top of hers.

Natalie nodded.

“He listens to me. I find myself telling him things I never intended to. And it’s surprisingly all right.”

“Plus, he’s so hot. Man, that beard. I bet he’s got piercings. I’ve seen the ink in pictures of him onstage.” Dee winked.

“Both ni**les and yes, lots of ink. He’s...he’s a bad boy, no lie. But one with a big heart who loves his family and works hard. He’s kind of perfect like that.”

“No one is perfect.” Rosie brought out some jam and syrup.

And that was what worried her. “It’s not like I have rose-colored glasses.”

“No, sometimes I think it’s too much the opposite. You expect everyone to mess up and disappoint you.” Jenny smothered her pancakes with butter.

“Keeping low expectations means you’re not as disappointed when people mess up.”

“No one is perfect, but most of them are not Bob Clayton, either.” Tuesday topped up her coffee.

“Thanks. No, that’s true. But I had to have Bob in my life growing up. As an adult, I have choices about who I let in. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. So I’m wary of it. When it’s just the two of us, or his family, it’s fine. But his life.” She lifted her hands momentarily. “If I had made a list of all the things I’d want to avoid in a man, he’d be in many of those categories. But I can’t help it.”

“So jump. Jump and know that you might get a wedgie when you hit the water, but you won’t die if it goes wrong. It might hurt like balls, but you’re surrounded by people who love you and who will make his life a living hell for breaking your heart if he does.” Rosie raised her mug. “To love!”

* * *

PADDY WOKE FROM the nap he’d managed to steal on the couch in the barn. They’d been working pretty much nonstop for the past four days to get Day Dream in the can, and it looked as if it would happen a week or so before Christmas. Which was good because he was sick of seeing his brothers more than he saw Natalie.

He smiled as he shuffled into the bathroom attached to the lounge where he’d been sleeping. He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth. He’d need coffee—and a lot of it—shortly. Damien had gone home to check in on Mary, and Vaughan was still sleeping on the other couch. Ezra? Hell, who knew.

He started a pot of coffee and caught sight of Ezra out in the distance, tossing a ball to the dog, a cigar between his teeth. Paddy pulled on a coat and boots and headed out.

Wild, joyous barking echoed with the pig’s happy squeals. “I can’t believe you have a pig that follows you around like a dog and a dog who forgets what he’s doing even as he’s doing it.” Paddy nodded toward the cigar his brother held. “Got another?”

Ezra pulled one out of his pocket and a lighter followed.

He puffed and sighed happily. “Where’d these come from?”

“Jeremy sent them for my birthday. I figured finishing another album without any of us getting killed was worth a celebratory smoke.”

They laughed until Ezra turned to him. “You should tell me what you’ve been holding back for the last few weeks.”

“Damn. You’re good.”

“That’s what she said.” Ezra thought that was hilarious, and when he stopped laughing, he cleared his throat. “Sorry, you walked right into that one. I know you talked to Jeremy and the label people. You danced around some of it. You told me the rest. So it’s not hard to figure out you’re sandbagging on something.”

“They proposed you come out with us this time. Either an open and close or maybe even the whole thing.”

Ezra was quiet for a time as they smoked their cigars in the cold, crisp air.

“What do you think about that?” Ezra asked Paddy.

“I think I’m one hundred percent in support of whatever you want to do. The most important thing is what we do here in the studio. You’re part of Sweet Hollow Ranch like that, and you always will be. The words I sing are the ones we create. The production, all of it. You’re the backbone. You don’t need to go on tour to prove that.”

“I miss it sometimes. When you guys are all gone, and I’m here, and I hear about it via phone calls or see it on television, I remember what it was like. The heady f**king joy of standing on a stage in front of all those people singing words I wrote. Hitting that perfect moment in a song with you guys.”

Paddy nodded. Not much he could argue with in that. He loved those things, too.

“True. And if you do open and close you can have that in a controlled way. A quick shot of it, blow the doors off the Rose Garden. Have a blast and then come back here. Or not.” He paused. “Look, we don’t often talk about it, but the road is hard. Your health is worth more than any of that shit.”

“You think I’m weak, then?”

“No.” He flipped his brother off. “Just the opposite. But you got tossed out of an airplane and hit the ground at full speed. It took you years to put yourself back together and you’re better than you were before. I’m saying if you want to do it, I’m your biggest cheerleader.”

“I’d rather see Natalie in a short skirt, thanks.”

He flipped Ezra off with the other hand, too. “Not f**king likely. Anyway. Come out with us. I know you’re strong enough to do it. Or don’t come out. Do a show. Don’t do a show. It’s your choice. It’s always totally Hurley against the world, right? Those dicks at the label want to make a buck and whatever, fine. But we make them more than a few bucks, and none of us owes our soul or our health.”