Summer

of '65

By:

Brooke St. James

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

Copyright © 2017

Brooke St. James

All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Other titles available from Brooke St. James:

Another Shot:

A Modern-Day Ruth and Boaz Story

When Lightning Strikes

Something of a Storm (All in Good Time #1)

Someone Someday (All in Good Time #2)

Finally My Forever (Meant for Me #1)

Finally My Heart's Desire (Meant for Me #2)

Finally My Happy Ending (Meant for Me #3)

Shot by Cupid's Arrow

Dreams of Us

Meet Me in Myrtle Beach (Hunt Family #1)

Kiss Me in Carolina (Hunt Family #2)

California's Calling (Hunt Family #3)

Back to the Beach (Hunt Family #4)

It's About Time (Hunt Family #5)

Loved Bayou (Martin Family #1)

Dear California (Martin Family #2)

My One Regret (Martin Family #3)

Broken and Beautiful (Martin Family #4)

Back to the Bayou (Martin Family #5)

Almost Christmas

JFK to Dublin (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #1)

Not Your Average Joe (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #2)

So Much for Boundaries (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #3)

Suddenly Starstruck (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #4)

Love Stung (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #5)

My American Angel (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #6)

Chapter 1

"Is your dad gonna make you play Amazing Grace?" Alice asked.

Only I didn't quite hear her. She was distracted and the words came out extremely jerky because she was focused on teasing the ever-living daylights out of my hair. She'd been doing it for the past five minutes. I'd known Alice since I was in fifth grade, and she had always been an intense hair-teaser. I cringed and did my best not to complain as she yanked, combed, and teased my hair.

I stared at Alice in the mirror once she finally stopped frantically backcombing. "What did you say?" I asked. My light brown hair usually hung well below my shoulders, but Alice had it expertly teased into a giant mass that stuck out about ten inches from my head.

"Your dad," she replied, chewing her gum. She grabbed a brush and began smoothing out the top of my freshly teased hair.

"What about him?" I asked.

"Is he going to make you play the piano tonight?"

I shrugged. "He has every other year," I said. "I don't know why tonight would be any different."

I knew I would be playing the piano that night at the Memphis Summer Social. I had done it every year since I was fifteen, and I knew this would be no different. I developed a fondness for the classic hymn when I was a much younger, and because I loved the sound of it so much, I had a natural flair for performing it. Sometimes I played it to accompany the choir, but usually I performed it as an instrumental as I would do later this evening.

My dad was the pastor of one of the largest churches in Memphis, and I had been playing piano there since I was very young. I had followed in my late mother's footsteps, and my father always loved listening to me play because he said it reminded him of her. She died when I was a toddler, so I didn't remember her playing.

Even after all these years, I still didn't know the details of her death. All I knew was that it was a freak accident with a horse. I knew my dad would be willing to tell me the rest of the story if I wanted to know, but honestly, I never felt the urge to talk about it. A few times during my childhood, someone mentioned it in front of me, and I literally stuck my fingers in my ears.

My dad remarried within six months of my mom's death, and my step-mom, Vicki, had been raising me ever since. There was no unfaithfulness involved, though it may seem that way with how soon they were married. Dad didn't even meet Vicki until after my real mom died. He was a young pastor with a two-year-old. He needed help, and he felt like God brought Vicki into his life, so he married her right away. She had been raising me ever since, and because of how young I was when she came into my life, I thought of her as my own mother.

She and my dad tried for a long time to have a baby of their own, but something was the matter with her uterus, and she couldn't. Perhaps this was why they were inclined to adopt Jacob when he was dropped on the doorstep of the parsonage. He was swaddled and left in a wicker basket, and they probably would have named him Moses had there not been a note on the inside with three words on it.

"Call him Jacob," it said, in messy cursive.

Jacob's hair was black and curly, and his skin was at least three shades darker than mine, but everyone thought of him as my brother even though we didn't quite match. Granted, we were living in a day in age where civil rights was still a very sensitive issue, but in the case of our family, it didn't really matter that Jacob's skin was a little darker than ours. We didn't even notice. He was Dan and Vicki Lewis's boy, and my little brother, and that's all there was to it.

My thoughts had turned to Jacob when I thought I heard him coming down the hall. Seconds later, I knew it was him because there came a loud rap on the door—the kind that could only come from my teenage brother. It startled me, and I gasped and jumped.

"Jacob Lewis, you should know better than to bang on the door like that!" Alice was startled as well, and she instinctively yelled at him. Her scorn was directed toward my little brother, but her mouth was close to my head, and I flinched and looked at her like she was a crazy person for yelling in my ear.

"Why are you two takin' so long?" he yelled through the door. "Mom said we're leaving in five minutes." His voice had changed, and I had to smile at the deeper sound of it as he spoke through the door.

"I’m fixing Ivy's hair!" Alice returned impatiently. "Just give us a minute." She sighed dramatically, trying to gather her wits before reaching up to gently place a headband on my head. I could feel her intensity as if the weight of the world rested on the success of this one hairdo.

Jacob knocked again. "Mom said you had to let me in!" he said. "We're about to leave, and I have to comb my hair and brush my teeth."

"And wash your face!" I heard my mom yell faintly from the far end of the hall.

Jacob knocked again—a few scratchy little finger taps to the door as if to let us know he wasn't going anywhere until we let him in.

"Fine, Jacob, just come in if you can't wait for five seconds!" Alice spoke in an annoyed tone as she reached behind her to unlock the door. She was sweating by this point, and her face was bright red—truly flustered. She sighed again. I knew she was nervous that she wouldn't get my hair done in time for us to leave and probably regretted teasing it up in the first place.

My little brother opened the door to join Alice and me in the bathroom, and Alice let her shoulders slump as she stared at my hair. "It's not big enough. I should have more of a base here," she said, pushing down on the top of my head and staring at my hair regretfully.

"I'm really not worried about it," I said. "I told you I was fine with wearing it in a ponytail. We can just brush it out and pull it back." I touched the top of my head. "This is fine. I can just brush it and put it in a twist or a ponytail."

She slapped my hand and shook her head impassively as she continued to comb. "I think you should wear it down—especially with this dress. Everybody's gonna be in white. You need to stand out if you're gonna be performing."

"Ahhhh-huhhh-maaaa-ziiinggg-graaaaace…" Jacob sang dramatically as he lifted the hem of his white undershirt to apply deodorant. He gave himself a satisfied smile in the mirror as if singing the song in that ultra-dramatic way was the funniest thing he'd ever done.

I couldn't help but smile at him. "You're trying to be funny, but your singing voice is so good, brother. I can't believe how much deeper it's gotten since the last time I saw you. You're such a little man."

I reached over to tickle him, and Alice pulled me back into place with a worried sigh. This caused Jacob to laugh, which was a sight for sore eyes. My brother was six years younger than me, and he was at the age where it seemed as if he grew half a foot between each time that I saw him. I loved him with all my heart and missed him while I was away at college, so in spite of Alice being so nervous about getting my hair done in time, I was happy to have Jacob in the bathroom with us. He stuck his tongue out at me when he finished brushing his teeth, and I smiled and returned the gesture.

***

We had only just arrived at the banquet hall, and already three people had come up to me asking if I would be playing Amazing Grace. It had always been my most requested song, and before I left for college, I performed it all the time. I didn't play it so regularly once I moved to Nashville. I was studying music at Belmont University, and I still played hymns—just not quite with the same reception I got when I played them back home. I had been away at college for three years now, but I played Amazing Grace twice a year when I came back to Memphis—once at Christmas, and once at the Summer Social.

"I hope you don't mind that I invited Stephen and Bobby," Alice said as we made our way into the huge banquet room. "They were already coming, of course, but I told them they could sit at our table. I hope you don't mind. I am totally gone over Bobby, and the only time I ever get to talk to him is when you're here."

I barely even heard what she was saying. I automatically began speculating how my evening would go now that I knew I'd be sitting next to Stephen Meyers. He and I had a long-time, on-again-off-again thing, and I smiled absentmindedly as I told myself that while there might be better people I could be sitting next to all evening, there were also worse.

I looked out at the room full of people. All of the men and boys were in suits and the ladies in dresses. They were standing around, talking with punch in their hands. The Memphis Summer Social was a social and banquet, and it was a given that there would be no dancing. This was a shame, because I had been listening to and playing some live music in Nashville during recent months, and I found that dancing was something I truly enjoyed. There was a live band playing jazz music at the social, but it was slow, background music that was not at all meant for moving your feet.

Mr. Woods was a deacon and elder in my father's church. He had boatloads of money and always paid for the event. It was a meet and greet followed by a banquet of gourmet barbeque—a Memphis tradition. The event was technically associated with the city, but it mostly consisted of well-to-do people who attended my dad's church. I went to it every year because it happened during the early part of the summer when I would just come home from school. It gave me a chance to catch up with my friends and family.

I was contemplating catching up with people (and the fact that Alice had agreed to let my ex-boyfriend sit at our table) when someone on the other side of the room caught my eye.

Someone I had never seen before.

A hunk.

He was wearing a white shirt and black slacks, which meant he was part of the catering staff. He was there because he was hired to serve food and drinks. My heart sank as I watched the striking young man across the room engage in a conversation with Carole Benson.

"Who is that?" I asked, leaning over to talk to Alice.

"Carole," Alice said. "Carole Benson. She got a hair cut."

"I know Carole," I said. I couldn’t stop staring at the guy who was talking to Carole. I loved his smile—loved the shape of his face and his mouth. Even from across the room, his smile made me smile. I wondered if he was as stunning up close as he was from far away.

My heart was racing. I didn't know who he was, but I wanted him to stare at me the way he stared at her right then. In that moment, I was intensely jealous of Carole Benson. I felt like I wanted to go over there and do something crazy like announce that she wet the bed until she was a teenager. This happened to be a true fact about Carole, but of course, I would never tell anyone—much less announce it. The sight of this stranger's smile directed at her certainly made me feel the urge, though.

I had to look away, and by the time I looked back at him, I saw that he had left Carole's table and was headed toward the back of the banquet hall with someone from the staff—an older woman with a stern look on her face.

I did what any reasonable person would do. I excused myself, and got up and walked over there. I had to get closer to him. I was so drawn to his appearance that I felt as though I had no other choice but to stand up and walk that way. I told Alice and the others at our table that I would be back, and then I took off toward the ladies room, which was conveniently near the place where the handsome young man had disappeared. I had almost made it to the ladies room when I heard a man's voice from the other side of a partition.

"With all due respect, I think you're wasting your time with the warning. I'm not trying to go out with any of these girls. She talked to me. She started the conversation, and she's the one who kept it going. I was just being nice—trying not to ignore her. Plus, I only talked to her for about two minutes before you came over there."

"It doesn't matter how long your conversation lasted," the woman said. "She is the guest, and you are the help, period. I don't know how things were in Detroit, but down here, these men don't like the servers talking to their daughters."

"She was the one talking to me. I was just being nice to her. She called me over there. All I did was answer her question and laugh at her joke."

"I'm not saying you did anything wrong, Mr. Bishop, but I have to warn you that these girls are off-limits—especially at this particular function. If for no other reason than to make my life easier, please don't try to go steady with the young women here. These are strict people."

"Okay, well, just so you know, I was not trying to go steady with that girl or anyone else at this party. I don't go for these types of girls. I'm here doing someone a favor. Richie came into my shop today saying how Ross could really use my help tonight. I put on this monkey suit because I like the guy. I'm helping him out."

"I know you did," the woman said, her voice much softer now. "I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I just saw how that young lady was looking at you, Mr. Bishop, and I could foresee nothing but danger in that situation. That's a dangerous look she was giving you. Their fathers think they're these innocent little angels, but half the time it's the girls who are being forward. Just an open invitation."

"Well, for the record, Mrs. Shelley, neither of us was being inappropriate. She wanted to make a joke about the punch, and I laughed at it, that's all."

"I do appreciate you standing in to help us tonight, believe me, I do. Just do me a favor and steer clear of all the young ladies who throw themselves at you tonight. Remember they come with daddies… We're coming!" she added, obviously yelling to someone else.

Another person joined them in the hallway, saying there was need for more brisket at his table. I heard them agree to go get it, and before I had time to think or react, Bishop and the older lady came around the corner right where I was standing. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with him—only a few feet away. The lady was standing next to him, but I just stared at Bishop. I wanted to look away, but I caught myself feeling stunned and speechless and unable to move or even think after I made eye contact with him.

He had dark hair and eyelashes that framed these light blue eyes. They were so penetrating that it seemed as if they were staring straight into my innermost being.

I was simply awestruck by his appearance.

It was his smile that had made me follow him over here, and at the moment he wasn't even smiling, and I was still speechless. Now it was his eyes. His eyes were mesmerizing. I vaguely wondered if he was famous and thought that if he wasn't, he should be.

"Miss Lewis, how nice to see you," the older lady said in a friendly but flustered way. She took the one she called Bishop by the arm, and pulled him down the hall. "I'm looking forward to hearing you play the piano!" she called from over her shoulder as she retreated down the hallway toward the kitchen.

She scurried off with him, and I heard her mumbling something about keeping him in the kitchen on account of the ill affects he had on young women. It took me a few seconds to realize she was referring to the affect he had on me.

I was too dazed to be offended or embarrassed.

Chapter 2

I spent the next few minutes in the restroom, remembering bits of the encounter I had just overheard in the hall. I thought of the way the older lady called me by name. I had looked straight at her when she spoke to me, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember ever meeting her. I wanted to ask her if we had ever met or if she just knew who I was because of my dad. I wished I had said something to her instead of just standing there with a blank expression on my face, but I didn't have the chance to think of anything because she was in such a big hurry to get back to work.

During the next few hours, I had conversations with what seemed like at least fifty people. I had the same conversation twenty different times. The person would ask me about college, and I would tell them I was making good grades and enjoying my classes. They'd ask when I would be done and if I was planning on moving back home to Memphis when I finished, and I'd tell them I was going into my senior year, and that I hadn't yet decided whether or not I would be moving back home afterward. They would then remark on how quickly the years had gone by, and I would laugh and tell them that I couldn’t agree more. I'd add that I was happy to be done with the semester and home for the summer, and that I was so glad we had the chance to catch up.

I gave out what must have been fifty hugs and even had my cheek pinched three or four times. It was a busy evening, but I still found opportunities to steal glances at the mysterious stranger the lady had called by the name Bishop.

He didn't seem to heed the warnings of his supervisor because every time I glanced in his direction, some female or another was vying for his attention, and it seemed as though he graciously gave it to them. It was annoying if you ask me, and I found myself feeling frustrated that he had been stuck on the opposite side of the room all night.

I had been talking to Stephen, Alice, and everyone else who came up to give their regards, and finally, after an evening of conversation, I sat back in my chair, looking out over the crowd. We had already eaten, and I knew it was getting close to time for my dad to say a few words before inviting me to perform.

I felt a little more nervous than usual, and it was quite clearly the result of the presence of this new guy. I glanced his way, but he was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

I was thinking about him when I heard his name. There was a conversation going on at the other end of my table. I hadn't been paying attention to it, but I tuned in when I heard someone say the word Bishop.

"Well, I think it's an absolute travesty that Mr. Morrow gave his garage to a complete stranger when he has a son! If that doesn't beat all!"

Mrs. Woods was a bit of a busybody, so it didn't surprise me to hear her using the word travesty in regards to someone else's business. I thought I had misheard her, so I started to tune her out, but then I heard her say something else.

"Motorcycles of all things," she added disapprovingly. "Can you just imagine? 'Bishop Motorcycles' painted plain as day right across the whole side of the building."

There was that name again. The sound of it caught my attention, and I turned to face her so I could hear what she was saying. Stephen picked up on the fact that I wanted in on the conversation, and he smiled and shrugged as if demonstrating how cool and laid back he was.

"I saw that painted on Mr. Morrow's building," he said leaning to speak to Mrs. Woods. "I don't think it looks half-bad. I like that logo."

"I don't," Mrs. Woods said, staring at Stephen as if wondering if he could possibly be serious. "Motorcycles, for goodness sake! I just don't know why Mr. Morrow would do something like that. He was a good Christian man. He should have left that business to his son, if you ask me."

"Buddy Morrow's got plenty of money, dear. He didn't want his dad's old garage," Mick Woods said in an effort to calm down his wife.

"What'd Mr. Morrow do? What are y'all talking about?" I asked, feeling confused. I was missing most of a story that I really wanted to hear.

I could tell Mrs. Woods really wanted to give me an earful, but we were sitting at a table with a bunch of important people, and she couldn't let herself gossip like she wanted to."

"Old Mr. Morrow left his body shop to a complete stranger," Stephen said, filling me in from right next to me. "A guy from up north who apparently builds motorcycles. He painted a big ole sign saying 'Bishop Motorcycles' all across Mr. Morrow's body shop."

"I heard his brother met the guy in jail," Bobby whispered.

"Mr. Morrow had a brother up in Detroit," Mr. Woods said. He hadn't heard Bobby, but it seemed as if he thought it was his duty to make the facts clear. "He was connected with this kid somehow. I think he got his start working at Cadillac as a car designer or something."

"I heard it was Chevrolet," Bobby said.

"I thought you heard it was jail," I whispered, leaning over to regard Bobby with wide eyes.

Mr. Woods shook his head. "I talked to Buddy about it," he said, reinstating the fact that he had the most accurate information. "His dad told him before he ever died that he was leaving the garage to this kid. It was someone he knew through his brother up in Detroit." Mr. Woods shook his head. "Buddy wasn't upset about it. I think he's fond of the kid, and he didn't want that old shop, anyway."

"Yeah, but he could have sold it and taken the money," Mrs. Woods said disapprovingly. "Could have turned it into a city park and not a devil's den."

Her husband shrugged. "His dad wanted the boy to have it, honey, that's all I know."

"Well, I think it's a shame," she said, not able to let go of it. "It's right there, a prime location on Highway 70. It's gonna do nothin' but draw hoods."

"I heard his bikes were pretty nice," Stephen said, seeing me getting agitated at Mrs. Woods. "I heard they could beat a Harley or an Indian."

Mrs. Woods shook her head. "I don't know what a Harley is—or an Indian, but I sure hope you're not referring to racing."

Stephen nodded. "I heard there was a Harley out in Utah that rode a-hundred-and-eighty miles an hour." He was pushing Mrs. Woods buttons because he could see my interest in the conversation and knew I would be entertained.

Mrs. Woods glared at Stephen with disapproval for his comment, which made me smile.

"A-hundred-and-eighty! Lord almighty!" Mrs. Woods said, fanning herself and looking like she might pass out. "I hope that young man is not planning on bringing that trash around here—drag racing in our streets. This isn't Detroit, you know."

"That old junk he builds in Mr. Morrow's garage could never go that fast, anyway," Bobby said, chiming in. "It wouldn't even come close," he added, looking completely sure of himself. "That land speed record Stephen was talking about happened out in Utah where there's a whole lake of pure salt that makes you go really fast."

"I have a friend who has one of those Bishop bikes. My uncle does, too. I don't know how fast they go, but I've never seen this guy lose. Not to anyone in Memphis, anyway." The comment came from our waiter and was directed at Bobby, but Bobby was sitting very close to me, and I overheard.

I glanced at the waiter who was picking up our empty dessert plates while staring straight at Bobby. No one else at the other end of table had heard the guy's comment, but Bobby certainly had, and he looked up at the guy like he had some nerve.

"He must be racing go-carts and bumper cars," Bobby returned.

The waiter shook his head as he continued to clear our table.

"Did you say you knew someone who bought one of those Bishop motorcycles?" Stephen asked, overhearing Bobby's conversation.

"I know a couple of guys who have one, actually, and I'm saving up for one of my own. They're quality bikes."

He leaned over to clear a few more dishes from the table. He seemed a little nervous about speaking up, but he shook it off. "And Michael Bishop is a decent human being," he added with a slightly reluctant sneer in the direction of the gossip that was still going on at the other end of the table.

"Did you really see one of those bikes race a Harley?" Stephen asked.

The waiter nodded. "They're nice bikes, and they're fast. My uncle bought one of his street cruisers when he first moved into town, and he loves it. I even heard he might build one for Elvis."

"Elvis?" Stephen asked skeptically. He squinted at the waiter. "Elvis Presley?"

"What other Elvis is there?" the waiter asked.

"You're telling me Elvis Presley hired this kid to build him a motorcycle?" Stephen asked.

The waiter shrugged. "Don't go repeating it, but that's what I heard. I wouldn't be surprised if it's true. I've seen his bikes; I've even ridden one. Like I told you, they're nice. My uncle's been really happy with his."

"I'll have to see one to be convinced," Bobby said.

"Well, there's one in the parking lot if you want to come look at it," the waiter said. He had moved further down the table, continuing to clear plates and flatware.

"One what?" Mr. Woods asked, picking up on the conversation.

"A Bishop motorcycle," the waiter said.

"Lord, goodness, I hope you young men aren't trying to convince each other to take part in motorcycle racing this evening," Mrs. Woods said, leaning over to stare at Bobby and Stephen.

"No ma'am, we're not," Stephen said.

"I am," Bobby said, causing a few of the men at the table to laugh.

My dad didn't seem to be amused by the conversation, and he used the opportunity to stand up and make a speech, after which he asked me to play a special selection on the piano. I agreed as I always did, and I crossed from my table to the piano that was sitting on a low stage on the right hand side of the room. It was closer to the place where Bishop was working, and I made eye contact with him on my way to the piano.

Locking eyes with him made my heart begin to pound, and I had to stare downward in an effort to stay focused on the task at hand. I was rarely nervous to play the piano, but tonight was different. I shook like a leaf as I sat on the bench, trying to stay in constant motion by adjusting my dress and posture so that my shaking wouldn't be obvious.

I remembered the conversation I heard in the hallway and then the one I heard at the table, and I was left with no other choice but to believe that the stunningly handsome fill-in waiter was the same Bishop that had taken over Mr. Morrow's body shop. Maybe I was assuming all the wrong things, but I really felt like it had to be the same guy.

I sat down at the piano, wondering whether or not the mystery guy was paying attention to what I was doing, and if so, whether or not he would like it. I started playing a classical rendition of Amazing Grace just like I did every time—out of routine duty, or just because people expected me to do it, but then (just like every other time) somewhere in the midst of playing it, my heart shifted gears. I had started playing the song while thinking about whether or not Michael Bishop was watching me, and by the time I finished, I didn't care if he was looking. By the time I finished, it was just me and God. I was singing to God with my fingers, and I was grateful for the change of heart that I somehow miraculously experienced every time I really let the lyrics of the song hit me. I sang the words in my mind as I played.

I knew I had been feeling the performance, but it still came as a surprise when I finished playing and got a standing ovation. I had gotten a few of them over the years, but I wasn't expecting it to happen this evening, and when it happened, I suddenly felt embarrassed and shy. I blushed as I stood, smiling and bowing quickly but graciously as I left the stage.

Chapter 3

Michael Bishop

"Michael, Michael!" Richie called for Michael from across the kitchen, and on the second attempt, Michael finally heard him, stopped walking, and turned around.

They stood next to each other in an out-of-the-way location next to the wall, and Richie smiled and let out a sigh. "Busy night, huh?" he asked.

"I had no idea it would be like this," Michael said. "I thought when you said Ross was serving barbeque that it would be, you know, more casual—like a picnic or something."

"There's about three or four hundred at this thing every year," Richie said. "It's a big deal with the richies."

"You're a Richie," Michael said, making a joke but still wearing a straight face.

Richie laughed and he and Michael stood there, taking in the hustle and bustle of the kitchen staff. It was the end of a long night, and they were up to their ears in dirty dishes.

"Don't worry, you don't have to stick around and help with all this," Richie said. "We're just thankful you could help us on the floor. I don't know what we would have done without you. All three Vinson brothers came down with the flu, so Uncle Ross would have been up a real creek if you hadn't filled in." He and Michael leaned against the wall so that one of the other waiters could come by with a tray of dishes.

"It was no problem," Michael said. He shrugged. "I only caused a little trouble."

"What trouble?" Richie asked.

"I got a lecture for talking to one of the girls."

Ritchie laughed. "Mrs. Shelley balled you out, huh? I saw her going over there when that Benson girl was throwing herself at you."

Michael shrugged. "It was no big deal. She said it was just a fair warning."

"Yeah, you probably don't want to mess around with these girls."

"I don't want to, anyway," Michael said. "At least not with the ones who are trying to talk to me," he added.

They walked back toward the dining room, and after taking several long paces in silence, the two gentlemen came to stand at the edge, looking out on the crowded room. Dinner and dessert had been served, and even though many of the guests were still present, there was a sense of completion about the evening. Maybe it just seemed that way to Michael because one of the girls had just played the piano in what seemed like a grand finale. He didn't know how they could do anything to follow that.

He was lost in thought about the young woman's heart-wrenching performance as he caught sight of her from across the room. She was looking at him when he first found her, but she shifted to stare at the ground once their eyes met. She said something to her friend, and Michael watched her before leaning over to speak to Richie.

"Her," he said. "That's the one I want."

"Carole Benson?" Richie asked.

"Is that her name?" Michael said. "I thought I met another girl with that same name tonight."

"Carole's the one in pink, waving at you." Michael shifted his focus to the young lady in pink who was waving and smiling as if posing for a photo even though nobody was taking one.

"I'm talking about the girl in white," Michael said, looking again at the one who had played the piano.

"There's about fifty girls in white," Richie said.

"The one who played the piano just now," Michael said.

Richie let out an uncontrollable laugh.

"What?"

"Ivy Lewis?" Richie asked incredulously.

Michael shrugged. "The one in white."

"The one who played Amazing Grace?" Richie asked, craning his neck to get a look at Ivy. "She's sitting at one of my tables."

"I know," Michael said. "I wanted to ask if you'd trade with me, but it got busy."

Richie laughed at what an understatement that was since they had been extremely busy all night. "Ivy Lewis is the number one girl on the off-limits list. You should know that simply by the fact that she played a church song just now. Plus, she's got a boyfriend. He's sitting next to her at the table."

"I like church music," Michael said with a shrug, blowing past the boyfriend comment.

"Yeah, well, try convincing Dan Lewis of that," Richie said. "Or Sheila Woods. Those people have something against motorcycles. I was over there serving them. I heard their conversation. They think all guys who ride are hoods. I heard them talking about Mr. Morrow giving you his place, and they weren't too happy about it."

"So they weren't just talking about people with motorcycles in general? You're saying they were specifically talking about me?"

Richie looked a little bit ashamed of having it come out that way, but he still nodded.

"What'd they say?" Michael asked.

Richie lifted one shoulder. There was a tinge of regret to his expression that let Michael know the people had been talking bad about him. "They're just being judgmental. They have their own ideas about what Mr. Morrow should've done with his body shop."

"Mr. Morrow's son was pretty realistic with me about that when we first met. He said his dad's shop was an institution with the older generation and that I might have a little opposition since I build bikes and not cars."

"I heard Mr. Woods saying you did build cars," Richie said. "Is that true?"

Michael nodded. "I got my start at Chevrolet," he said. "But I've been building bikes full-time for a while now. I was doing it before that man ever left me his garage. I just didn't have the room and the luxuries I have now. I'm thankful he did what he did, and I don’t really care what everyone else in town thinks about it."

Richie smiled and punched at Michael's shoulder. "They certainly don't think you can go out with Ivy Lewis. She's the most off-limits one of them all."

"You already said that, and it does nothing but make me want to walk over there and talk to her."

"Don't you dare do it," Richie said.

Michael gave Richie a sideways stare at how serious he seemed.

"I can arrange for you to talk to her without you going over there," Richie said. "You don't want to go over there. Mrs. Woods is uh… She's just… there's just no telling what she could say if she knew you were..." Richie paused and smiled. "But you're in luck if you want to see Ivy Lewis up close, though, because her boyfriend really wants to check out your motorcycle. I told him I knew someone who had a Bishop bike in the parking lot, and he said he wanted to take a look at it."

Just then, Michael felt a tap on his shoulder. "Thank you so much for helping out."

Michael turned to find Richie's uncle Ross, the owner of the barbeque restaurant that catered the event. "You're welcome," Michael said. "I had fun."

"You really helped us out of a bind, man." He shook Michael's hand and gestured into the room. "They're almost done in here. They'll be filtering out before too long." He pointed at Michael's table. "I'll have somebody finish up with your table. You can go home, and we'll finish cleaning everything up. Thanks again. I'll take your check by the garage next week."

Richie looked at Michael and then his uncle. "I was just asking Michael if he would stick around to show some people his motorcycle. I guess I'll just tell Stephen Meyers he can check out Michael's bike some other time."

"What'd Stephen Meyers say about it?" Ross asked, knowing how powerful his family was.

"A couple of the guys at my table were talking about Michael's bike, and I told them they could probably take a look at it." He held out his hands. "I didn't tell them you were the one who built it or anything. I just told them I knew someone who had a Bishop in the parking lot, and they said they wanted to see it. Pretty much that whole end of the table said they wanted to see it."

"Might not be a bad idea to stick around and show it to them," Ross said with a shrug.

"I don't mind sticking around," Michael said, knowing he wanted to see the girl. "Richie said they're curious, so I'll stay to let them check it out. I would say they could come see it at my shop, but something tells me they might not ever set foot in there."

"Ya think?" Richie asked with a laugh.

Richie's uncle Ross laughed as well. "Their loss," he said, throwing his hands in the air as he walked away.

"I can help with some of the cleaning while I wait," Michael said.

Ross shrugged. "We'd sure appreciate your help, but please don't feel like you have to."

Michael smiled and nodded at Ross as if to tell him he'd be right there.

"I'll tell those guys you're staying just long enough to let them see the bike," Richie said. "I don't want you to have to stick around unless they're serious about going out there to take a look. I'll see what they say and let you know."

Michael thought that was a good plan and went to clear any remaining dishes from his table as Richie took off to do the same. Michael glanced at the girl in white and realized she was looking at him. He smiled at her, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a shy smile just before she turned to look away.

***

Michael was helping Ross load containers into his van a half-hour later when Richie came up from behind them.

"I've been looking all over for you," Richie said with his hands up as he walked.

Ross had a radio on in the van. He had it tuned to a station that was broadcasting a Rhythm and blues show, and Michael smiled at the way Richie's footfall matched the beat of the music.

"I've been looking all over for you in there," Richie repeated.

Michael smiled. "We're out here."

"I thought you had left."

"He's been out here helping me do man stuff," Ross said in an overly deep voice. He reached out to tousle Richie's hair as he approached. Richie dodged his uncle's attempts, but he still took a comb out of his back pocket and ran it through his hair just for good measure.

"They're ready," Richie said, looking at Michael with an excited grin. "They're coming right now."

Michael knew exactly who Richie was referring to. "Who's ready?" he asked just to push Richie's buttons.

"Stephen Meyers, and Bobby and them. I think there's about five guys wanted to come see it if that's okay."

Michael nodded. He wanted to say it wasn't the guys he was worried about, but instead he just smiled and kept quiet.

"Thanks again," Ross said, looking straight at Michael. He held out his hand and stared Michael in the eyes as if really trying to convey his sincere appreciation. "Seriously, man, I know you didn't have to do this tonight, and I hope you know how much I appreciate it."

"It was no problem," Michael said, shaking the other man's hand. The three men heard sounds of talking and laughing and the shifting of gravel underfoot as a group of about eight or ten people came around the back of the banquet hall. Michael, Richie, and Ross were standing at the rear of the building near the staff entrance—an area those other people usually didn’t visit.

"I've got to finish up inside," Ross said, patting Richie on the shoulder as he turned to walk inside. "Thanks again to both of you," he said from over his shoulder. His radio still played in the background.

"Hey ya, guys!" Richie called to the group of people who were walking around the building. He gave an over-exaggerated wave, and Michael just stood there feeling entertained by how excitable Richie was. "Over here!" Richie said. He looked at Michael with a nervous smile. "They're coming."

Michael smiled. "Yep," he said.

"These kind of people usually don't talk to me," Richie said. "Stephen's dad owns about half of Memphis, and Mr. Woods practically owns the other half. That's Mr. Woods all the way on the left. I can't believe he came out here. I thought it was gonna just be Stephen and Bobby and them. I didn't know their dads were gonna come."

"It's fine," Michael said. He smiled calmly, but it was slightly forced. He usually had no problems maintaining composure, but this was more difficult, and not because the men who were approaching apparently owned most of Memphis. Michael didn't care about that. Okay maybe he cared a little. He knew he had to be cordial. For the sake of his business, he knew he shouldn't make enemies. It wasn't the men who made Michael nervous, though.

It was the girl.

She was walking with the group of people, and the closer they got, the harder it was for Michael not to stare straight at her. Richie babbled in Michael's ear while the group approached, and Michael did his best to look like he was paying attention to what his friend was saying. The group had to walk another thirty or so feet before approaching the area where the guys were standing.

"Right here!" Richie said, pointing at Michael's motorcycle, which was sitting there, right out in the open. Michael watched as the group of curious onlookers gathered around.

Ross had left his radio playing, and there was definitely a feeling of rebellion in the air even though there was nothing going on other than standing around looking at a motorcycle. Michael could tell they all thought they were doing something wrong just by looking at it.

"I heard they're pretty fast," was the first thing that was said once everyone had the chance to stare at it for a few seconds.

Michael looked at the guy who said it and smiled. "I can't complain," he said.

"Is it yours?" one of the other men asked.

Michael nodded. "Yes sir."

"Did you buy it straight from the guy who took over Mr. Morrow's shop?" another man asked.

"He is the guy who took over Mr. Morrow's shop."

Michael's head whipped around to stare at the girl who said it.

It was the one in white.

Ivy Lewis.

The most off-limits one of them all.

She was standing there, staring at him with those big brown eyes. Michael desperately wanted to know more about her.

He could tell by the look on her face that she regretted speaking up now that everyone's eyes were on her, but she smiled and shrugged innocently. "Am I right?" she asked, turning the attention back to Michael.

Chapter 4

"The lady's right," Mr. Bishop said, staring straight at me after I made the unexpected comment. "I took over Mr. Morrow's body shop."

"So you built this?" Stephen asked in an impressed tone. He stooped down to look at it.

"Yes, I did. I'm Michael Bishop." He stepped forward and offered a hand to Stephen who stood and shook it like the southern gentleman he was. Stephen was wearing a suit and tie, and Michael had on the after-hours version of waiter's attire. His white dress shirt was rolled at the sleeves. The first two buttons of his collar were unbuttoned, revealing so much of his neck that I could see his undershirt even though it was low-cut. I fought the urge to stare at him, making myself blink and look away.

All of the other men standing around began introducing themselves to Michael and firing off questions about the motorcycle. It was a beautiful machine, and normally, I wouldn't have been too shy to show my interest and ask a question about it, but was still reeling from my outburst, and I couldn't think of anything to say. Besides, everyone else was asking enough questions as it was. Michael answered ten or fifteen questions about the motorcycle and his building process, and I just stood there and listened.

He seemed confident, like he fully expected his company to be as big as Harley Davidson one day. He was well spoken, and I could tell that Mr. Woods went into the conversation expecting not to like him, but changed his mind (even if ever so slightly) by the end of it all.

If Michael Bishop could charm Mr. Woods, you can just imagine the effect he had on me—the girl who was smitten with him from the start and also from a distance. Michael Bishop answered everyone's questions, glancing around like he was at ease with the interrogation and not anxious at all. He was completely comfortable with who he was in spite of the general feeling of suspicion and superiority emanating from some of the people in my group. It was amazing.

Michael looked at me several times through the whole conversation even though I remained quiet. He glanced at me regularly during the whole exchange, and each time, I felt as though my heart could just leap out of my chest. Even in the dark and from ten feet away, his eyes were breathtaking. He gave me feelings I'd never had before—feelings like I'd do just about anything to be next to him.

I was lost in thought about it when I felt Stephen's arm wrap around my shoulders. He had come to stand next to me, and he put his arm around me as if it was a natural thing to do. I, in turn, easily shrugged out of his grasp like that was also natural.

I stepped to the side, giving Stephen a cautious glance before looking at Michael again. He was looking at me when I turned, and I felt rush of hot blood go to my face. I was embarrassed that Stephen would do that when we were not even together. He was giving Michael the complete wrong impression, and he was doing it on purpose. I felt a wave of cold sweats with the rush of annoyance, and I dug in my purse for an elastic band.

"I'm hot," I said to Alice who was standing next to me. "I need to get this hair off my neck."

I proceeded to gather my hair into a ponytail. It had been teased, so it took a little on the spot smoothing, but I managed to get it all back. I instantly felt about ten degrees cooler, and I let out a sigh as I smiled and refocused again on the conversation. Bobby was saying something about his cousin who had a motorcycle, and I glanced at him for a second before turning to find Michael.

He was staring straight at me—just unabashedly standing there, staring. The corner of his mouth rose slowly in an easy grin once he realized he had my attention. The wave of anticipation that hit me was so great my stomach dropped. I felt weak in the knees.

"Do you think you could beat it?" Bobby asked. He used a louder tone than he had before, which made me think it wasn't the first time he asked the question.

"What's that?" Michael asked, reluctantly turning to face Bobby.

"My cousin's sportster," Bobby said. "Do you think you could beat it with this thing."

"Probably." Michael said. "I haven't met your cousin or seen his wheels, but probably."

"Do you like to race?" Bobby asked. It was a loaded question considering our present company, but Michael gave him an easy smile. He didn't care who was standing around.

"I love everything about motorcycles," Michael said. "And that includes going fast on them."

"I think your love for it shows in your work," Mr. Woods said diplomatically. "I can't believe you fabricated these parts," he added, reaching out to touch the gas tank. There was a silver logo on it. It was a simple, bold image of a hand grasping a motorcycle's handgrip. It said Bishop Motorcycles in a fancy block print. It was a great design, and I couldn’t help but get caught up with a feeling similar to pride at the fact that this guy had something so neat and important with his name on it. I loved the motorcycle itself, and I adored the fact that Michael was so unashamed about building and riding it.

I was more impressed by Michael Bishop than I had ever been of anyone else in my whole entire life. He was handsome, but it wasn't just his looks that appealed to me. I agreed with the things he said and loved the way he carried himself.

"You guys are welcome to come to the shop," Michael said. This comment may have been directed at the gentleman checking out his bike, but he was looking directly at me when he said it.

"Do you have bikes like this for sale at Mr. Morrow's shop?" Bobby asked.

Michael seemed as though he was tempted to remind Bobby that it wasn't Mr. Morrow's shop anymore, but he held his tongue, smiling and nodding to answer Bobby's question. "I take custom orders, but I do have a few on the floor that are ready to go."

Mr. Woods may not have been the motorcycle type per se, but he was a businessman, and I could see his wheels turning as he looked back and forth from Michael to the motorcycle with his eyebrows furrowed.

A blues song played on the radio, and I watched Michael spare a glance at the guys who were all still looking at his bike. He had an unapologetic look on his face—the expression of a leader—of someone who honestly didn't care what these men thought of his choice to move to Memphis and build motorcycles.

Just then, we heard my brother's footsteps as he came jogging around the back of the building. "When did y'all come out here?" he asked breathlessly as he came to stand in the circle that had formed around the front half of Michael's motorcycle. He stared at it for a second before looking at me. "Mom and Dad are leaving," he said. He instantly glanced down at the motorcycle again, focusing on it intently. "Who's is this? I thought y'all were gonna wait for me to come out here. I didn't know where y'all were."

"It's mine," Michael said.

Jacob smiled at Michael, but he didn't have the chance to say anything because just then my father came around the corner.

"Ivy, Jacob, let's go!" he yelled.

I glanced around at the group. Some people were looking at me, some were looking at my brother, and some were still looking at the motorcycle. Stephen smiled and stuck out his hand as if he had everything under control. "I'll tell your dad I'll give you guys a ride home," he said in a reassuring tone.

I didn't want a ride home from Stephen, but I also didn't want to leave right then with my dad. Michael looked at me, and I panicked and felt the need to explain. "I had to leave my car in Nashville," I said. "It's been making a funny noise and my dad didn't trust it on the interstate."

"What kind of noise?" Michael asked, regarding me with sweet concern.

I shrugged. "A screeching sound. We dropped it off at a mechanic on our way out of town. I'm sure he'll figure out what's wrong. I'm not worried about it other than it means I'm stuck without a car all summer while I'm here."

"I'll talk to your dad. I'll give you a ride home," Stephen said.

"Let's ride home with Stephen," Alice said, elbowing me. She leaned over and whispered in my ear. "We can hang out with them for a little while, and by the time we're done, my brother will be finished with my car and we can get on with our plans for tonight." She wiggled her eyebrows.

I smiled and shrugged her off because I didn't want any of the people standing around (except for maybe Michael Bishop) to hear that she and I had plans for later that evening.

Stephen walked toward my father. Presumably, he was making arrangements for us to ride home with him. My brother, who was offended by missing out on the action, went to stand right next to Michael while the other men said a few things amongst themselves.

Mr. Woods told Michael it was nice meeting him, before he and the older men in the group began making their way back to the front of the building. This left Bobby and Jacob standing there with Alice and me. Our waiter was there, too. He had been standing next to Michael the whole time.

The song Hound Dog came on the radio, only it was Big Mama Thornton's version, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from singing along. It was a song I knew forward and backward, and I loved belting it out like Big Mama Thornton did. I had an affinity for blues music. I loved and respected the music of a woman named Rosetta Tharpe, and I had developed a style of singing and playing that channeled a lot of her influence.

I did some singing with the choir at my parent's church, but everyone there pretty much considered me to be a pianist and not a singer. Honestly, for years, I considered myself to be that as well. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that I figured out I was a singer. I found my voice and my style with blues music, and every Friday for the past six months, I had been going to a small blues club in Nashville where I played a set from 8-9pm.

I had plans to go to one such blues club with Alice that evening.

Alice and I were the only ones in present company who knew about these plans, though, and I wanted to keep it that way. All of my friends in Nashville had seen that side of me, but no one in Memphis really had, and I had no idea what they would think. I had no idea how Alice would react, actually.

"I took care of it," Stephen said, walking back toward the group with a satisfied look on his face.

"What are the chances we can stop by Van's on the way home?" my brother asked.

"What do you need to go to Van's for?" Alice asked. "You just ate a three-course meal."

"I know, but it's Saturday night," Jacob said. "Everybody's gonna be over there."

Alice rolled her eyes at my brother, but she wanted to go as badly as he did, and we all knew it. She was just giving him a hard time. It was obvious by the way Stephen smiled that he wanted to go as well. I knew we would stop by Van's on the way home even though none of us were hungry.

The guy who owned the catering company came outside, putting a few remaining things into his van and turning off his stereo. He started talking to our waiter (whose name I learned was Richie). It seemed as though they were closing up the banquet hall getting ready to leave.

"You wanna get out of here?" Stephen asked. I turned to find that he was looking at me.

"Yeah, I guess, if everybody's leaving," I said.

We all said goodbye to each other, and within a minute, we were headed toward the front of the building. My heart was pounding with the irrational thought that I would never see this guy again.

"Oh, no, I hope it didn't fall out when I put my hair up!" I said, reaching up to poke and prod my own hair as if feeling around for something. "My favorite hairpin," I continued sadly. I didn't have a favorite hairpin, but I stopped walking and continued to feel around my ponytail as if really concerned.

At first, Alice looked at me like I was insane, but she still went along with it. "I'll go with you to look for it," she said.

I glanced back at Michael who had just stepped over his motorcycle, and was now standing with his legs on each side of it. I took Alice by the hand. "You guys go ahead," I said to the guys. "We'll catch up with you."

Chapter 5

"What are you doing, Ivy?" Alice whispered as we walked.

I continued feeling around in my ponytail. "I think it fell out over here," I said, continuing the charade since I knew Michael had caught sight of me coming toward him. A couple of the other waiters had come outside and were now standing next to him, looking as though they were all about to leave.

Michael sat on his motorcycle, grinning at me casually as I walked up. "Did you forget something?" he asked. I wanted to say that it was a hug I had forgotten and run into his arms, but that obviously wouldn't do.

"My favorite hairpin," I said. I hated lying. Maybe it was growing up a preacher's kid, but I was opposed to lying right down to my very core. It was for this reason that when I was lying I spoke in incomplete sentences.

"You're looking for a hairpin?" Michael asked.

I answered with, "I don't think I'll be able to find it," in an effort to avoid lying. I stared at the ground near the place where I had been standing, and the next thing I knew, Michael turned the front end of the bike and switched on the headlight, causing an oblong-shaped row of light to hit the ground near my feet. I realized it looked like I had just been hit with a spotlight, so I instinctually smiled and did about two seconds of a popular dance called The Twist. I stopped dancing just as quickly as I started, but I knew he had seen me. I grinned as I continued to stare downward, looking for the nonexistent hairpin. I glanced at Alice who gave me a wide-eyed smile. I heard the noise of shifting gravel, and I looked up to find that Michael was getting off of his motorcycle.

"Ivy Lewis," he said, closing the distance between us.

"Michael Bishop," I returned.

"You came back to look for a hairpin," he said as more of a statement than a question.

The other waiters came closer to help me look, which caused their shadows to block the light. "I think it was over here," Alice said, redirecting them. She had, thank goodness, caught on to the fact that I might want to say a couple of words to Michael and was helping me out.

"I really liked that song," he said.

He must have known I wasn't really there to look for a hairpin, because he didn't even bother looking down.

"When can I hear you play again?"

"At church tomorrow," I said. I realized after it came out of my mouth that he probably wouldn't be interested in going to church. "Or at Jim-bo's," I added quickly but reluctantly. I wanted to distract him from my church-y first suggestion, but I wasn't quite sure about recommending Jim-bo's. I had never been there before, and I wasn't quite sure what I was in for. I hated to go inviting people to come with me when I had never been, but I also hated to not tell Michael where I was going.

"I've been out to Jim-bo's before," he said in a low tone that was meant for only me to hear. "It's neat. Are you going to play the piano out there?"

I shrugged and gave him an uncertain nod. "I have a friend from Nashville who's working over there now. He said I could sit in on a few songs if I came out."

"When? Tonight?"

I nodded, and Michael smiled.

"Good," he said.

We held eye contact for a few long seconds before I reluctantly broke it to look at the ground. I stooped over and pretended to pick up a hairpin before standing and fake-tucking it into my ponytail.

"Got it," I said with a smile aimed at Michael.

He grinned back at me as if he could see right through my act.

"I guess I'll see you later tonight, Ivy Lewis." Michael said.

The others quickly came over to where we were standing. I wanted to say something cool or clever, but everyone was standing right next to us before I knew it, so I just smiled.

"Okay, so I found it," I said. I patted the back of my head as if to indicate that my favorite hairpin was now securely in place, and Alice and I said a second goodbye to the guys before taking off in a hurry toward the front of the building.

We ended up stopping by Van's.

Stephen had a really nice Pontiac, and I sat in the front seat with him while my brother sat in the back with Alice and Bobby. Van's had a dining room as well, but we parked under the awning to order from the drive-in. Stephen ordered five milkshakes, and we all sipped on them even though we already had dessert. We saw some people we knew, (which was the whole point of going) and we stayed at Van's for about a half-hour before Stephen brought us back to my house.

Jim-bo's was on the other side of Memphis, down some dirt roads. I knew it would take a while to get there, so I was anxious to get going. I couldn't stop wondering if I would see Michael Bishop there, and I felt giddy at the thought of it.

Alice and I changed clothes when we got to my house. I wore a more casual summer dress—one with a floral print that was blue with little pink roses. It was one of my favorite dresses because it was frilly but casual and it fit perfectly and let me move around on my piano bench. It was sleeveless, so I put a sweater on for my dad's sake. I also wore a pair of white flats that were comfortable and perfect for dancing. I tightened and adjusted my ponytail. I had been out dancing enough to know that my main fashion priority was to be cool and comfortable. This was one of my favorite dancing outfits because it achieved both of those things, and I still thought it looked good on me.

"That dress looks fab on you," Alice said a few minutes later when I came into the living room.

My dad was sitting at the kitchen table, and he glanced up at me with his eyebrows drawn together. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To hear some music," I said. "A little live music. They have gospel and everything. I already talked to Mom about it."

My dad looked around the room, searching for my mom to confirm my story, but she had gone to take a bath. Jacob was sitting on the couch when Dad glanced his way, and Jacob nodded since he had been there when I told Mom about my plans.

"I hope there's no drinking at this place," Dad said.

I scoffed as if I was totally offended by the accusation. "Dad, no, goodness, no."

The truth was I had no idea whether or not the place was serving alcohol. I had been dancing lots of times, and some of the places served alcohol and some didn't. Didn't really matter to me because I never went for the refreshments, anyway. I strictly went for the music.

"Did your mother write down the name of the place in case we need to reach you?"

"I think so," I said.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not all night or anything," I said. I moved slowly toward the door while I spoke, pulling Alice along with me.

My dad took off his glasses and regarded me with an impassive stare. "I need a more specific answer than that, young lady. I don't care how old you are. While you're here under this roof, you will abide by my rules. We have Church in the morning and I don't want to be up all night worrying about you."

"I promise we won't be gone all night. I'll be home by midnight. How's that?"

He gave me a disapproving stare.

"Eleven-thirty?" I asked, wincing.

He sighed. "No later than that—and no drinking. No trouble, Ivy. I mean it."

"Yes sir," I said that not only because it was true but also because it was his favorite answer.

He smiled. "You played well tonight, sweetheart. I always love it when you play that song."

"Thank you," I said.

"I'm looking forward to hearing you play again in the morning," he added, reminding me that I had responsibilities.

I smiled. "Eleven-thirty," I said.

"You girls be careful," he said. "Stay in a big group with your friends, and remember, your car keys can be used as a weapon. Do you have gas in your car, Alice?"

"Yes sir," she said. "My brother filled it up before he brought it over here."

I knew my dad could have asked us questions all night, so I continued the forward momentum, pulling Alice out of the door.

"Love you Dad! Love you Jacob! Tell Mom I said, 'love you and goodnight'."

"Be careful, sweetheart, love you," My dad called as I let the door close behind me.

***

"We only have like two hours," Alice said as we walked up to Jim-bo's a little while later. She was nervous; I could hear it in her voice. Honestly, I was a little nervous, too. Jim-bo's had the appearance of a shack. It was a white, wooden house-type structure, but it had been patched with different types of building materials like scrap plywood, metal roofing, and even some street signs. It was a hunk of rust and wood, and even from the outside, we could hear the muffled pulsing of the rhythm and blues music that was going on inside.

There was a screened-in front porch across the front. It was dark, but it looked like there were at least a dozen people hanging out in it. Alice and I assumed we had to go through it to get inside, so we headed in that direction.

I was anxious, but it got even worse when we approached the building and I noticed a couple of motorcycles parked near the front. My heart sped up and then it quickly dropped when I noticed that neither of them were Michael's. I stared at them carefully as we made our way toward the porch. I really wanted one of them to be his, but they weren't. One was a Harley. I couldn’t find the name on the other one, but didn't say Bishop, and it didn't look anything like Michael's—not even close.

I could tell I would like Jim-bo's right off the bat. There were at least ten people standing around on the small front porch. About half of us were white and the other half black. No one seemed to notice the color of my skin when I came in the door, and we all just smiled at each other.

"Is this the way in?" I asked a group of three people who were standing next to the door. The girl nodded and reached out to open the door for us. The sound of blaring music hit us like a wall when the door opened. There was a live band playing a song called Shake, and I smiled at the sound of it as we stepped into the room and let the door close behind us.

There were what must have been more than a couple hundred people packed into that room, and Alice and I hugged the wall as we made our way closer to the stage. Jim-bo's was very similar to the place where I played in Nashville, and I loved it instantly. The familiar smell of wood and sweat gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling. Shake always made me want to dance the Jerk. It was one of my favorite dancing songs, and the band was doing a great job with it. I particularly liked the singer, who sounded very similar to Sam Cooke.

The dance floor was packed, and there wasn't a person on it who was standing still. Alice and I quickly found a spot against the wall so that we could look out at the crowd. We just stood there and took it in. The singer and the entire audience felt that music down to their bones. The whole house seemed to shake and pulse with the rhythm of the song. I had done my homework with blues and soul music, and I sang along at all the right times where a background vocalist would even though he didn't have anyone on stage with him.

"You sound good!" Alice said, yelling over the music and staring at me with a surprised expression. "You should go up there!"

I smiled. "I love this song."

"I went to a place like this with Shirley Tanner," she continued.

I gave her a curious expression.

"Blues Avenue," she explained. "It's not back in the woods like this. It's over on Highway 64."

"Ivy Lewis, you said you would come, and here you are, darlin'! You didn't tell me a lie!"

I turned to find my friend Curtis standing there, smiling at me. His arm was draped loosely around a woman's shoulders. They were both sweating from so much exertion, and they apologized about it when I reached out to give them a hug.

"This is my little friend from Nashville I was tellin' you about," he said to his dance partner. "I'm gonna have her sit in on the piano, and you'll know why I said she got soul. Ivy Lewis, Ms. rhythm and blues herself! I can't believe you grew up over here and didn't already come out to Jim-bo's!"

I shrugged and smiled, motioning to the band. "These guys sound amazing," I said. "Who are they?"

"Charlie James and the Backyard Boys." Curtis said. He let out a little laugh and leaned in to speak closer to my ear. "And I know old Wayne would be thankful for a break whenever you're ready to sit in."

I knew Curtis was referring to the man playing the piano who looked to be a good fifty years older than the next oldest member in the band.

"I'll sit in if you're sure they don't mind," I said tentatively.

"Don't mind?" he asked, laughing. "I'm sure Mr. Wayne would hug your little neck if you went up there and gave him a break."

Chapter 6

I told Curtis that I would be honored to sit in on a few songs, but that I wasn't in a hurry since Alice and I were planning on sticking around for a little while. He and his dance partner headed back in the direction of the band, leaving Alice and me in the same place, standing near the wall.

Another song started—a slow, instrumental number called Night Beat. I had the Chuck Berry recording of it in my dorm, and I had listened to it a hundred times. Most people slow danced in pairs while others just swayed back and fourth, watching the musicians. It was a sweaty, sultry atmosphere, and the song fit it perfectly. The band really did have talent and soul, too, which made it even better.

I thought about Michael Bishop and wondered if he would come, but I decided not to waste time daydreaming. I had very little time to enjoy the music, so I did what I'd been doing every weekend in Nashville. I danced. It was something I loved to do. I would often put on records and dance right there in my dorm room, but there was something about assembling with other people and letting out a good dance in one common accord that was good for the soul.

After Night Beat, the band played three dance songs in a row, and I pulled Alice onto the floor, giving her no other choice but to dance with me. She was stiff as a board at first but she did her best to go along with it, and she did a surprisingly good job once she got warmed up.

"That guy's here," Alice said, leaning in to talk to me once the band finally started playing another slow song. It was one called The Things I Used to Do, from the same Chuck Berry album, and I made a mental note that if it worked out for me to sit in with these guys that I would do at least one song from that same album since they obviously knew it well. I was lost in thought when Alice whispered the words into my ear, so I didn't even comprehend what she was saying.

"He's here," she repeated. "The guy with the motorcycle."

I reached out and squeezed Alice's forearm, stiffly turning and staring straight at her. "Did you say he's here?" I asked.

She nodded and glanced over my shoulder as if checking to make sure. "He got here a minute ago," she said. "I saw him come in when we were dancing, but I wasn't sure it was him. I can see him now. He's with another guy—over by the door."

"Are you sure it's him?" I asked.

Alice nodded.

I wanted to play it cool, but there was nothing I could do to stop myself from searching for him. I instantly turned and looked right at the door, and then I started to scan the area right around it. Michael was there, dressed in jeans and a button down shirt. His hair was combed away from his face in a tidy style and I absentmindedly wondered how it looked so perfect after he had been riding a motorcycle. He said something to the guy who was standing next to him.

After he spoke to his friend, he started scanning the room, and I watched his expression change when he laid eyes on me. My stomach flipped as I watched his face shift from serious to relieved and smiling. My heart was absolutely about to pound out of my chest at the realization that I had been the one to make him smile like that. Michael was hands-down the most handsome guy in the room—the most handsome guy I had ever seen.

"Who is that?" Alice said.

"Michael Bishop," I said. I was talking to Alice, but Michael and I held eye contact from across the room.

"I know that," she said. "I'm talking about the guy he's with. Who is that?"

"I have no idea," I said without even giving a second glance to the guy."

"I know y'all are having a good time with Charlie James and the Backyard Boys tonight!" Curtis had leaned in front of Charlie, and his deep voice came over the microphone in the tone of a professional emcee. He and Charlie were smiling at each other as if the whole thing was planned, and the crowd gave a big round of applause, showing their appreciation for the music. Curtis turned to look at the piano, which was already vacant. He let out a laugh. "I already told Mr. Wayne he was gonna get a little break, and he done turned tail and ran, y'all! He's gonna take a well-deserved break for the next coupla songs, and I'm gonna get my girl Ivy up here to sing and play a little bit for y'all. Let's everybody give a big welcome to Ivy!"

The crowd clapped again, and without giving it a second thought, I made my way toward the stage.

I heard Alice say, "Oh my goodness, good luck, Ivy!" at my back as I walked away.

It was seriously cute seeing how nervous she was for me. She had no idea I had been doing this regularly and was completely in my element. I glanced at Michael on my way up there, and he gave me a smile and lifted his eyebrows, looking satisfied with the timing of his arrival. I squinted my eyes at him, which made his smile broaden—he was truly gorgeous.

I made my way through the bodies on the dance floor. People instantly made a path once they realized I was the person being introduced.

"There she is," Curtis said, helping me to the stage. I started to sit down at the piano, but he took me by the shoulders and turned me to face the audience, squeezing me against his chest. I made a silly face like he was squeezing the daylights out of me, and the crowd began laughing. Curtis looked at me and then out at the crowd thoughtfully as if considering what he was going to say next.

"Y'all ain't gonna believe what this little girl's about to do, y'all! You think she's shy to look at her, but then she hits you with some of her soul!" He delivered the words with such showmanship that the band instinctually played a downbeat. "Cause I've seen this little Ivy jam, y'all, and all Imma say is hold on to your hats, because you're in for a treat!"

They clapped again, and Curtis reached down to place a brotherly type kiss on my head. "Hurry on over to that piano," he said in my ear.

Jim-bo's had the piano turned we're my side was facing the audience, and I sat down, realizing I couldn't really see Michael very well once I took a seat on the bench. Curtis went on to say something about first seeing me play in Nashville, but I knew he was just stalling the crowd while I got situated, so I didn't pay attention to him. Charlie James smiled at me from the other side of the piano.

"What's it gonna be, lil' lady?" he asked.

"You Never Can Tell," I said.

"I know I never can tell, sugar, but you better name a tune so I can play it."

"Chuck Berry's You Never Can Tell," I said. I figured he was joking, but I clarified just in case. "If that's okay with you," I added.

Charlie gave me a huge smile—his row of straight, white teeth lighting up his face. "It's fine with me, sugar. You want my microphone, or do you want me to sing it?"

"I'll sing along with you from back here," I said. I loved to sing, but it was his show and I certainly didn't want to step on his toes.

"You sure?" he asked. "Curt said you was gonna do some singin'."

"She is singin'," Curtis said, tuning in to the last bit of our conversation.

"I'm good either way," I said.

"All right little mama," Charlie said. "You're singin', then."

I nodded, and Charlie winked at me again as he used one hand to swing the microphone stand in front of me. Just as soon as it was positioned where it was close enough, Charlie situated his guitar and faced the audience. He settled into place and looked at me before playing the first notes of the familiar Chuck Berry song. I barely had time to adjust the microphone before it was time for me to come in with the vocals.

"It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks wished them well.

You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle.

And now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell.

'C'est la vie,' say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell."

I could see the crowd's reaction out of the corner of my eye. They were gawking and shoving each other with amazement, and I smiled from behind the microphone. I caught sight of Alice right before I started the second verse, and could see the look of utter shock on her face—she was stupefied.

(Alice sang with me in the church choir growing up. We sang soprano, and I followed every musical rule and enunciated the words properly like Mr. Dixon, our choir director, required. It wasn't until I went off to college that I found my soul voice… the one that was a few octaves lower than my church soprano and full of character and intentional mispronunciations.)

I could only glance for a second at Alice before it was time for me to go into the next verse. I smiled at the crowd. Some were dancing and some stared at me adoringly. I made a silly but intense expression into the microphone as I continued to pound away on the piano.

"They furnished off an apartment with a two-room Roebuck sale.

The coolerator was crammed with TV dinners and ginger ale.

But when Pierre found work, the little money comin' worked out well.

C'est la vie say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell."

I played the piano and sang on autopilot for the next two verses. I had listened to and performed the song so many times that I didn't even have to think about it—I just let myself play.

After the next two verses, there was an iconic piano solo. I stayed mostly true to the original version, but I had practiced a slight variation that was even more jankity than the original. The audience must have appreciated my spin on it, because I could hear them yelling out whoops and whistles and other sounds of approval as they danced.

I thought about Michael as I played, but I had to push him out of my mind because the only way I could be my true soul character was to not care what anyone thought of me—and in order to not care what Michael thought of me, I had to not think of him at all.

I sang and played, and swayed and stomped, and after that song, Charlie came over and spoke into the microphone, giving me a hard time for being such a firecracker. He asked me what song I wanted to do next, and without hesitation, I said, "How about, a little Wooly Bully, if you please."

"I don't mind if we do," he said. He smiled at the band. "Wooly Bully for the lady." Then, in a louder voice, he counted us off. "Uh-one, uh-two, uh-uno, dos, tres, cuatro…"

The song hadn't been out very long and was all the rage with the younger crowd. It fit my personality because it was silly, yet extremely danceable, and I sang and played and looked goofy and dramatic. Charlie was a showman, too, and he came over and helped me sing the chorus. The crowd loved it. I looked at what I did as an act and I gave myself fully over to the soul version of me, which was extremely fun. I got carried away by the song and the energy of the audience, and before I knew it, we played the last note of Wooly Bully.

I let my fingers hit the last set of keys by pounding my hands down on the piano one final time, standing from the bench as I did it. I had a wonderful time with the other band members, especially Charlie. He and I smiled at each other in those brief seconds of silence before the crowd erupted—and erupt was just what they did.

Chapter 7

The audience was so kind, they really were. I knew Wooly Bully would be a hit with them, but I was blown away by the yells and applause.

"Thank y'all," I said, leaning over to talk into the microphone in my speaking voice (which was noticeably higher-pitched and more tentative than my blues voice).

I repositioned the microphone in front of Charlie as Mr. Wayne came back to his stool. He tipped his hat to me in a respectful way, and I nodded and smiled at him, thanking him for letting me sit in. Charlie put his arm around me as he leaned over to speak into the microphone.

"Can y'all b'leve that just came out of this girl?"

They cheered and whooped as the drummer counted off another tune that they began playing in the background. I reached in to give Charlie a farewell hug because I felt anxious to get off of the stage now that I was no longer sitting behind a piano. I felt myself start to blush.

"That was a real treat, wasn't that, y'all?" he asked.

They cheered again, and I waved and smiled at them as I climbed down from the stage. Charlie began singing a song that wasn't familiar. I assumed it was one of his originals. I carefully stepped off of the stage, thinking about how much I liked the sound of it.

Alice had come up to meet me, but it wasn't her hand that reached out to help me down.

It was a man's hand.

It was Michael's hand.

I hadn't even seen him cross to the foot of the stage, so it surprised me to find him standing there. There was a little set of stairs coming off the bandstand, but they were rickety, and Michael held my hand on the way down. I got a rush from touching his hand, but the contact unfortunately only lasted for two steps. I looked right at him once my feet were securely on the ground, and smiled as he let go of my hand. The music continued to blast out of the nearby speakers, but I was so stunned by my proximity to Michael that I could hardly notice it anymore.

"What in the world got into you up there, Ivy?" Alice was staring at the side of my face as I looked at Michael. My hand was still lingering in the air from when he helped me off of the stage, and Michael smiled as he reached up to grab it. He gently guided my hand from the air, manually pulling it downward into a relaxed position.

"Yeah, Ivy, what in the world got into you up there?" he asked, repeating Alice's question.

"Oh that?" I asked, glancing at the piano, which Mr. Wayne was now playing. "I was just singing," I said.

"Like a different person!" Alice said, leaning in to whisper into my ear. "A sixty-year-old soul-singer who smokes!" she added still whispering and making me laugh. Alice shook her head at me, looking stunned. "I'm serious, Ivy Lewis," she said in a louder tone that everyone standing around could hear. "What happened to you just now? Where'd that come from?"

I smiled and gestured to the very middle of my mid-section, right at the bottom of my chest and top of my belly. "I think it came from right about here," I said honestly, since that's where I felt it most when I performed.

I shifted to stare at Michael and then the guy who was standing next to him. I recognized him now that he was closer. He was about three years older than me and probably wouldn't even know my name, but he was big into sports at my high school and I vaguely knew his family. I think they might even go to my dad's church on Christmas and Easter.

"I’m Ivy," I said, reaching out to shake the guy's hand as if I was meeting him for the first time.

"Max Nichols," he said. "I recognize you. You're Pastor Lewis's daughter."

I curtsied and nodded to let him know he was correct. "I thought I recognized you, too. From Creekside."

"What was that up there?" Alice asked again, still shocked by my performance.

"That was soul," Michael said.

I looked at him when he said it. We stared at each other, seeming like we were hardly aware of our surroundings.

"Real soul," he said. "Amazing. So much fun to watch."

"Alice, this is Max," I said without taking my eyes off of Michael. "Max, this is Alice," I continued, still not moving my eyes. This made Michael grin at me, and I smiled back. I had no idea what he was thinking, but he was in no hurry to look away from me, so I just stood there, accepting the challenge. I vaguely registered that Alice was now talking to Max as I remained quietly focused on Michael.

"I guess I should ask you to dance," Michael said, taking a step closer to me and shifting a little to look out at the crowd of people around us. "…seeing as how I'd prefer it if you didn't dance with anyone else."

The song was medium tempo, and Michael pulled me close as he began to sway to the music. I had a natural sense of rhythm, and I was so happy that Michael knew how to move with the tempo of the song. He led and I followed as we swayed to the beat. I loved Alice and everything, but in that moment had no idea what she was doing and didn't care. Michael placed one hand around my back while he held my hand in his other in a couple-style dance pose. He was by no means inappropriate with me, but he did pull me close enough that our bodies touched. I could hardly breathe, and I was happy that Michael was content to just stand there and sway with me.

Charlie finished that song and moved onto a slow blues number. Michael held me in the same position, pulling me closer even still as he slowed his movements to match the rhythm song. I leaned in closely enough to rest my head on his shoulder, right at the top of his chest. My forehead touched his neck, and I tucked myself gently and comfortably into his embrace as we moved.

Michael and I danced the remainder of that whole song without saying a single word to each other. It was when that song was finished, and the band began playing a much faster number that Michael pulled back and looked at me. He kept his hands around my back and regarded me with a smile. I made small movements with my shoulders reflecting the new faster beat, but I didn't move enough to escape his grasp. I had been out with a few guys in Nashville, but no one had ever come close to affecting me the way Michael did. I felt like I could never tire of staring at his face. I leaned in to speak next to his ear.

"Thanks for the dance," I said.

He turned so he could speak close to my ear in return. "The way you play and sing, Ivy," he said. "You already had me messed up enough with Amazing Grace. I don’t know why you had to do what you just did."

"Thank you, I think," I said, with a reluctant smile.

"I want to marry you," he said. He stared at me as if he actually didn't understand his own feelings. "I find that I seriously just want to marry you. It must be your talent," he said, still looking slightly confused. "Because I don't even know you, and I'm not even the type of person to say something like this. But, honest to God, Ivy, I would marry you tonight if you'd let me."

"What if I was a crazy person?" I asked, laughing.

I shifted my body in tiny dance movements just because it was impossible to stand still with the loud, soulful music blaring around us.

"You are clearly crazy," Michael said with a completely serious expression. "That's the part about you that I want to marry."

"That makes you crazy," I said, smiling and pointing at his chest.

He shrugged. "Maybe it does," he said.

I had never been so stricken by a man's appearance. I continually noticed the lines of his face and mouth and the way they changed and shifted when he smiled.

"Who were we saying was crazy again?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I think both of us, maybe."

He was right. The whole town of Memphis would think I had gone and lost my mind if they knew I was singing Wooly Bully in a blues club and thinking about running off with the mysterious motorcycle guy from Detroit. That thought made me glance at his hair.

"How'd you get your hair to look so perfect after driving over here?" I asked. It was a stupid question and I pretty much regretted asking it right when it came out of my mouth but Michael didn't seem to mind.

"I drove my car," he said running his hand through his hair.

"You have a car?"

He smiled. "A sixty-one Bel Air," he said. "One of the first off the line. I had a hand designing that one, and it was part of my contract."

"So, you worked for Chevrolet before you started building motorcycles?"

He nodded. "And how about you, Miss Ivy?"

"I study music over at Belmont in Nashville," I said. "I grew up in Memphis, though. I'm just home for the summer."

He smiled. "And you're without a car because yours is at the shop."

"I can borrow my mom's," I said. "Or get a ride from Alice. My car will be fixed by the time I get back."

The music changed to a slower tempo song, and Michael and I went back to swaying.

"You can use my Chevy," he said. "While you're here for the summer."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not?" he asked.

I smiled. "Because you need it. Plus, what if I'm a bad driver?"

"Are you?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Then you can use my car."

I could tell he was serious, so I shook my head. "I couldn’t possibly," I said.

"Why not?"

A guy was dancing next to us, and he leaned over to speak to me. "That was some nice singin' up there," he said. I smiled and thanked him before turning to focus on Michael again.

"Why couldn’t you possibly borrow my car?" he asked.

"Because it's yours," I said. "You need it."

He shrugged. "I have my motorcycle. And I have four other bikes in the shop, and a van."

"A van?"

"For hauling bikes and parts."

"I like your logo," I said.

He nodded. "I like it, too. My friend back in Detroit drew it for me."

"It's cool. How'd you meet Max?" I asked.

"He came into the shop not long after I opened. He's probably going to come to work for me soon."

"How long ago did you open?"

"I've been making bikes for about three years, but I just moved to Memphis three months ago."

"Why did Mr. Morrow give you his shop?" I asked.

"Because he wanted to," he said simply.

I squinted at him since I thought he was trying to be cute, but he just shrugged at me innocently.

"Seriously," he said with a shrug. "He just wanted to give it to me, so he did. I wasn't about to refuse him. I was making it in Detroit, but I was building in a much smaller location. Mr. Morrow left me the body shop and the contents of it. It was basically a gold mine for someone in my situation. I wasn't going to refuse."

"And he just gave it to you because he wanted to?"

Michael and I barely moved to the music, and he stared at me like he was contemplating what to say. "I knew his brother up in Detroit."

I remembered Bobby mentioning something about jail, but I also knew that Bobby didn't know what he was talking about. "I think it's really neat that you have a motorcycle shop," I said.

"I was born to have a bike shop," he said. "It's right there in my name."

I squinted at him like I didn't see what he was saying.

"Bi-shop. Bishop. Bi, meaning two. Shop, meaning shop. You know, a shop that sells two-wheeled things. Get it? Bi-shop. Like my name."

I giggled and shook my head at him.

"What? It's true. It's right there in my name."

"There's 'two' and 'shop' in your name, but there's nothing about 'wheels' or 'cycles'."

He shook his head at me like he was disappointed in me for not seeing the amazingness of it. This made me grin at him.

"I still think it's fate," I said.

"Me too," he said. "But even if my name doesn’t convince you, which it should, you can just believe me when I say I'm born to build bikes. It's just what I was meant to do."

Chapter 8

I danced with Michael for eight or ten glorious songs before Alice tapped me on the shoulder.

"It's time to go," she said. "We need to go now if you have to be back by eleven-thirty. We're going to be late as it is."

I glanced around, searching for a clock and absentmindedly wondering what Alice had been doing the whole time I was dancing.

"It's almost eleven," Alice said, seeing me look for the time.

I turned to Michael with a regretful expression. "I have to go," I said. "I'm sorry, but if it's almost eleven, we really have to leave now." I paused, looking at him and really regretting that I had to say goodbye. "Would you mind walking us out?" I asked.

Michael smiled and moved to tuck my arm into his. "I was going to insist on it," he said.

Max and Alice followed Michael and me toward the door. I saw Curtis on the way out, and I lunged to the side and reached through the mass of people so that I could pinch him. I depended on Michael to keep my other arm steady as I leaned over to speak to Curtis, and he did.

"Thank you!" I called through the crowd.

"Thank you, Ivy! You leavin' baby?" Curtis stepped forward to hug me, and I let go of Michael so that I could squeeze him back.

"Yep, I'm leaving," I said. "I'm already running late."

Curtis glanced at Michael and Max the way a protective older brother would before looking at me again. "How you gettin' home?" he asked me.

"Alice," I said.

"Are you two seeing these ladies to their car?" Curtis asked the guys.

"We are," Michael said. He offered his hand to Curtis who shook it. "I'm Michael Bishop."

"Curtis. Curtis Sharpe. Word is you were the one who moved here from Detroit."

Michael smiled. "Is that the word?"

"Is the word true?" Curtis asked wearing a big grin.

"It is," Michael said.

Curtis shook his head, looking utterly impressed. "A motorcycle builder, huh? Imma hafta come over there and try out one of your machines sometime—try my hand at driving one of those things."

"Come by anytime," Michael said. "I'm always there."

Curtis's smile broadened and he gestured to the room around us. "Cept when you here," he said.

I leaned forward and put a swift kiss on Curtis's cheek. "Thank you so much Curtis, but we have to go. I'm already late."

"Thank you!" he called as we all went quickly for the door. "Y'all be good!"

We jogged all the way to Alice's car, which was parked way down the street in a row with other cars. I despised the fact that I had to tell Michael goodbye. We had been talking and dancing for the past couple of hours, and it was nowhere near enough. I wanted it to never end. The evening had passed far too quickly, and now it was over and I had to rush off. Once we made it to the car, I glanced at Michael with an expression that reflected my regret for having to leave in such a hurry.

"You can ride with me," Michael said with a shrug when he saw my distress. "Max could ride with Alice, and we could follow them if you want."

I did want. I wanted it more than anything. But I knew I couldn't show up at midnight in Michael's car—not on the first night I met him. I wanted badly to ride with him, but Michael was already at a disadvantage with my family, and I didn't want to give them another reason not to like him.

"Or not," Michael added, seeing my wheels turning and my serious expression and taking it for reluctance.

"It's not that I don't want to," I said.

He smiled. "I get it."

"It's just that I'm staying with my parents for the summer, and—"

"You don't have to explain," he said.

Alice was already in the driver's seat, and Max was standing right next to us, absentmindedly kicking at the gravel beneath his feet. I knew I had to leave, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I sprang toward him, leaning upward and putting a kiss on Michael's cheek.

"I'm really glad I met you, Michael Bishop."

"Curtis got that," he said.

"Got what?"

"A kiss on the cheek."

"What's that mean?" I asked.

"It means you should do it again."

"What? Kiss you on the cheek?"

He nodded, and I popped up to place another careful kiss on Michael's cheek. I used his forearm for leverage, pushing down on it as I stretched up to meet his cheek. He turned, forcing my lips, which were already in motion to meet his. And there it was. It was like liquid lightning. His lips met mine and my whole body got warm and melty—like I was in real danger of dissolving into a big puddle on the ground.

Michael smiled and opened his eyes wide in a playful way as if indicating that he hadn't expected the kiss. I opened my eyes wide to match his.

"You're in trouble," I said, poking him. "You're making it impossible for me to leave."

He grinned. "I'm trying."

"Goodbye, Michael Bishop."

"Goodbye, Ivy Lewis."

"I'll see you soon, okay?" It was more of a question because I wanted to make sure Michael committed to it.

"Soon," he agreed. He reached out and quickly kissed me again on the top of my cheek before we broke away and I headed for the car.

"I have no idea what just happened," Alice said as we got onto the road.

I got to the edge of the seat so I could look in the rearview mirror. "He kissed me," I said, regarding my mouth in the mirror and feeling a little disappointed that there wasn't some kind of evidence of it.

"I saw y'all just now," she said as she drove. "But I wasn't talking about that. I'm talking about the whole night—the music, Ivy. When did you start playing and singing like that?"

"When I left for college," I said. "I play a blues set in Nashville every week, so I have about fifty or so songs worked up."

"Fifty songs? In that voice?"

I laughed. "You mean my voice?"

She glanced at me from the driver's seat, looking at me like I might be a space alien that had taken over her friend's body. "And how long have you been knowing this Michael Bishop character?" she continued in a skeptical tone.

"Tonight," I said. I second-guessed myself after I said it, because honestly, I felt like I had known him for much longer. I wore a somewhat confused expression like I wasn't quite sure of my answer. "We met him at the Summer Social earlier, didn't we? Was that tonight?"

"That was tonight," Alice said. "The same night that you played Amazing Grace on the piano just like you always do." She glanced at me. "You should perform Amazing Grace like you did those songs in the club," she said. "I had no idea you could sing like that. Do your parents know you can sing like that? Does Jacob? Have you ever sang for them in that voice?"

"Not really," I said. "They might think it's okay for a blues song, but my dad would think I was being disrespectful he saw me do church songs like that. It's so different from what he's seen me do all these years."

"I wish you would do it. I think the congregation would have a fit over it."

"That's exactly why I'm not going to. He would think I was just trying to turn it into a rock show."

"Oh come on, your dad loves how talented you are. I think he'd love to see you do that."

"I think I'm just gonna leave it like it is," I said.

Alice was being nice, but she didn't know my dad as well as I did.

We rode for a couple of minutes in silence before Alice spoke up again. "And what's up with that guy, Michael? You didn't look like you just met him tonight. You two were looking at each other like you have history."

Just the mention of his name had blood rushing to my face. I cracked the window, letting the warm summer air circulate through the car. "I can't even breathe right when you say his name," I said.

"Miiiichael," she said, teasing me. "Miiichael Bishoooop."

My face turned red as she repeated his name—I could feel it by how hot it was. I was thankful that we were in the dark. "He offered to give me a ride home," I said. "He said Max could ride with you, and he and I could follow in his car."

"I think he might be doing that anyway," she said, adjusting the rearview mirror so that she could see the car behind us. "I think that's him. That car came up behind us not long after we got on the road."

I glanced over my shoulder, but I couldn’t tell anything about the car behind us other than the fact that it looked like a white car with its headlights on. That same car was behind us as we drove through Memphis, but it turned before we ever got to my house. Alice and I talked about whether or not we thought it was Michael who had followed us into town to make sure we made it safely. She said it was him, and I said it wasn't, but deep down, I obviously thought it was.

Alice dropped me off, and I thanked her for the ride and the fun evening before jogging into my parents' house. I used the kitchen door, and I tried not to act surprised when I opened it and found my dad sitting at the kitchen table.

I closed the door behind me and smiled at him. I assumed the first thing he was noticing about me was that I'd been kissed, so I grinned and did my best to look innocent.

"What are you doing? I asked, pointing at the Bible and the stack of papers in front of him. It was obvious what he was doing, but the question helped me buy a little time so I could think of what to say next.

"Going over my notes for tomorrow morning," he said. He sighed as he stood up, and then he stretched a little before reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder. "You smell like cigarette smoke," he said with a regretful smile.

"Not because I've been smoking," I said.

"I hope not."

"I haven’t."

"Where'd you go?"

"To hear some music with Alice."

Dad looked at me thoughtfully. I could tell he wanted to know more but was reluctant about asking.

"Blues," I said. "Rhythm and blues—in a little shack. A place called Jim-bo's."

"You know it's not safe going to those places, Ivy."

"It must be," I said holding my palms up and smiling. "I just went to one, and I'm standing here, safe."

Dad gave me a skeptical expression but seemed reluctant to voice his disappointment.

I reached out to touch his arm. "You don't need to worry about me, Dad."

He let out a little laugh. "That's never going to happen. There will never be a time when I don't worry about you, Ivy."

"Well, try not to worry too much," I said. I smiled and flexed my biceps for him. "I'm tough."

"Were there gentlemen there?"

"Are you asking if there were men present?" I asked.

"Yes."

I grinned and nodded. "About half of them."

"Was Stephen Meyers there?" he asked.

"No sir. Why would he be?"

"Because I thought you two were sitting together at dinner tonight. And I thought he gave you a ride home from the banquet hall."

"He did, but I haven't seen him since he dropped me off."

"So you weren't there with any guy tonight?"

I could feel myself starting to have another hot flash. "Alice just dropped me off," I said, avoiding the question. Then I felt juvenile for being elusive, and that feeling of embarrassment gave me the bravery to add more to my comment. "But I danced with one guy most of the time."

My dad's expression turned into one of real interest, and I regretted saying it instantly. "Who'd you dance with?" he asked.

"Michael Bishop."

"Not the boy who took over Mr. Morrow's place, huh?"

"Yes, and he was a total gentleman. And they invited me up on stage, and I played a couple of songs."

I added that last part as a distraction from the topic of Michael, but I realized I was just digging a deeper hole.

Dad tilted his head at me. "You played music?"

I nodded.

"What kind of music?"

I sighed and leaned in to hug my dad. "Chuck Berry—just a song or two." I paused and then added, "Love you. I'm going to bed," before he could ask any more questions. "And just so you know there's nothing for you to worry about. I didn't smoke or drink or any of the things you don't want me doing. I sat in with the band on a couple of songs, and then we danced a few songs, and that was it. Alice brought me home." I gave him one last hurried hug before I took off toward my room. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you!" he called.

Chapter 9

Sunday mornings were always busy for our family. We had Sunday school before church, and half the time, Mom or Jacob would get roped into helping out in children's church or doing some other duty that needed to be performed.

Our church had a pipe organ. I knew a little bit about it, and could get by for a funeral, but I usually stuck to the piano since I was more comfortable there. There were a few women who switched off playing piano and organ, and they were all happy to volunteer to take a few weeks off when I came home for summer.

We played four songs—classic hymns sang by a choir that was led by Mr. Dixon. He had been the choir director at the church since long before my dad ever took over as pastor (which was twenty years ago). We played the songs, and then we all left the stage before my dad came up to preach.

I was taking my seat when I noticed Michael Bishop in the back row. I stared at him with a perplexed expression as I tried to decide whether or not he was sitting there, or if I was just seeing things. I must have been gawking at him because he smiled and wiggled his fingers at me in a discreet wave. A whole rush of emotions hit me, and it was all I could do to make it to my seat in the third row without tripping over my own feet.

I sat on the wooden pew, staring at my dad but not hearing a single word he was saying. He gestured at me and smiled, and I realized he was telling the congregation how nice it was to have me back for the summer. I smiled and tried to seem like I had been paying attention by nodding.

My heart raced like crazy for the next five minutes. I didn't look back to confirm that Michael was sitting behind me, but I knew it was him. I waited until about fifteen minutes later before I decided to quietly get up and use the restroom. I figured if it really was Michael sitting back there he would get up follow me.

I went to the restroom. I really did need to use it, so I took care of that before washing my hands and checking myself in the mirror. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had hoped Michael would show up to this church service, so I had worn one of my best Sunday dresses—a navy dress with white eyelet trim. I tightened my ponytail and straightened myself up, preparing to see him before making my way into the hallway again.

I could hear the muffled sound of my dad's deep voice coming from the sanctuary. I scanned the long hallway, looking for Michael. "Pssst," I said, thinking he might be behind one of the partitions.

Nothing. I crossed to the nearest door that led to the sanctuary, and peered through the small window. There sat Michael—right there in the back row, in the same exact spot where he was earlier.

Nobody was paying attention to me so I took a second to stare at Michael through the window just to make sure it was him. I tried to tell myself it could be someone else, but I knew that wasn't true. It would be more likely that I was seeing things than there actually being someone else who looked so much like Michael.

I took a moment to work up the nerve to go back inside before opening the door. I quickly found my place on the third row. Alice was sitting a little ways down, and she leaned over to regard me with a questioning expression. My brother did the same thing, and I just smiled like I hadn't noticed them and stared toward the stage.

My dad wrapped up the service about an hour later. I joined him on stage so I could play the piano during the invitation and dismissal. I lost sight of Michael when my dad dismissed service, and by the time I made my way back to where he was sitting, he was gone.

Alice had followed me toward the back of the church, and she had caught up to me by the time I saw that he wasn't there.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I could have sworn that guy was here," I said, still looking around. "The guy from last night. Michael."

"You think he came to church?" Alice asked.

"I know he did," I said. "I saw him. He was sitting right here."

"Hey Ivy." The voice came like a frail whisper somewhere in the midst of all of the other talking in the sanctuary. I glanced down the pew to see the person who had said my name. It was an old man in a wheel chair named Mr. Harris.

"Hi, Mr. Harris," I said, smiling and waving and trying to be nice even though I was anxious to catch Michael. The man waved me over. He motioned with his hand for me to come that direction. The gesture was unmistakable.

"Hello!" I said, waving and pretending not to notice his invitation.

"Come here," he said weakly as he continued to gesture. I could barely hear him but I knew what he was saying. I glanced at Alice before making my way over to Mr. Harris. I leaned over to hug him as soon as I came near. "Hello Mr. Harris! It's good to see you this morning."

"It's good to see you too," he said.

He spoke so slowly that it felt like it took a full minute for him to say the six simple words. My blood pressure rose as I stood there, staring at him and trying my best to remain patient.

"I hope you have a good week!" I said, touching his bony arm. I was about to take off, but he put his hand over mine to trap it in place.

"Are you looking for the young man?" he asked. Again, the words came so slowly that I thought of about five things he was going to ask me before he said 'young man'.

The question took me by surprise. I had to think about what he was saying for a second as I stared blankly at his wrinkly face. "That young man?" I asked, sharply coming to attention once I realized what he was saying. I pointed at the spot where Michael had been sitting and regarded Mr. Harris with an intense expression.

He smiled. "His name's Michael," he said (slowly). "He owns a motorcycle shop over on 70. Mr. Morrow's old place."

"Yes sir. Do you know where he went?"

Mr. Harris shook his head. "He gets up and leaves before anybody has the chance to talk to him. I always sit right back here on the same row, and it took me a few weeks to catch him long enough to shake his hand and get his name."

"Weeks?" I asked.

The old man nodded.

"Of coming to this church?"

He nodded again.

"Are you talking about the guy who was sitting right here today?"

Another nod.

"Has he been here before?"

"A few weeks, I guess. He sits back here by the door and leaves the minute service is over—like he did today."

Mr. Harris took absolutely forever to say what he was trying to say, but I just stood and listened to him. I couldn't believe my ears. I stared at Mr. Harris while I processed what he was saying. Silly as it may be, the thing that crossed my mind was that I knew my dad had noticed him if he had indeed been coming to the church for weeks. I wondered why my dad neglected to tell me when I mentioned his name. I only took a few seconds to think about that, though, because I had to focus on catching Michael before he left.

"Thank you for telling me this," I said to Mr. Harris. I patted his arm before standing to focus on Alice. "I'm going to the parking lot to see if I can catch him," I said. I glanced over her shoulder at the congregation. They were talking in the sanctuary for now, but I knew they would soon be making their way outside.

"Go," she said.

Without argument, I ran outside, praying that I would find Michael in the parking lot. There were a set of stairs on the outside of the church, and I took my heels off before I ran down them. I had imagined that he would be waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, but he wasn't there. I held my shoes by the straps as I ran barefoot down the sidewalk that lined the gravel parking lot. I searched for a white car that looked like the one that had been following us the night before, but didn't see anything.

It was then that I heard a whistle from my left. I turned to find Michael. He was standing next to his motorcycle, which was parked under a big tree near the end of the sidewalk. I waved at him, and he waved back before switching his hand motion to call me over. I jogged toward him, feeling overjoyed that he waited for me.

He was sitting sideways on the seat of his bike, with his legs casually propped out in front of him, and he stood with a smile when I made it over there. He looked like James Dean only better.

"What are you doing way over here?" I asked breathlessly as I came to a stop about ten feet in front of him.

"It's pretty loud," he said, talking about his motorcycle. "So, I don't park anywhere near the building."

"Have you been to my dad's church before?" I asked, stepping a little closer.

He smiled and gave me a little nod. "I have."

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Because you didn't ask."

I felt short of breath just looking at him. I remembered being in his arms the night before and I wished I had an excuse to be there again. I felt the urge to hug him and I had to concentrate on keeping my feet firmly rooted in place to prevent myself from doing so.

"Why didn't you sing in church?" he asked. "You sounded good playing and everything, but I was really looking forward to hearing you sing."

I glanced toward the church doors, which were now open. People had spilled out onto the stairs and were making their way into the parking lot.

"I'm usually long gone by now," he said, seeing me look in that direction. He glanced at the commotion, and I could tell by the way he shifted on his seat that he was assuming we would soon be joined by some of them. He was right to assume that. There were several people who would be curious enough to come over there once they saw us—I could think of a few, starting with my brother.

"I understand if you need to go," I said.

"Should I?" he asked.

I stared into his light blue eyes, wondering how he could ever ask such a question. "No," I said seriously. "If you're leaving it up to me, then I most definitely want you to stay."

He licked his lips just before he smiled, and I stared at his mouth remembering kissing it. He nudged his chin in the direction of the church. "We've got company."

I turned just in time to see Jacob's long body lumbering toward us. I knew he would be the first one out here. He might be sixteen, but he was still a big kid, and he ran toward us wearing a huge grin aimed at Michael. I couldn’t help but smile.

"You came to our church?" he asked before he even came to a stop.

"I sure did," Michael said.

"Cool. Did you like it?" Jacob asked.

"Yep."

"Jacob, don't put him on the spot."

Jacob looked at me and then at Michael as if he was putting together for the first time that we may be standing out there because we wanted to be in each other's company.

"I can't believe you guys don't have Ivy up there singing. She would bring the house down in there."

Jacob laughed as if Michael was joking because he had no idea to what extent I loved to sing and perform.

"They don't, I don't, I usually just play the piano at church," I said. "I'm not really sure how Dad would react to me singing."

"Dad loves your singing," Jacob said. "I heard him complaining that Mr. Dixon didn't ask you to sing a solo."

"Have you never heard your sister sing soul music?" Michael asked, staring at Jacob. "Chuck Berry?"

"Chuck Berry?" Jacob asked, laughing. "She listens to Chuck Berry?"

"She does more than listen," Michael said. "She sings and plays." He was wearing a straight face and Jacob's smile faded into a serious expression.

"You tellin' me you saw my sister sing Chuck Berry?" he asked.

Michael looked me directly in the eyes. His expression said a thousand words. He told me without words that he could not believe my little brother hadn't heard me sing soul music, and that I was in real trouble for that. Jacob knew it, too, and he mumbled something about 'being left in the dark'. I grinned at Michael for giving me a hard time.

"Jacob, run and tell Alice and the others that I'll be there in just a minute."

"Are y'all going to Van's?" he asked.

I shook my head. "We're going to Maw-maw's. She's cooking."

Jacob nodded as he headed off, and just like that, I was left standing there with Michael. "You seriously need to share that talent with them, Ivy. It's silly for you not to sing gospel music with that voice."

"I don't know that my dad would like it coming from me."

"Your brother probably would," he said. I stared at him, and he smiled and shrugged. "I figured you had different moms."

"And dads. He was adopted," I said.

Michael shrugged. "He'll appreciate your gift, Ivy, and so will the rest of your family. You should share it."

"I do share it," I said. "I played piano this morning."

Michael gave me an easy grin. "It's not the same as what I saw last night, and you know it."

"It's no big deal," I said with a little shrug.

Michael squinted a little and tilted his head as he regarded me. "You're special, Ivy, you know that, right?"

Feeling shy, I used my toe to turn over a rock. "Thank you, but I don't know if those two worlds should collide. The people here don't know me as that Ivy. That's a persona I invented once I moved away to Nashville."

"The people last night at Jim-bo's got to see that other girl."

I looked around. "Yeah, but none of those people are here," I said.

Michael gave me a thoughtful expression as if he didn't quite see it my way, and I grinned at him before I looked toward the church. I knew as long as we were standing there, other people would make their way toward us, and I was already dreading the moment when Michael got antsy and had to leave.

I turned to face him again. "Would you like to have lunch with us?"

Chapter 10

"I just heard you tell your brother that your grandma was cooking," Michael said. He was staring at me like that was a bad thing.

"She is," I said. "She did. I think almost everything's cooked already. She just has to heat it up. My mom helps her. It's good food. You would like it."

"I'm sure the food's great," Michael said.

I smiled. "Good, so you'll come?"

He shook his head regretfully. "I don't know," he said.

"It's home cooking," I said. "My grandma knows what she's doing. I really miss it when I'm away at school." (I had once heard that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, and I had faith in Maw-maw's cooking to come through for me.) "Stuffed chicken and squash casserole, I think—and rolls." I added with a shrug.

"You don't have to convince me about the food," he said. "I'm sure it would be pretty much the best meal I've ever eaten in my life."

I smiled. "It pretty much would be."

Michael had been glancing over my shoulder towards the church, and he motioned that way and smiled at me regretfully. "It looks like they're having an intense conversation over there," he said.

I turned and realized my brother was talking to my dad. They were looking our way and my dad didn't seem very pleased.

"Maybe I should let you go," he said.

My head whipped around and I regarded Michael with furrowed eyebrows. "I'm not worried about him," I said. "I asked you to come over for lunch, and I meant it. My grandma always makes plenty. We have people over every week." I motioned toward the church. "There's probably like five other people coming. Nobody will even notice you're there."

"I'm pretty sure your dad will notice," Michael said with an easy grin.

I turned to glance at my father who was still watching us like a hawk. He had obviously sent Jacob back over because he was running toward us again.

"Dad said we need to come now," Jacob said, breathlessly. "Alice is giving us a ride, and we have to go to Mrs. Miller's and get some tomatoes. She meant to bring them to church, but she left them up on her windowsill."

"Michael's coming over to Maw-maw's for lunch," I said. "I'm gonna ride over there with him. You can still ride with Alice and them, though, and we'll meet y'all there."

"How are you gonna ride with him?" Jacob asked, looking around as if expecting a car to pop out from behind the tree.

"I'm gonna hop on the back of this thing," I said. I smiled at Michael, hoping he would back me up.

"I'm fine with it, Ivy, but I'm almost positive your dad doesn't want you doing that. I didn't even think I was doing lunch with you guys, actually. That's a lot. It might be best if you just ride with your friend like your brother was saying."

"Best for who?" I asked. "Definitely not me. I'm dying to try one of these." I looked at the seat. "Can it hold two of us?"

"Yes, it can hold both of us," Michael said. "But if you get on this motorcycle, your dad will have even more of a reason to hate me."

I wanted to tell Michael he was wrong, but I couldn't. I knew he was right, and I felt embarrassed because of it. I thought about what everyone wanted me to do. I thought about letting Michael drive away. I would get in the car with Alice and Jacob, and go pick up tomatoes at Mrs. Miller's like a good girl.

"No," I said.

"No what?"

"No, I'm not doing that plan," I said. I looked at Jacob. "I had already asked Michael if he wanted to come eat lunch before you ever came over here," I said. "I'll just go tell dad plans have changed. It's no big deal. You and Alice can take care of getting the tomatoes, and I'll ride with Michael." I shifted to stare at Michael. "Wait right here." I started to turn and walk off, but I flinched and faced Michael again with a smile. "Please."

He grinned at me and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

My dad wasn't excited about me riding on the back of a motorcycle, but I didn't give him much of a choice. I told him I loved him and showed respect for his concern, but also said that I was in no way planning on being talked out of doing it. I reminded him that I was a grown woman and a reasonable person, and then I added that I had always wanted to ride a motorcycle. I even used my ace in the hole and I said God would want us to show love to Michael Bishop—especially since he had been coming to the church for weeks and my dad had never met him.

I talked to my dad for about three minutes before stopping to let Alice and Jacob in on the plan. It had been about five minutes by the time I made it back to the far side of the parking lot where Michael was waiting. He was parked beneath the farthest oak tree, and I slowed once I got to the tree that was just before it. I smiled at him as if I was being coy, but really, I was just allowing myself a second to catch my breath.

I was walking toward him, trying to look cool and wearing my most appealing smile when Michael smiled and held up a finger, indicating the number one. I grinned back and held my finger up, too, thinking we were exchanging some secret code that I didn't even know about. It was at that moment that I felt a sharp, stinging blow as something small hit me right on top of the head. I heard the sound of snickering, and within seconds, I put it together that there were kids in the tree, and the object that just hit me had been thrown.

I scowled and looked upward as the giggling continued. "What are y'all doing up there?" I asked. I squinted into the branches, and recognized the boys as some who had been coming to our church their whole lives.

"Are you going over to the motorcycle man?" Levi asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Are you gonna ride on it?" he asked.

"Probably." I started walking toward Michael again, but I called back at them from over my shoulder. "Y'all shouldn't throw things from trees," I said. "Especially at ladies."

"Can I have a ride?" Levi yelled.

"Not this time!" I yelled as I continued to walk away. "Y'all's mamas'll be lookin' for y'all!" I added.

I smiled at Michael as I got closer, and he gestured with a flick of his chin toward the tree. "Couple of monkeys," he said.

I nodded. "They wanted a ride."

"What'd you tell them?"

"That it was my turn."

He was straddling his bike, and I stepped closer to him, smiling at the sensation I got at the sheer sight of him. I felt electrical impulses moving through my body at the thought of getting on the back of that motorcycle.

"They called you motorcycle man," I said, grinning.

"Who?" he asked.

"The monkeys."

"I'll have to catch them next time," Michael said, glancing into the neighboring tree.

I gave him directions to my grandma's house, and asked him when and how I should get on his motorcycle. He glanced at my legs. "I think the bare feet are cute, but you need to put on your shoes. I wish you had on pants, too, instead of that skirt. I hope your grandma's house isn't too far."

I stepped closer, looking at him with a sincere expression. "I'm just realizing that I didn't ask your opinion on any of this," I said. I glanced down at my own bare legs. "I'm sorry. I just took the liberty to invite myself onto the back of your bike. I probably shouldn't have done that. I was so worried about not letting you leave that I didn't even think to ask what you wanted to do. Do you even want to come over for lunch?"

His face broke into a grin and I felt relief wash over me.

"I find that I'm really fond of being near you, Ivy Lewis, so both the lunch date and the motorcycle ride are ideal as far as I'm concerned."

His confidence and composure made me feel a type of anticipation I previously knew nothing about. I was mad about him, completely gone over him. He reached out onto the handlebars and then made some kicking motion with his foot, and I heard the bike's engine rev to life.

I giggled at the surprise and the way it rumbled my chest, and Michael smiled and shook his head in amusement. He had to yell over the sound of the engine, but he told me exactly what to do and how to get on. He pointed to a place near my leg and warned me that it would soon be very hot and that I should avoid touching it. He assured me he would go slow and told me everything would be okay if only I would hold on tightly to him by the waist.

I lifted my leg over the motorcycle with as much grace as I could manage. I obviously wished I had on pants, but I was glad for the full skirt because I had plenty of material to wrap around my legs and keep me covered. I tucked and adjusted my dress for a few seconds, making it into something that resembled funny-looking pants before wrapping my arms around Michael's waist.

"You ready?" he yelled.

I nodded, and he revved the engine one time before slowly taking off. I held onto him tightly, resting my face against his back as we drove through the parking lot. There were lots of people standing around and making their way to cars, so Michael drove cautiously and along the far edge.

I watched the amazed looks on people's faces as we drove by. It was surreal. I couldn't believe I was taking off from the church parking lot on the back of a motorcycle, and I figured most of these people thought I had lost my mind. I saw people nudging and pointing at us.

Michael turned onto the street, and the shifting of the bike made me realize once again that we were balancing. It hit me that I had to completely trust him to keep us balanced and upright. The thought gave me a vulnerable feeling, which somehow translated into a rush of adrenaline. I smiled as Michael revved the engine, going a little faster now that we were out on the open road.

I beamed as I watched the scenery pass by. I had been in a nervous daze while we were in the church parking lot, so it was just starting to hit me for the first time that I was physically touching Michael. I paid attention to my fingertips only to realize that they were making obvious contact with the rows of taught muscles that outlined his ribs. That same electrical impulse grew even stronger, and I actually had the fear that I might do something crazy like completely let go of him while we were riding. I reminded myself again to hold on tightly.

"You okay?" Michael asked looking to the side and yelling at me.

"Yep," I yelled, tilting my face to aim my voice at his ear. "This is so much fun!"

"You can pick your head up," he said. "If you want to see what's going on."

"I can?" I asked. I tentatively stretched upward.

"Don't let go or anything, but you also don't have to keep your head buried in my back like that."

I slowly became more comfortable with straightening up, and by the time we made it to my grandma's I was able to look around at our surroundings.

"Oh my goodness, that was so fun!" I said once he parked and cut the engine.

Michael made sure the bike was steady and held my hand from over his shoulder while I got off. He kicked his leg over, coming to stand beside me.

"You told me I had my head buried," I said, pretending like I was embarrassed and shy.

"You did have your head buried," he said with an amused grin. "I couldn’t even see you back there," he said. "It felt like I had a koala bear latched onto me."

I laughed and pushed at his shoulder for teasing me. "You told me to hold on tight," I said.

"I'm not saying I minded," he said. "I'm just saying, you're strong. You were hangin' on tight."

I wanted to say how I couldn't wait to have my arms around him again, or something even crazier like I love you, you're the man of my dreams, but I knew I'd regret saying it, so I just stood there with a goofy smile.

I tossed my head toward the house. "Come on, I want you to meet Maw-maw."

My grandma's dog, a black poodle named Duke, met us at the door with his tail wagging. He was so overweight you could barely recognize that he was a poodle. He looked like a fuzzy black barrel with sticks for legs.

"I'll warn you about Duke," I said, leaning over to pat the dog's head. "He's mostly blind."

Michael put his fingertips out for the dog to sniff. "Hey Duke," Michael said.

"And he passes a lot of gas," I added. "So if you smell something offensive while you're over here, it's not me."

Michael stooped over to speak to the dog. "Ivy's trying to tell me you stink," he cooed.

"He does stink," I said.

"Who's there?" I heard my grandma yell from the kitchen.

"Ivy," I called with a hand cupped to my mouth. "And my friend."

"Did you bring those tomatoes?" she asked.

"Not yet," I said. "Jacob stopped to get 'em. I rode over here with Michael. He's eating with us."

She was quiet for a second, and Michael's eyes widened as he pretended he was scared about what she might say. I giggled at his silliness, and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the kitchen so he could meet her.

Chapter 11

Maw-maw didn't end up making squash casserole like I thought she had. The menu was stuffed chicken and fried eggplant, and she was patiently waiting over the frying pan, watching one batch of eggplant when we came into the kitchen.

My grandpa had passed away when I was younger, and my grandma never remarried. She had always been really independent. On the days when we ate lunch at her house, she would leave church a little early so she could get home and begin heating everything up, she was in the middle of doing just that.

Maw-maw took to Michael right away. She had no idea he had just brought me over there on a motorcycle—let alone one that he built. She didn't ask him what it was he did for a living, and neither of us brought it up. We laughed and talked to her, and she fed Michael samples, which he gladly accepted. He went on and on about how much he liked the eggplant.

We were there for about ten minutes before Alice showed up with my brother and two other young people from church. There was also another older couple that my parents had invited, and this brought the grand total of guests at lunch to nine. Maw-maw fried five batches of eggplant, and there wasn't a single, solitary morsel of it left by the time we all finished eating.

Michael was a gentleman. He didn't know all of the ways and customs of people in the south, but he was adaptable, and he had no problem getting along with everyone and pretending he didn’t notice my dad's appraising stares. My grandma had a batch of bread pudding with caramel sauce, and we made a big deal about Michael trying it since it was his first experience with bread pudding of any sort.

He ate it and reacted the way any grandmother would love, with a look of genuine amazement at how good it tasted. My grandma was as charmed as I was.

My dad was cordial to Michael.

That was the most accurate way I could describe his behavior. He was cordial. He wasn't overly friendly, but he also wasn't cold—maybe somewhere in the mid-to-cold section. I honestly didn’t even pay attention to my dad. I just did my thing and let him act how he wanted to act.

Michael answered a few questions about motorcycles, but they came later, after we had already eaten lunch and talked about lots of other things. It was my little brother who finally asked Michael about his motorcycles, and Michael ended up answering several questions about it from Jacob and others. My dad didn't say anything. He just sat there and listened.

"Aww, awwww, goodness Maw-mawww, what do you feed him? Awwww." Jacob held his hand over his face, looking down at Duke like he should be ashamed of himself. He fanned the air in front of him. "You need to go outside, boy."

"Don't fan it over here," my mom said, causing us all to laugh.

Maw-maw clapped her hands. "Duke, go outside and do your business!" The dog was extremely lazy, but he knew by my grandmother's tone that she was serious. He moaned and groaned as he got up and headed for the door.

"Do I need to let him out?" Dad asked.

My grandma shook her head. "He'll push the door."

I, for one, was happy about the distraction that came by way of the dog's bellyache. Michael didn't seem to mind all the questions, but I was relieved for the change of subject.

"We're gonna take off," I said.

I glanced around at everyone. My statement had come out of nowhere, and I found them all looking at me with confused expressions.

"Who?" my dad asked.

"Michael said he'd give me a ride home," I said. "I’m gonna stop by and see his shop on my way."

This whole plan was news to Michael, but he didn't say anything to contradict me.

"I'm glad y'all came over, sweetheart," Maw-maw said. "And it was very nice meeting you, Michael. You're a nice young man."

"It was my pleasure Mrs. Lewis, and lunch was…" he hesitated as if searching for the right words. "Amazing. Memorable. It was so good, I'll remember it and probably wish I was eating it again."

"There's plenty of chicken left, sweetie. You should make a plate lunch to take home with you."

"Thank you," he said. "I wish I could, but I doubt I can carry it on my motorcycle."

"A motorcycle?" she asked.

"That's what we've been talking about, Mom," Dad said. "He sells motorcycles."

She looked back and forth from me to Michael. "You're not leaving on a motorcycle right now, are you?" she asked with a serious expression.

"Yes, Mom, it's parked in your driveway. They rode it over here."

"Well, I'll be!" she said. "It must be a two-seater."

"It is," Michael said.

"Is it the kind in a little bucket off to the side?"

Michael smiled. "A sidecar? No, ma'am, she just sits on the seat with me."

"I'll be!" Maw-maw said again.

I leaned over to hug my grandmother and she reached out for me and then leaned over to touch Michael after we embraced. He gave her a quick, sideways hug.

"Thanks again for lunch," he said.

"Yeah, thanks Maw-maw. That was so good."

She patted Michael's arm. "You're welcome to come over next Sunday, too. I was thinking about making fried chicken."

"That's very nice of you," Michael said. "I really appreciate it."

I hugged my friends and family and said goodbye to them all, promising Alice that I would call her later that evening. Everyone was still sitting around my grandma's living room and dining room when we walked out.

"I'm sorry I included you in plans we hadn't discussed." I said as we headed toward his motorcycle.

He seemed like he was going to say something and then changed his mind. We walked a few more paces in silence before approaching his motorcycle, and right before he got on, he reached out and took my hand. "Ivy?"

"Yeah?" I asked, feeling like I couldn’t breathe.

"I want to be included in your plans."

I smiled. "Good. I have one."

"One what? A plan?"

"Yep," I said. "Do you have enough gas to get us like five or ten miles down the road and back?"

"Yes."

"Could we go by my house first so I can change into some pants?"

***

Michael waited in my parent's living room while I changed. I put on some floral fitted pants and a short-sleeve white cotton blouse. I checked myself in the mirror before going out to meet him again. I stopped in the hallway and dug in the closet where I found a lightweight patchwork quilt. I was holding it under my arm when I went into the living room.

Michael stood, looking at me and shaking his head. I had tied a scarf around my neck just in case I needed it later for my hair. I realized it was the first time I had worn pants in front of Michael, and he looked me over, shaking his head with an irresistible grin that said he approved of my attire.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I wish I would have brought a helmet with me."

"A helmet?"

"Yes. If I had one with me I make you put it on."

"You don't wear a helmet," I said.

"Yeah, but I'm not worried about something happening to me," he said.

He was so sweet and handsome and I stared at him, feeling swept away.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the object I was holding.

"A blanket," I said. "I know of a place we can go if you want."

Michael took a deep breath and took a step toward me. I expected him to kiss me passionately, but instead he sighed regretfully. "Ivy, I already feel like we're pushing it with your dad. Are you sure he wants us, uh, taking one of his blankets?"

"I'm not trying to be inappropriate with you," I assured him.

"I didn't say you were, I just know he's already cautious of me as it is. I just don't know how he'd feel about you carrying off a blanket, you know?"

"He won't feel anything because he won't even know. I'm only taking it out there with us because I thought we might want to sit down and talk for a little while. I didn't want to get chiggers, that's all."

"I don't guess I want to get chiggers, either," Michael said. "That sounds bad."

"They are bad. Did you ever have them?"

He shook his head. "How do you get them?"

"By sitting in the grass without a quilt."

"That sounds terrible. We should definitely take the quilt," he said.

I wrinkled my nose at him because I knew he was teasing me. I started to turn and walk away, but he caught me by the arm. His grip was extremely gentle, but it was his bare hand on my bare arm, flesh to flesh, and I felt that electricity over again.

"Ivy," he said.

"What?"

He could tell I was a little embarrassed, I knew it by the way he smiled patiently at me.

"Don't think for a second that me not wanting to take the blanket is me rejecting you in any way."

"I know," I said.

I was taken off guard by him saying the R word, and I found myself dissecting his statement to make sure I shouldn't feel just that. I glanced away, and Michael used his fingertip to tilt up my chin. I made eye contact with him again, smiling shyly.

"Look at me, Ivy."

I did, and he gave me a sweet, concerned expression. "Why are you clamming up like this?"

"Because, it's just silly that my dad or his quilt even has to be a factor. I'm used to not having to answer to my dad when I'm at school, and it makes me feel embarrassed to have to sneak around." I let out a little sigh. "I'm sorry he's cautious of you. I hate that."

"It's not a big deal," he said. "I just think it's smart if we try not to give him anything to be mad about—at least not right away."

He still had his hand on my arm, and he moved his fingers, causing my heart to race. I looked right into his pale blue eyes, and my chest rose and fell as I took a deep breath.

"Does this mean you're never going to kiss me again?" I asked with a little huff.

Michael's face broke into a slow smile. "No, it does not mean that, Ivy. It does not mean that at all."

Chapter 12

I had almost worn sandals. I had a pair that matched my outfit, but I knew Michael was concerned with me getting burned, so I put on a pair of white tennis shoes instead. I stood in my parents' living room with Michael, feeling thankful that I had made that choice because my toes were completely curled up, leaving the tips of these tennis shoes completely vacant. I was happy he couldn't see the indication of my nerves, and I just stayed still, trying to remember to breathe.

He had just mentioned that we should be smart when it came to my dad, and for some unfathomable reason, I asked him if that meant he wasn't going to kiss me.

He assured me this wasn't the case, but he didn't do what I thought he would do, which was kiss me right then. I stared long and hard at Michael while we were standing in my living room, and he didn't kiss me. I looked at his mouth, tracing the curves of it and thinking maybe I should take matters into my own hands—and he looked at mine like he really did want to do it, but he didn't. Maybe he thought the minute he did my family would walk through the door.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"You're taking me," I said.

I ran into the kitchen. There was a pencil and pad near the telephone, and I wrote the words, "Will be back around dark," and sighed it with a heart and my name. I left it on the counter in a place my parents wouldn't miss before crossing to the living room again.

Michael was standing with his hands in his pockets waiting for me, and instead of crossing to him, I just went for the door and motioned for him to follow me.

I told him I wanted to take this one specific highway out of town and that I would give him further directions once we were on the road. Michael folded the quilt tightly and stashed it in a small, leather pouch that was attached to the side of his motorcycle.

I straddled the motorcycle with slightly more elegance now that I wasn't wearing a dress. I had just ridden it a few minutes before, but the unsteadiness of being balanced on two wheels still came as a surprise. I squeezed tightly and buried my face in his back for the first couple of minutes before I felt steady enough to straighten up and check out our surroundings.

I looked up to find that we were at a traffic light in a busy neighborhood, and there were several people visible either in cars or out on the sidewalk. I made eye contact with a young girl in the car that was next to us. She waved, and I wanted to wave back to her, but I was too afraid to take my arms from around Michael, so I just smiled really big and gave her a long blink like you'd do to a baby. It was a silly gesture to make at a twelve-year-old, but I wanted to assure her that I got her wave and returned it.

Michael's hand came over my arms, giving me a squeeze as if to make sure that they were firmly in place before he took off. I smiled again at the girl as we drove away, and she smiled back at me.

I took Michael to a waterfall.

It wasn't the most impressive waterfall I'd ever seen, but it was close to town, and it was on private property, so there was never anyone else there.

I led Michael to the trailhead, and we hiked about a third of a mile from the road to the small clearing in the woods. It was a warm day, but we were so surrounded by forest that the area near the waterfall felt cool.

I found a dry, grassy area nearby where there was a gap in the trees and some filtered sunlight, and with one quick motion, I spread out the quilt and then sat right in the middle of it. Somehow, I managed to also kick off my shoes as I was in motion, and within seconds, I was completely settled and comfortable in the middle of the quilt.

I stared up at Michael with a smile, and he shook his head as he smiled at me. I let out a little laugh at the sight of him, and the way it made my stomach flip. He held his palms up and looked around, checking out our surroundings. "What is this place?" he asked.

"One of the deacons at my dad's church owns all this land, and he said he doesn't mind if we come out here. He's got a big swimming hole, too. Jacob and his friends like to go over there. More people know about that place, so it's busier. There's hardly ever anyone out here at the waterfall."

Michael kicked off his shoes at the edge of the blanket, stooping to his knees and crawling toward me. He swiveled and sat down, positioning himself right next to me—so close that our sides were touching. The small waterfall was roughly twenty feet from us, and we stared at it, listening to the sounds of rushing water. We sat there for a full minute.

"It's heaven out here," Michael said dazedly. "If I had this thing on my property, I'd build my house right over it."

I looked at the side of his face when he said that, and he smiled.

"I'd have waterfall floors," he said.

"Would the waterfall still work if you built a house over it?" I asked sincerely. I studied the ground around the waterfall, trying to consider the logistics of it. "Is it possible?" I asked, now feeling genuinely curious. "Would a waterfall still work if someone built a house over it? You know, if you built it just right. Could you do that?"

I looked at Michael who grinned and shrugged. "You really would have to build the house just right. And you would have to not care that you were kind of living outside. You'd basically be letting critters into your house on a continual basis."

"I don't care for critters in my house," I said.

He continued to smile. "You probably aren't a good candidate for a waterfall house."

"Are you having a waterfall house?" I asked.

He shook his head with a serious expression. "I don't have any land with a waterfall on it."

"Me neither," I said.

"You have some you can borrow, though," he said referring to the fact that we were currently enjoying the benefits of having such land.

He stretched out, crossing his legs and resting his head on his folded arms. I stretched out next to him, letting the sides of our bodies barely brush as I got settled into place. We stared upward at the canopy of trees, watching them sway in the wind.

Michael asked me about my brother, and this led to me telling him the whole history of my family—the way my mom died when I was a toddler, and my step-mom had raised me ever since. He asked me questions, and the answers I gave him were the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

He told me the truth about things, too. He told me about his childhood. He had grown up in Detroit in a less-than-picturesque family situation where both of his parents drank heavily. He was often unsupervised, and would sneak into businesses just to see what they were doing. This meandering was where he discovered his love for designing transportation.

He had fallen in with the right people at the right time, and ended up in a mentoring situation with an older man that worked for Cadillac. One thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, he was hired as a designer for Chevy. He worked there for three years before deciding to quit so he could focus on building motorcycles.

He had a small shop in Detroit and had just started to make a name for himself when Mr. Morrow passed away, leaving the garage to him. It was in a older neighborhood in Memphis, and he knew his neighbors wouldn't be excited about having a motorcycle shop there, but he wasn't about to turn down the gift. He might have just sold it out right so that he didn't have to deal with the disgruntled neighbors, but the truth of it was the body shop was too perfect. Mr. Morrow had been somewhat of a collector, and most of the items could be repurposed for Michael's business.

He said he came down to Memphis to look at the place, feeling like he would probably just put it up for sale and be thankful for the money, but he took one look at it and knew he had to move in. The gift of a fully operational garage complete with an apartment was too great to pass up.

We stayed on that blanket, conversing without even moving or picking up our heads, we just lay there, stretched out, looking at the trees and listening to the waterfall as we got to know each other.

We had been there for a couple of hours when, in a moment of companionable silence, I scooted closer to him. We had learned a lot about each other during the conversation, and I felt like I wanted to be closer to him—like our cautious proximity was no longer necessary since we had shared so much.

I scooted toward him, lifting my head and moving his arm so I could use his chest for a pillow. He easily took me into his arms, shifting so that I would be comfortable. I cozied up next to him, resting the side of my face on his chest near the crook of his arm. I reached across him, taking his hand into mine with a feather-light touch that caused literal jolts of electricity to move through my fingers.

"Will you sing for me?" he asked.

"When?"

"Now."

"I don't have a piano."

"You don't?" he asked. He strained a little in a fake attempt to lift his head as if looking around for one. "I guess you will have to sing without one," he said, relaxing again.

I smiled against his chest. I wanted to have the confidence to burst out in song with no hesitation. I wanted to know exactly what to sing and how to sing it so I could make Michael Bishop mine.

I adjusted in his grasp so that I could breathe a little better, and I took a few measured breaths while I thought of what I could possibly sing. I went for a jazz song called Summertime because it was slow and it seemed to fit what we were doing. I sang it softly in my falsetto voice but using my more soulful style.

Michael stayed quiet and still the whole time I sang. His hand was lightly touching my arm, and I could feel the slight movements as he let it brush against me, but otherwise he was motionless. It was after I sang the last note that I felt Michael's chest rise and fall has he let out a long sigh.

I sat up, propping on my elbow and shifting so I could stare down at him. "What?" I said, referring to his sigh.

"You." he shook his head and rubbed his own face, wearing a serious expression. I was only a few inches from his perfect face, and there was nothing I could do to stop my giddy smile at how much I affected him.

"I can't believe you can sing like that," he said. "You almost made me cry just now, and I don't even do that. You almost made tears happen in my eyes."

I grinned at him again. "Almost doesn't count," I said, noticing only dryness around his eyes. "How do you even almost cry, anyway?"

"My eyes, they got stingy there for a second when you were singing," he said.

I laughed. "Stingy?"

He nodded, and I situated myself, leaning over to position my face even closer to his. We were now only inches apart.

"Michael," I whispered.

"Ivy."

"You said you were gonna kiss me," I said breathlessly. I didn't mean to be forward, but I was so swept away that I couldn't help it.

"Ivy," he said.

"What?"

"I've never, in my whole life, wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss you right now."

My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. Another little grin forced my mouth upward, and I bit my lip. "Why aren't you doing it?" I asked.

"I'm laying here wondering the same thing," Michael said. "Why can't I just lean forward and kiss you?"

I stared directly at his mouth, which was only a few inches from mine. "Why can't you?" I whispered.

Michael inspected my face thoughtfully. "Because it doesn't seem like enough," he said. "I really want to do it, but with you being Ivy and everything, I wish I could think of a better gesture."

"So, you don't want to kiss me?" I whispered. I stuck out my bottom lip just a little, teasing him and causing him to rub his face like he was trying to maintain his composure.

"No, I do. I really do."

He still had his hand over his eyes when I let my lips fall onto his. I did it swiftly, but then I froze in place, letting my mouth rest on his. I took him by surprise because I heard him take a breath as he pulled his hand away from his eyes. Michael's eyes popped open, and there I was, right in front of him with my lips still on his. I shamelessly remained there even though he hadn't been expecting me to do it.

Michael remained a bit stiff for a second before he reached up and put his hands on each side of my face. His big hands enveloped my face so completely that I grinned at the relief of feeling him hold me. He leaned forward, and kissed my lips while I was still smiling.

"That's better," I whispered just before he kissed me again. I had so much built-up anticipation when it came to kissing him, just barely touching his lips made my blood warm. He kept a hold on the sides of my face as he continued. I let him control our movements, and he proceeded to somehow make a kiss more than just a kiss. Michael Bishop told a story with that kiss. He was gentle and thoughtful, and he kissed me softly, and deeply, and then softly again. He smiled in between kisses and whispered things to me that I'll never forget.

That moment in time was so perfect and passionate that I wanted more than anything to tell him I loved him. I got on the very edge of doing it a few times, and each time I would get nervous and know that it was too early and talk myself out of it.

We kissed, and whispered, and teased, and talked, and laughed for what must have been another hour before deciding to fold up the quilt and ride back to town.

Chapter 13

Michael

Two months later

Michael and Ivy spent the next two months together. They went out to Jim-bo's on a weekly basis, and each time, he watched in amazement as Ivy sang rhythm and blues in a way that sincerely moved him and others.

He saw her as an instrument—one that God himself would delight in hearing. Ivy performed at church as well, and she did a beautiful job, but it was never with quite the same emotion that she used other places. He knew she was holding something back with gospel music, and he hated that. Her rhythm and blues persona would have transferred beautifully, but Ivy wasn't willing to let the two worlds intersect.

She got a phone call while she was home for the summer. It was a record producer up in Nashville who had gotten her name from someone at the blues club over there and wanted to hire her for some studio gigs.

Michael congratulated her and encouraged her to go through with it, but it was bittersweet for him to think that Ivy would soon be headed back to Nashville. The time for her to do that was much sooner than Michael cared to admit. Ivy would be leaving in a few short days, and the prospect of it made Michael feel most irritable. They hadn't discussed plans for the future other than just assuming they would see each other on a regular basis.

Michael was lost in thought as he worked, considering the two-hundred-mile gap that would soon develop between them when he heard pounding on the metal door that was on the side of his building.

"It's open," he yelled as he lifted his welding helmet.

He turned to find that there were three men darkening his doorway—all of them were substantially sized men, and none of them looked very happy. The one in the middle was Stephen Meyers's dad whose name was Stephen also. Michael had met him one other time in the months since he came to town, and he recognized him instantly.

Max was working full time with Michael, but he had gone to pick up lunch when the men showed up.

Michael took off his helmet, and set down his welding equipment, removing his gloves as he came to stand a little closer to the men. He noticed that the one on the left had a gun and badge. He was dressed in a suit, but Michael could see the gun and badge under his coat. The one on the right was a huge, burly guy, and he stared in a threatening way that made Michael level Mr. Meyers with a sideways stare.

"Can I help you?" Michael asked.

"You sure can," the man said.

"Okay, how?"

"I know you've been seeing quite a lot of Ivy Lewis this summer."

"Yes sir, I have." Michael didn't grow up using the word sir all the time, but he had learned in his short time in Memphis that the term went along way with southerners.

"I just came to tell you that's over," the man said.

Michael stared blankly at him as if he had lapsed into a different language.

"The affair you're having with Ivy Lewis," Mr. Meyers continued. "It's over."

Michael let out an involuntary laugh. "Affair?" he asked in disbelief. That was not at all the word he would use to describe what was going on with himself and Ivy. Not even close.

"What's so funny?" asked the big threatening looking one.

"It's just an odd word to use," Michael said.

"I don't care if you think what I say is odd, young man. Just so you get the point that whatever was going on between you and Ivy Lewis is over. We decided we would give her the rest of the summer to get this string of wild choices out of her system, but she needs to be done with all that. She'll focus on her studies during her last year of college, and when she comes home next summer, my son will propose."

"Oh, is that how you think it's going to work?"

"Yes it is, actually," Stephen said with a gravely serious look on his face. "My son is quite fond of Ivy, Mr. Bishop. He grew up with her, and they have been through a lot together. He's ready to settle down, and he's chosen Ivy. It has been the plan all along."

"Yeah, well, I don't think Ivy knows about your plan."

"I don't care what Ivy knows, Mr. Bishop."

"My son wants the hand of Ivy Lewis, and I intend to help him obtain it."

"I'm sorry Mr. Meyers, but your son is going to have to find someone else to marry. Ivy loves me."

Stephen laughed cynically. "Ivy is a naïve twenty–year-old girl who doesn't know who she loves, or what she wants, or what's best for her."

"She's not twenty," Michael said.

Mr. Meyers sneered at him. "She's not far from that."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Meyers, but I fail to see how you have any authority in this situation."

"I want to see my son happy and I'm capable of helping him get that happiness. That's all the authority I need."

"Yeah, but there's nothing you can do."

"Oh, but there is something I can do to Ivy and her family," he said. "I could change everything with a few phone calls. I hope it doesn't come to that."

"What could you possibly do?"

"I could turn Ivy Lewis's life upside down. Most of the people in that man's congregation are lifelong friends of mine. We do the hiring and firing around there since we fund ninety percent of the church. I would hate do it, but with a phone call or two, the Lewis family would be done here."

Michael squinted at the man. "Are you telling me you want to take Ivy as your beloved daughter-in-law, and that you would ruin her entire family before you would have it any other way?"

"Yes."

"That's completely ridiculous," Michael said. "You don't care about her."

"No, I don't," Mr. Meyers said. "And I don't have to. I'm not the one who wants to marry her. It's my son. I have no feelings for the girl other than making sure she and my son are happy and taken care of."

"She's not going to make your son happy if she's forced into marrying him."

"Nobody is going to force her."

"That is exactly what you are doing by coming here and threatening me."

"No it's not," he said sternly. "This is completely separate from Ivy. This is about you. You're going to break things off with her before she goes to school. She's going to take a year to take her wounds, and when she gets back, my son will have a life built for her that she won't refuse. She will have the best of everything. She will lack nothing."

"She's not the type of girl who cares about that," Michael said.

Stephen laughed. "Maybe not now. Not while she's all swept away by the romance and the motorcycles." He gestured around the room. "One day all this is going to get old. One day, she is going to wake up and hate herself. She's gonna curse the day that she lost the respect of everyone in her hometown when she married the trash that rolled into town one summer."

The cop and the big bruiser guy both nodded their agreement to his last statement, and Michael stood there with his fists clinched, barely able to stop himself from hitting Stephen Meyers square in the jaw.

"Listen, Mr. Bishop, it's plain and simple. Your job is to end things with Ivy Lewis before she leaves for school. End of story. If the leverage over her family isn’t enough, you should consider the impact you would have on her future and her good name here in Memphis. You should really consider doing what's best for Ivy. Her family would be much happier with this match, and that means a lot to a woman. Maybe not now, but eventually she would hate you if you were the reason her family no longer talked to her."

"Are you trying to tell me Ivy's family would disown her if she stayed with me?"

"I know they're not happy with the match, and I'm not even sure if they know that you met Mr. Morrow's brother in prison."

"You're right, I did meet him in prison, but I wasn't in prison. I chose to be there."

"You met the man in prison, Michael. It doesn't matter why you were there, only that you were. You made acquaintances through the state penitentiary. Do you think that's the kind of name Ivy deserves—the kind her parents want for her? You seem like a smart young man. Do you think she's gonna be satisfied with your little motorcycle business in twenty years? No. The answer to that is 'no'. Not when it came at the cost of destroying her family. She's gonna end up hating you for it. The choice is simple. Do the right thing, Michael. You'll thank yourself later."

The three gentlemen turned and headed out of Michael's shop.

"Do what you need to do before Ivy leaves, and you'll be saving her a lot of pain."

The big menacing looking one pushed over a piece of sheet metal on his way out, causing it to clang violently to the ground.

Max must have heard the commotion or seen the men in the parking lot because he came around the corner a minute later wearing a concerned expression. He was carrying brown paper bags, and he stared at Michael as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, Max said, "Sorry, man. I forgot you didn't want cheese, and I accidently got you a cheeseburger." He continued to glance around cautiously, checking to make sure everything was okay. "I'm sorry about the cheese," he said when Michael still said nothing.

"It's fine."

"I saw some guys pulling out," Max said. "It looked like the sheriff's department."

"One guy was a cop. And there were two others."

"What'd they want? A bike? Man, you should build bikes for the police department. You could customize some cruisers. City of Memphis." Max held a small bag in the air between them, and Michael reached out and took it from him.

"He wasn't here because he wanted to buy anything," Michael said.

"Why was he here?"

No longer hungry, Michael tossed his food onto a nearby countertop.

Max opened his burger and took a huge bite out of it before repeating his question. "Why was he here?" he asked with a mouth full of food.

"To threaten me," Michael said. "They came here to threaten me."

Chapter 14

I had borrowed Michael's car a few times over the summer. He was content for me to use it anytime I wanted, but I only took him up on it when I couldn't make other arrangements—like today.

I promised Jacob and a friend of his that I would take them to swim at the pond one last time before I went back to Nashville, and my Mom found out at the last minute that she needed her car to take someone from the church to a doctor's appointment.

Michael happened to be at my house when that conversation with my mom occurred, and he volunteered the services of his Bel Air. Michael had to work, but I took Jacob and his friend out to the pond in the Chevy, and we stayed there all day.

We dropped Jacob's friend off at his house before going to Michael's shop. My brother and I both loved it and had spent a lot of time there that summer. Jacob came with me as often as I would let him, which ended up being about a couple of times a week. I personally saw Michael just about every day for the last nine weeks, which meant that I was officially dreading the time three days from now when I had to head back to Nashville.

Michael and I hadn't made any official plans, but we seemed to have an understanding that we would try to see each other as often as possible after I moved. We probably should have been making more concrete arrangements, but honestly I hated to think about or talk about leaving, so I just put it off.

I walked up to Michael's shop, feeling worn out from a long day in the sun. Michael's name and logo were painted across the entire side of the building, and I stared absentmindedly at it as Jacob and I approached the building.

"Get it, Jacob, Bi-shop," I said, looking at the name. I pointed. "Bi, like two wheels, and shop, like the shop where you buy them."

Jacob studied the sign before letting out a good-natured chuckle.

Michael met us at the door. I wasn't expecting him to be there, so I gasped when I saw him. "Hey," I said with a smile.

I thought he might lean in and give me a kiss on the cheek, which (in recent weeks) had become our standard greeting.

He didn't kiss me on the cheek.

He didn't even lean in.

He gave me a smile, but it was forced.

"Are you okay?" I asked, thinking maybe he wasn't feeling well.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. I'm just tired." He pointed to his car key like he wanted me to hand it to him. "I'll go ahead and give you guys a ride home. I know you're probably ready to get back."

My heart sank at the way he stared through me as if he wasn't even seeing me.

Disconnected.

Distant.

For whatever reason, my ears began ringing. It was as if my body new something had changed between Michael and me, and it physically wanted to shutdown. I felt light-headed as I handed him the key. We walked to the car and sat in it, and the whole thing seemed like a dream.

Michael continued to talk to Jacob and me, but something was different. Something had changed. His sudden shift made me feel desperate and hopeless. I knew something was wrong, and it almost felt as if I was swimming through the whole encounter. I felt a yearning, drowning feeling in my chest and an ache in my jaw.

Michael came to a stop in the driveway, and he turned off his engine. "Night, Jacob," he said, shifting in his seat to regard my brother. "We'll see you later."

Jacob had good social skills, and even though he would have wanted to hang out with Michael all night, he smiled and got to the edge of the back seat so that I could let him out.

Within a few seconds, my brother had climbed out of the car, thanking Michael again for letting us use the Chevy. I adjusted in my seat and closed the door. We watched Jacob run in front of the car toward the house.

"What's the matter?" I asked, trying to look him in the eye. "Michael," I said.

If there was one thing I knew about Michael Bishop, it was that he was real. He had never been afraid to look me in the eyes, and now I could hardly get him to do it. He made eye contact with me and it made him wince as if it literally caused him pain.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Michael."

"I think we should break up," he said, looking straight ahead.

I stared at the side of his face. "Michael, look at me and repeat what you just said." I knew in my heart that he wouldn't be able to do it. Hope rose up inside me and I held my breath as I waited for him to say he was kidding.

He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Ivy, we need to break up. I'm breaking up with you."

I stared at him in stunned silence.

My ears began to ring, and my eyes burned. I blinked, feeling physically hurt from the heartache.

"Michael, really?" I asked.

Hot tears filled my eyes, and as soon as I blinked, a drop rolled down my cheek.

Michael saw it happen, and he looked away with a pained expression. "I'm sorry, Ivy." It was as if he had to force the words to come out of his mouth—choke them out. "It's just how it has to be."

"So this is it, Michael?" I was trying my best not to cry, but it was impossible to make my voice come out properly. It was warbled and weak, and I barely got the words out. I thought my pitiful delivery might cause Michael to glance at me, but it didn't. He stared straight ahead, wearing a stone-faced expression.

I wanted him to soften.

I wanted him to turn and look at me that way he'd been doing for the last two months.

I wanted him to be that same guy.

But he wasn't.

The Michael I had gotten to know all summer was not in the car with me.

"This is it, Ivy." He answered my question in a slow, measured tone.

"I'm going to get out of the car," I said. I reached for the door handle, but I did it slowly because I wanted desperately for him to stop me. "Michael, look at me. Are you seriously saying you don't want to see me again?"

He turned to stare at me. "Yes," he said. "That's what I'm saying. We can't see each other anymore."

"Why are you saying we can't see each other? Why are you putting it that way? Did something happen?"

"Would you rather me say I don't want to see you, Ivy? Fine. I don't want to see you anymore. It's been fun, but you're going back to school, and we both need to move on."

"Fun?" I asked. I moved in front of him to try to get him to look at me. I had never seen him look so cold and disconnected. He was like a robot—one that could turn on and off his feelings. There was emptiness in his eyes. He had nothing for me anymore. The realization made that desperate feeling in my chest well up so uncontrollably that I cried. My face contorted with tears so violently that I had to cover my face with my hands. I let out a wheezing sob as a rush of emotion took over. I took one deep breath, feeling angrier than I had ever felt in my whole life. My head was buried in my hands, and I hunched over where Michael couldn’t see my face. I took a deep breath and composed myself.

"Michael, I hate you for doing this."

"Don't worry, I hate me enough for both of us," he said.

"But you're still doing it?"

"Ivy, please don't make this harder than it already is. Just go."

I turned to face him when he said that, shaking my head at him when I realized he could hardly bear to look me in the eye.

That was the last thing we said.

Without another word, I opened the door and got out of the car. I had a big bag with me from our trip to the swimming hole, and I was fully clothed, but even still, I felt naked as I closed his car door and walked in front of the car and across the driveway.

It was a nightmare.

I felt a distinct crushing sensation in my chest that made it difficult for me to get a breath of air into my lungs.

My parents were in the kitchen, but I went past them without saying a word. "Hello Ivy," Dad called as I went down the long hallway toward my room.

"Hey," I called back.

I didn't feel like talking, but I knew if I didn't answer, one or both of them would come check on me. I saw Jacob in the hall, and he smiled at me. I tried to smile back but I just couldn't do it.

His face instantly shifted to one of the concern and he tilted his head at me. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

I shook my head as a silent tear fell onto my cheek.

"Is it Michael?"

I nodded.

"What happened?"

I shrugged because I couldn't make the words come out of my mouth.

"Did he break up with you or something?" Jacob asked, still whispering.

I tried to nod, but I couldn't. More tears fell onto my cheeks, and my little brother got the idea that the answer was 'yes'.

"Why?" he asked. "Why would he do that?"

I shrugged.

Jacob craned his neck, looking into his room as if maybe he could still see Michael's car in the driveway, but I knew he was long gone. Jacob put his hands over his face and sighed, shaking his head like he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"It's impossible," he said. "He liked you so much."

"He didn't like me very much in the car just now," I said.

"I could tell something was bothering him, but I had no idea…" Jacob trailed off, not knowing what to say.

I turned and went into my room.

I felt as though the weight of the whole world had come crashing down on top of me. Without Michael, there was a big, gaping hole in the rest of my life. It was as if I had just stepped off the edge of a cliff into a bottomless chasm, and I would just have to free-fall forever.

Chapter 15

Michael

Nearly a year later

Michael Bishop had grown his motorcycle business exponentially during the past year.

He was brokenhearted, and he threw himself into his work as a distraction and release. He now had three full-time employees and would soon hire one or two more.

From the outside, it seemed as if Michael Bishop had it all figured out. He had silenced the skeptics who said he would never make it in Memphis. He was well on his way to doing exactly what he predicted and becoming as big as Harley. He was good at it. He smiled, talked to customers, and conducted business like a true professional, but on a personal level, he had changed.

Michael hadn't been the same since he ended things with Ivy Lewis. He switched off some part of himself when he told her to leave, and he hadn't been able to switch it on since.

The sad part was that he was in a pretty good position with the ladies. He had a successful rebel thing going on. He went to church and was extremely successful, and yet still somehow maintained a bad boy image because of his motorcycles.

In the past year, he had gone from Memphis's most misunderstood to Memphis's most eligible. The funny thing was that he had no idea he was so desirable, and even if he had known, he wouldn't have cared.

He couldn't care less about his own romantic marketability because, as far as he was concerned, he was done with love.

Losing Ivy had hurt him too much.

It had been ten months since he saw her, and thinking about her still made his heart hurt. He had heard enough gossip to know that she was having success in Nashville, and that helped him grin and bear it through the pain of not having her.

Ivy had been on his mind nonstop for the past hour or so, ever since her brother called to ask if he could come by the shop. Michael knew Jacob had turned seventeen, so he thought maybe he was interested in buying a motorcycle.

It was just after noon, and Michael's employees were all at the shop working when Jacob came by, driving his mom's car. It was a beautiful day in early summer, so they had the garage door open. Michael had been expecting Jacob's visit, and he was waiting for him when he arrived. He met him at the entrance.

"Hey, Jacob, it's good to see you," Michael said as they shook hands. "You went and became a man since the last time I saw you."

Jacob smiled shyly.

"Did you come to look at a motorcycle?" Michael asked.

Jacob's smile faded as he shook his head. "I just came to talk to you about something personal, if you don't mind."

Michael's heart dropped. "No, not at all," he said. He pointed to the shop. "Do you want to go inside? Or I have a table out here under those trees. We could go sit over there."

"That's fine. The table's fine." Jacob said.

The two gentlemen made their way toward the shady area near the side of the building. There was a wooden picnic table under a group of small trees, and Michael and Jacob walked to it.

"It's been a while," Jacob said.

"Yes it has," Michael replied.

"You don't come to our church anymore," Jacob said.

Michael sat on the closest bench, and Jacob sat next to him.

"Nope," Michael said.

"Why'd you quit coming?"

"Because I didn’t want to anymore."

"Do you go somewhere else?"

"Yes, I do go somewhere else," Michael said, wondering if that's what the boy had come to talk about.

Jacob was quiet for a few seconds. He stared at the ground beneath his feet, absentmindedly shifting the dirt and working up the nerve to say what he came there to say.

"Why'd you break up with my sister?" he asked.

Now it was Michael's turn to have to work up the nerve to say something.

The mention of Ivy made the blood rush from Michael's head, and he rubbed his eyebrows as he tried to figure out how to answer Jacob's question.

"Because she really liked you, and I thought you really liked her," Jacob added when Michael didn't answer right away.

"I did like her. I loved her."

"Then why did you break up with her?"

"It's complicated, Jacob."

"Yeah, well, so is Ivy's life right now, but you wouldn't know that."

Michael felt a stabbing sensation in his chest when Jacob said her name.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"She's sick," Jacob said. "And not just sick as in ill. That's not what I'm talking about."

"What are you talking about?" Michael asked, getting to the edge of his seat and feeling frustrated.

"Ivy," Jacob said. "She hasn't been the same since… well, since last summer. She quit school right when she got back to Nashville. She called home, saying life was too short and she was quitting school to pursue a career in music."

"I heard she was doing well with that," Michael said. "I'm happy for her."

Jacob just looked at Michael and shook his head as if to say he shouldn't be happy.

"My parents cut her off, but she didn't care. She makes tons of money playing and singing." Jacob paused, but Michael didn't say anything, so he continued. "She says she's doing great, but she's not. I can tell. She hadn't spoken to my parents in months before she called the other night. She didn't come home for Christmas, and she has never done that. And she's got all these friends who party all the time."

"Why hasn't she spoken to your parents?"

Jacob regarded Michael with a serious expression. "Honestly, I think it's because she thinks my dad had something to do with what happened with you. That's why I came to see you. I was hoping if that was the reason, then we could try to make things right. Maybe I could talk to my dad." Jacob shrugged. "I don't know. I felt like I needed to come to you and say something. The other night, Ivy called in the middle of the night, crying and panicking, and thinking she was dying, and then an hour later, when we were just about to leave for Nashville to help her, she called again and said she was fine." Jacob shook his head and stared blankly as he remembered. "We went to see her the next day anyway, and she wasn't well, Michael."

"What's that mean?"

Jacob shrugged. "I mean, I think she thinks she's well. She's making money, and she has lots of success and lots of friends and everything, but she's just not the same. She's hurting. She's my sister, and I can just see it."

Michael's chest hurt at the thought of Ivy being in pain. He wanted to be next to her instantly, and he had to fight the urge to get in his car and take off for Nashville without even knowing where she lived.

Jacob took Michael's silence as disinterest.

"It's probably stupid that I came over here," he said. "I didn't mean to bother you. I know if you liked her you would've stayed with her or whatever. I was just kind of hoping against hope that my dad had something to do with it, that way it would be something I could try to fix."

Michael was so full of thoughts emotions that he didn't even know where to begin. He had never felt so overwhelmed.

"I'm glad she has you for a brother, Jacob," Michael said, after a few seconds. "And it's not the least bit stupid that you came over here. I don't know what to say. I haven't been the same since things ended with Ivy, either."

"She said you were the one who did it. She said you broke up with her."

"I did, but not because I wanted to," Michael said.

"Did my dad make you?" Jacob asked, sitting up a little straighter as if reluctantly contemplating confronting his father.

Michael shook his head and put his hand on Jacobs shoulder to make him settle down.

"Then why did you break up with her?" Jacob asked.

He was so determined to find the truth that Michael felt he had no other choice but to tell him.

"Three men came into the shop that day that I ended things with her. They came to me and threatened your family. They didn't threaten me, they threatened you—Ivy's family."

"Who was it? What did they say?" Jacob asked incredulously. "That they would kill us?"

"No, they didn't say they kill you."

"Then what did they say? What did they threaten you with? Who was it?"

"They said your dad would lose his job. They also said that Ivy's family would never talk to her again if she married someone like me."

"Why didn't you just ask us if we liked you?" Jacob asked as if it were that simple.

"How about your dad losing his job? What was I supposed to do?"

"Why would you be worried about something like that?" Jacob asked with a completely confused expression.

"Because a job is important, Jacob."

"Yeah, but if my dad lost his job because of who my sister chose to date, then he was meant to lose it, anyway." Jacob gestured with his palms up as if indicating the area around them. "We serve the living God. The one who created everything. The one who gives breath and life. There's no threat against my dad's job that God doesn't know about or can't take care of. He could just smite those guys if He wants to."

Michael smiled. "I guess He could," he agreed.

"He can. If there is one thing I've learned growing up a preacher's kid, it's that God defends us. God's got it handled way better than we can. God doesn't need you to go break my sister's heart over something like that."

"You're probably right."

"I know I am," Jacob said. "And who was it?"

"Stephen Meyers."

Jacob made a dismissive sound. "That guy's getting married to someone else, anyway."

Michael's heart was pounding uncontrollably by the time they finished the conversation. He knew he would be leaving for Nashville that same day. He felt so compelled to go there that he stood up and began pacing in front of the table.

Jacob was right.

Michael thought about all the kid had just said and wondered how a seventeen-year-old could be so reasonable and smart. He looked Jacob in the eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to express his gratitude. He could see how concerned the boy was for his sister, and he loved him for that.

"I love her," Michael said, regarding Jacob with a man-to-man expression. "I love your sister, Jacob. I was only trying to protect her. It's the only reason I did what I did."

Jacob let out a relieved sigh. "I hate to tell you this, but your plan might have backfired a little bit. I think she really liked you. I'm glad you feel the same way."

"I do. I love her."

Jacob smiled. "I was at her house yesterday, and I just kept having this feeling like you were the only one who would be able to get through to her. I'm so glad I came over here. And I'm glad my dad didn't have anything to do with this."

Michael shrugged. "He still probably doesn't want me with his daughter," he said.

"I'm sure he'd rather see her with you than those people we saw at her house yesterday."

"What people?"

"I told you. She had a whole bunch of people at her house when we first got over there. It was ten in the morning, and they were just laid out all over the place like they had been up all night."

"Guys? Were there guys?"

Jacob nodded, and Michael felt his blood pressure begin to rise. He clenched his fists and instantly began thinking of all the things he needed to pack to get on the road. He could not get on the road soon enough.

"Do you think you'll try go see her?" Jacob called, as Michael started to walk away.

"I'm leaving now," Michael said from over his shoulder.

Chapter 16

I had only been working as a full-time musician for about a year, but in that short time, I had played over a hundred gigs in towns as far away as Chicago and New Orleans, and been a part of over sixty studio sessions.

Those numbers might not sound like a lot, but by the time you do all the practicing, and planning, and rubbing of elbows, and keeping up appearances that goes with it, it's easy to feel like you're working all of the time. I was making real money, so I didn't complain.

Up until now, my studio experience had been playing and singing backup on other peoples records but not my own. I did have plans in the works for my own record, though, and hoped to get working on it soon.

I had always been drawn to the blues, but there was something about having my heart ripped out of my chest and smashed into a thousand pieces that that made me able to sing the blues in a real, raw way that people really understood.

I played and sang the blues, and people responded. My music was sad, and I was great at it because I was sad. The passion with which I sang was directly correlated with the heartache I felt.

So, in that way, maybe I should thank Michael Bishop. Maybe I should shake his hand for helping me get in touch with the singer people seemed to love so much.

But you know what? No. I didn't feel thankful. I would take it all back if I could. I would, in a heartbeat, trade all of the money, fans, and records for one single day with Michael. If I could have the same Michael I knew in the summer of 65, I would trade it all for one day with him. In my mind, if I had him for a day, I could talk him into loving me again. I could talk him into never leaving me.

I thought about him as I stared blankly at the people in my backyard. I hated being alone and almost always had someone else at my house. I didn't like the idea of coming home to an empty house after a late night gig. I was the one who paid for the house, but I had two other roommates (friends from college) who I let live with me for free just because I liked their company.

I always had people around, but I never mentioned Michael to any of them. They didn't even know he existed. I was surrounded by people all the time, and they weren't even aware of the one thing that was on my mind the most.

I was surrounded by people and still alone. I drank, and sometimes I took prescription pills, but honestly I didn't see myself as having a problem or even think I was doing it as a way to cope. I thought I was just doing it for fun. That stuff was just part of the scene when you're a musician, and nobody thought of it as doing anything wrong.

I wasn't trying to make excuses or anything. I knew I was probably giving a bad name to all preachers' kids by using drugs and alcohol, but those were the choices I was making at the time.

My parents didn't care, anyway. I had barely spoken to them in months. I was convinced that my dad had something to do with my breakup with Michael, and I just couldn't understand how somebody who loved me could do something like that.

They had financially cut me off long ago, and I normally didn't call them for anything, but that Tuesday night, I had an attack of nerves, and I wound up calling my mom to ask her and Dad to pray for me.

They came over the following day (which was yesterday) to check on me. Their visit was a surprise, and I could tell the number of people in my house took them and Jacob off guard. It wasn't my fault. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and I had no idea they were coming over. I had no time to prepare.

They stayed for most of the day, and I tried my best to interact with them, but it was a little weird. It was impossible for me to fully forgive my dad for the heartache I had experienced. I told them they could stay at my house so that they didn't have to make the trip twice in one day, but they insisted that they needed to get back.

Jacob didn't want to leave. I could tell he was worried about me, and I did my best to assure him I was fine. I told him that I thought Dad had interfered with my life, and I was mad at him for it, but that this happened to families sometimes, and I was sure I would get over it soon. He had smiled at me and assured me everything would be all right.

Currently, I had my roommates and some other friends over, and all of us were sitting outside while a few of the guys grilled hamburgers. There were about ten of us in all. The house I rented wasn't outrageous, but it did come with a small pool, and I had my feet in it as I watched some of the others clown around in the backyard.

There was music playing. I had on fashionable clothing and an oversized hat with a pair of designer sunglasses. I wore a big smile. To look at me from the outside, one would think I had everything figured out and didn't have a care in the world. I hoped to do a good job of making it continue to appear that way.

It was a beautiful Thursday evening, and I didn't have to work. I was on my fifth or sixth drink, and we hadn't eaten dinner, so I felt that swimmy sensation even earlier than I normally would.

I was staring blankly into the reflected light of the pool, thinking maybe I should slow down a little bit or eat something, when I heard one of my friends yell my name.

"Ivy!" he said.

I turned to find my roommate's boyfriend standing in the opening of the sliding glass door, waving at me.

"Ivy!" he repeated. "Somebody's at the door to see you."

"Who?" I asked.

"He said his name's Michael," he said.

I stared and the direction of the doorway, but everything became blurry when my eyes filled with tears.

Alcohol makes you do funny things, because even as I said the next words, I knew I didn't mean them. I knew it wasn't what I was in my heart, yet it was what came out of my mouth.

"I don't know anyone named Michael," I yelled nonchalantly.

My heart felt as if it might explode. It was aching and beating at about four times the speed than it had been only seconds before.

I numbly turned around, staring into the pool again and wondering what in the world was wrong with me.

It was less than two minutes later when I felt Eddie, my roommate's boyfriend, kneel down beside me and put his hand on my shoulder.

I glanced at him from over my sunglasses and under my hat, and he regarded me with a cautious expression.

"I told this guy you don't know any Michael, and he didn't take that too well," he said. "He seems to think you do know him. He said he's not going anywhere until you go out there and talk to him."

"Where is he?"

"Out front," Eddie said. "He's getting upset. Do you know him?"

I nodded.

"Well, he's out there," Eddie said. "Waiting."

"What did he say?"

"He just asked for you, and when I said you don't know any Michael, he said for me to ask you again, otherwise he was coming in with or without my permission. I wish you would just go out there and talk to him. And if not, I don't want to be the one to tell him you not coming."

My heart pounded. I felt brave and scared at the same time. I let out a shaky sigh. "Help me up," I said.

Eddie offered a hand to help me to my feet. I stood so swiftly that I felt lightheaded. I lost my balance and almost fell into the pool.

"You okay?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, I just stood up too fast," I said.

"I'll take that," he said gesturing to the glass I had in my hand. It was empty except for two small pieces of half-melted ice, and I threw my head back, taking them into my mouth before handing Eddie my glass.

"Thank you," I said.

We walked into the house together, and Eddie went into the kitchen as I crossed to the front door. The shades were drawn in the front of the house, so I didn't set eyes on Michael until I opened the door.

There he was.

Just the same as I remembered him.

Michael Bishop, standing right there on my front porch. There was a glass door separating us, and we had only met eyes for a second or two before he reached out, opening it and stepping around it in one motion.

He didn't ask how I felt about it or if I wanted him to; he just closed the distance between us and took me into his arms, taking my hat off in the process. My face squinted with tears, and I buried it in his chest. He held me tightly, and I cried with relief and anger and about a hundred other emotions.

Between the tears, I leaned into him, smelling him, and feeling his heartbeat. I felt him breathing as his chest moved under my face, and I realized that I was never so alive as I was when I was touching this man.

"Ivy, I’m sorry," I heard him whisper after a minute.

I think it was the word sorry that did it.

I thought about all the nights I cried over him, and a combination of those memories combined with alcohol made me utterly snap.

It was a bad evening.

My new "perfect" world was intersecting the world I really wanted deep down but had left behind. I didn't take it too well. I should have taken the time to eat something—that would have probably helped a little bit, but as it stood, I ended up letting the alcohol give voice to all the anger, hurt, and embarrassment I had felt during the last year.

I fought with Michael.

It seemed like he was trying to be reasonable, but I didn't feel reasonable when I looked at him. To look at Michael, was to want him. I felt the uncontrollable urge to send myself flying into his arms. I knew I would end up giving my heart back to him if he asked for it, and I was sincerely terrified of doing that.

So, I fought with him.

I wasn't even sure what all I said.

The timing was bad. I had definitely had too much to drink when he got there.

My friends came in the house several times during the evening to check on me, and every time, I told them to leave Michael and me alone—that I had some stuff from my past to deal with.

It was a bad night.

I could see that Michael was being patient with me, and yet I just stood there and said bad things to him. I said hurtful things—things that I hoped would make him leave—things that I hoped would protect me from another broken heart.

I asked my friends to leave after they ate their burgers. They were reluctant to do it because of my emotional state, but I assure them I would be fine.

Michael stayed with me that night even though I'm pretty sure I asked him more than a few times to leave. I remember him tucking me into bed and saying he would see me in the morning.

I woke up at 8am the following morning with a pounding headache and an extremely dry mouth. I had a nightmare that Michael Bishop had come to my house and I had done nothing but fight with him and tell him I wanted him to leave.

I blinked and stared at the alarm clock, having vivid memories of my dream and experiencing pain in my heart at the thought of Michael. I felt extremely nauseated, and there was a stinging sensation in my jaw. My stomach clinched and my mouth filled with spit.

I barely had time to make it to the bathroom before I threw up. I almost never threw up, and I hated to do it, but apparently, it was the first thing on my body's list of things to do that morning.

I was in the middle of getting sick when I felt someone come up behind me. The person grabbed my hair, keeping it out of the way, putting a hand on my back while I finished. My body knew it was Michael before my brain did. I felt a reaction to his touch before I even realized who it was.

By the time I was finished getting sick, I remembered that my nightmarish encounter with Michael was not a dream but had actually happened.

It was Michael.

He was still at my house.

Michael Bishop was standing behind me, helping me hold my hair back while I did the most disgusting thing I could possibly do.

I hated myself.

Physically, I felt much better when I finished. I knew I had freaked out on Michael the night before, and I felt wretched about that, but at least I now felt more in control of my body.

I gave Michael a regretful smile without making eye contact. I needed to look at him—I just wasn't able to. I felt his presence and could see him out of my periphery, but I found it impossible to meet his gaze.

"Are you okay?" he asked, touching my shoulder. He was so sweet and concerned. It seemed as if he wasn't mad about the things I said to him the night before, which was inconceivable to me since I remembered some of it, and it was horrifying.

"I'm fine," I said sheepishly. "I actually feel better now." I sighed guiltily as I stood up, still not looking at him. "I think I should probably take a shower."

Chapter 17

I cried in the shower.

I got out a good cry while I took a hot shower and washed my hair, and then I stayed in there, letting cool water hit my face for about five minutes before I got out. It was hardly noticeable that I'd been crying by the time I blasted myself with cool water.

I cried because I hated myself for the way I acted the night before. Michael had shown up on my doorstep, and instead of embracing him like I should have done, I messed everything up. I cried because I remembered some of the hurtful things I said to him, and I wished so desperately I could take them back.

I had looked into his eyes and told him straight to his face that he had lost his chance with me forever when he ended things last summer. I asked him to leave and told him I didn't want to see him anymore. I had been a drunken emotional wreck, and now there was nothing I could do to take back all of the things I said in the heat of the moment. I was plagued with regret and dreaded going back into the living room to face Michael or find him gone.

I put one foot in front of the other and went through the motions of getting dressed. I towel dried and combed my hair before changing. I started to wear pants and a blouse, but it was still early, and I just didn't feel like getting dressed.

I wore a nice set of polka-dot pajamas—a pair of matching cotton pedal pushers and a short-sleeve button-down top. I headed into the living room, feeling terrified that Michael would be there waiting for me and even more terrified that he'd be gone.

"Hello?" I called softly as I came down the hall.

"Hey."

I heard his voice come from the living room, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. My shoulders visibly slumped when I heard it. I straightened before I rounded the corner. I was still reeling a little bit, but I felt clean and somewhat more comfortable after a long shower and two thorough teeth-brushings.

Michael was sitting on the edge of the couch.

There he was—the man of my dreams.

He was the one.

It was no wonder I'd been so lost without him.

I thought he might get up, but instead, he stayed on the couch regarding me as if wondering what I was going to do or say.

He was barefoot with his jeans rolled up. The night before, he had on a collared shirt, but now he just had on his undershirt—a fitted white t-shirt.

I made eye contact with him. His blue eyes were full of care and concern as he watched me walk toward him slowly. I wanted so badly to make things right with him. I wanted to erase last night. I wanted to erase the last year.

I couldn't bring myself to fall into his arms the way I wanted, so instead, I crossed the room and sat at his feet. I didn't ask his permission or tell him what I was doing; I just walked over and sat on the floor next to him. His feet were separated because of the way he was sitting on the edge of the couch, so I sat close to his right leg. I slid in beside him, holding onto his leg like it was a teddy bear. I rested my face on his thigh, looking away from him.

Michael put his hand on my head, letting his fingers gently trace my hairline. I held on to his leg. I was too overwhelmed with regret to think of what to say. I didn't even know where to begin.

"I'm sorry," I said. I figured it was just as good a place as any to start.

He was quiet for a few seconds before rubbing his hand over the back of my head. I had a headache, but his touch still sent a thrill through me.

Neither of us said anything for a minute. Michael rubbed my head gently, and we just sat there, not talking.

"I made you some coffee," Michael said finally. He gestured toward a mug that was on the nearby coffee table.

"Thank you," I said. "I thought that was yours." (There was a pause.) "I'm sorry," I added again.

"Ivy, I’m the one who should be sorry," Michael said. "None of this would have ever happened if I wouldn't have…" He trailed off. He was using a cautious tone that made me feel like he was still a little bit wary after our ordeal the night before. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he repeated, still touching my head.

I got onto my knees and reached for the mug that was on the other side of the coffee table. The caffeine would, no doubt, help my headache, so I planned on drinking it quickly. Michael knew how I took my coffee, and it had cooled to a perfect temperature while I was in the shower. I drank it down in a few short sips. I sat the empty mug on the table before climbing onto the couch next to Michael.

He had been sitting on the edge, but he readjusted when I sat next to him, turning to face me. He looked at me. His gorgeous blue eyes were full of cautious hope.

"I'm sorry for my behavior last night," I said sincerely. "I feel like I might have ruined whatever you came here to say to me, and I'm really sorry for that. I really am. I wish I could take everything back. I didn't expect you to show up here, and I think I panicked. I could have handled that a lot better. I guess I was just embarrassed—probably scared, too. I'm really sorry."

Michael turned so that he could take me into his arms. He held me tightly, hugging my head to his chest. "I'm sorry too," he said.

I could hear his deep voice reverberating in his chest, and it made me feel like I wanted to cry. I guess maybe I wanted to cry in general. You'd think I'd be all cried-out after last night and just now in the shower, but I wasn't. I had so desperately wanted to be in his arms for the past year that there was nothing I could do to hold back tears of relief. A few of them silently streamed down my cheek.

"I don't like how I acted last night," I said, blinking to clear my eyes. "I'm embarrassed, and I'm so happy you're still here after that."

"I knew you didn't mean all that stuff you were saying," he said, holding me close. "It still stung a little, but I knew you didn't mean it."

"I don't know why I did it. I knew I wanted you to stay. I knew all the things I was saying were wrong, but I just kept saying them. I really wish I hadn't been drinking when you came here."

For whatever reason, it was really hard for me to say that last part. It was difficult for me to admit that drinking had anything to do with it, but the fact of the matter was that it did.

"Have you been drinking a lot?" Michael asked.

I was quiet and still for a few seconds before nodded. "Probably so. It's kind of part of the atmosphere at work."

"If you make it that way," he said reasonably.

"Yeah, I guess," I admitted.

I had a whole sequence of thoughts about my alcohol and drug use during in the past year. None of my choices felt wrong at the time, but looking back on them I knew I could've chosen a better path—one that would have made me proud to be seeing Michael right now rather than ashamed.

"I should have been a better person," I said.

"It looks like you're not doing too bad for yourself," he said. "You have a nice place here."

"Thank you," I said.

He sat there, holding me for a few long seconds while I thought of what to say next.

"How's your motorcycle shop going?" I asked.

"Good. Same as your career, I guess. Working all the time."

"Smiling all the time, but hardly happy," I added.

"Yep."

I lifted my head from his chest and pulled back to stare at him. "Are you agreeing to that?" I asked.

"Agreeing to what?"

"To being hardly happy," I said. "Did you say you were hardly happy, too?"

His mouth lifted upward just slightly in the hint of a smile and he nodded.

"Why are you hardly happy?" I asked, squeezing him as I waited anxiously for his answer.

"Because my girl's been gone from me, Ivy."

"You mean me?" I asked. I felt all tingly at the sound of being called his girl.

He tugged me, pulling me closer. I was almost sitting on his lap. "Ivy, it killed me to let you go."

I stared straight at him, thinking he would say something more, but he didn't.

"Why did you do it?" I whispered.

"Because someone came to me with a threat," he said.

"My dad?" I asked, hoping against hope that it wasn't the truth.

"No, not your dad."

"Who was it?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter. Looking back, it should have never happened. I thought I was making the right choice, the choice that was best for you, but now I know I was wrong."

"You were definitely wrong if you broke up with me for my sake," I said. "My sake wanted to be with you. My sake only wants to be with you." I leaned in, resting my head on his chest again. He held me tightly, and I took a deep breath.

"I've never for a second stopped loving you, Ivy."

I left my face resting against his chest, but I lifted my hand, letting my fingertips gently explore his jaw and the side of his face. He used to always be clean-shaven, but he had some short facial hair lining his jaw, and I let my fingers roam over it.

"Are you saying you still love me now?" I asked.

I felt so nervous and vulnerable that the words came out too softly.

"What?" he asked.

"You said you never stopped loving me, and I wondered if that includes now. I wonder if you still love me now, today, after I was such a terrible person last night."

"I love you so much, Ivy."

"Do you forgive me for last night?"

"I would forgive you for a thousand last-nights."

"You won't have to," I said. I cozied up next to him, tucking my head into the crook of his neck.

"Was it Stephen's dad?" I asked after a minute or two of comfortable silence. "The one who threatened you?"

"How'd you figure?"

I knew by his question that I was correct. Otherwise he would have just denied it. "Because Stephen came up here a few months ago and told me he was planning on asking me to marry him. He wanted to make sure I was prepared to say 'yes'."

"What did you tell him?" Michael asked.

"I didn't even really take him seriously," I said, remembering how it all went down. "He drove all the way over here for one of my shows, and I didn't think it'd be nice to ignore him, so I told him he could come by here afterward. I had a bunch of people over. He told me he had come to propose, and that was so far from my mind that I actually laughed at him like I thought he was joking. He went home right after that. He could see I had my own life and I wasn't the same girl who would humor him the way I used to do when we were younger." I paused and shrugged. "That was a few months ago, and Mom mentioned yesterday when she was here that he just got engaged to Loretta Collins, so I guess he wasn't too beat up about it."

"Well, I don't plan on moving on so easily," Michael said.

"You don't?" I asked, feeling happy and hopeful.

"Nope."

"It's a good thing I have no intention of refusing you," I said. I cringed inwardly, remembering how I pleaded with him to leave the night before. "Thank you for not giving up on me last night. Thank you for staying."

Michael rubbed my head as a way of telling me he wouldn't think of leaving. "Your brother came to see me yesterday," he said. "He's such a good kid. So smart."

"I know he is. He told me when he left the other day that he was gonna fix everything." I shook my head. "I didn't know he would actually do it."

"I'm glad you feel better," he said.

"Me too."

He patted my arm. "Speaking of things that will make you feel better… let's get up, and I'll make you some breakfast."

Chapter 18

A few months later

I wished I had done things differently.

I wished I had stayed strong and stayed focused on God even when my circumstances weren't going the way I thought they should. But you know what? I didn't. I messed up. I focused on the wrong things, and I wasted time. Period.

I couldn't go back and change what was already done, so I had no choice but to start over.

I sought God and found that He was not only there for me in my brokenness, but He also didn't judge me for it. I had learned valuable lessons from the time I wasted, but I felt no condemnation about it. I felt only forgiveness, and patience, and new beginnings. I truly knew in my heart that God would use my choices (even the poor ones) for some kind of good that I might not even know about yet.

In my repentance, I had a supernatural assurance that God did not hold grudges—I truly knew I had been forgiven and washed clean, and it was a beautiful thing.

I felt thankfulness right down to my bones.

***

I sat at a piano, looking out at a crowd.

I was performing at the largest fair in Memphis—it was a gig I had scheduled before I even knew I was moving home.

It was early fall of '66, and I had only been officially back in Memphis for a few weeks. It had taken me the rest of the summer to tie up my loose ends in Nashville and make scheduling adjustments for my move.

So, there I was, in my hometown, performing soul music for at least a thousand fans. They had given me an extremely warm reception and had been singing, swaying, and dancing the whole time.

I had reconnected with God and gotten closer to Him in the last few months, but I hadn't yet let my love for soul music intersect with that world. I wondered if tonight might be the night.

I stared out at the crowd, feeling like I wanted to share with them that grateful feeling I had. So, instead of performing Dancing in the Street to finish the set like I had planned, I turned around and told the band I was taking this one on my own.

I proceeded to sing and play Amazing Grace like nobody but God was watching.

My hands and voice went to work in a display of gratitude to my Maker—my King and Savior—my Mighty Redeemer.

I had never before used my soulful approach to music to sing to God (at least not for an audience), and I had no idea how they would respond.

I had my eyes closed when I played the last note, and I didn’t hear anything right away. I opened my eyes at the same time that the audience broke into applause.

I focused on them as I stood, and I realized that they were wiping tears and gesturing to me—acting like they were moved or touched by what I had just done. It made me feel overwhelmed. I stared at the wooden stage beneath my feet. I already felt such gratitude that to be praised for sharing it seemed like too much. I was all stirred up inside, and I felt true fulfillment in using my best gift to point to the One who gave it to me.

They cheered like crazy, and I smiled and waved and took a little bow as the announcer came to stand next to me. He was a charismatic older man who often announced at town functions, and I recognized him just from being at things like this. He was carrying his own microphone, and he came to stand next to me and put his arm around my shoulder.

"What a treat! My goodness, I didn't know you were a gospel singer, Miss Ivy!" He paused and used his hanky to wipe the sweat off of his brow and tears from his eyes dramatically, drawing a round of laughs from the audience.

He held his microphone in front of me and looked at me, waiting for me to respond.

"I didn't know it either," I said timidly.

The way I said it was such a stark contrast from the boldness with which I had just sang that another round of laughter came from the attentive audience.

"You didn't know?" he asked with a funny shocked expression just before he held the microphone in front of me again.

"No sir, that just kind of came out."

"Well, I hope there's more where that came from," he said, wiping his brow again dramatically.

There was a round of cheers, and I squinted into the lights and waved to the audience. This drew more cheers, and I smiled and blew a kiss.

"I can hear it now!" he said, patting my back proudly. "Ivy Lewis, the biggest name in gospel music."

"Bishop."

I said the word instinctually but under my breath. I hadn't meant for the announcer to hear me.

"Ma'am?" he asked, putting the microphone right in front of me.

"Bishop," I said since I was unable to think of anything to say besides the truth under the circumstances. "I was thinking my name would eventually be Bishop."

I said those words into the microphone, and even as they came out of my mouth, I was thinking, what in the world are you thinking, Ivy?

"Bishop like the motorcycle?" the announcer asked.

"Yes, sir," I said when he put the microphone in front of me again.

"Does this mean you're engaged to Mr. Bishop of Bishop Motorcycles?" the man asked.

Again, he placed the microphone right in front of me, waiting for my response.

"Yes sir, but he doesn't know it yet."

The crowd got a good kick out of that, and so did the announcer. He laughed right along with them. "I guess he does now, if he's here tonight," he said, squinting into the audience.

I leaned toward the microphone. "He is here, but he's not here—here. I mean, he's at the fair; he just couldn’t be at my show. He had to work. He has a tent set up over there by the arena."

The man continued squeezing my shoulders and wearing a huge grin as if truly enjoying the interview. "So, let me get this straight," he said. "Mr. Bishop is working right now and missing all this exciting news of his own engagement?"

I laughed, and the audience did as well. I leaned in to speak into the microphone. "Y'all please don't go over there and tell him I said all this," I said.

"You heard the lady," he warned. "Don't go tellin' the man he's getting married. That's the kind of news he might want to get from his future wife and not a bunch of people he doesn’t even know." The announcer squinted into the distance, looking toward the arena. "I wonder if he can hear us," he said. "Maybe we should whisper!" he whispered into the microphone making them all crack up again.

He put the microphone in front of me once again, and I leaned toward it. "Thank you for having me," I said.

Then, in a very official, announcer-type voice, the guy said, "Everybody give it up for Ivy Lewis while she's still Ivy Lewis!"

They all cheered, and I bowed and waved.

I was almost off the stage when I heard the announcer talking again. He mentioned how sweet I was and how much he enjoyed my set, but I was only half-listening because I knew it was only about me and not to me.

I was flustered by what I had just done. I had basically announced to the whole town that I planned on marrying Michael Bishop even though he and I hadn't even talked about that yet.

It wasn't just that, either. In fact, maybe I did that whole announcement thing just to distract myself from the bigger thing, which was that I just sang gospel music for the first time like I really meant it.

I talked to a few friends when I first came off the stage, but I hurried off while he was announcing the next act, so I was able to escape without speaking to a ton of people. I was still shaken as I walked across the fairgrounds.

The fair was packed. I made my way down a dirt path with my head down so I could watch my step in the moving mass of people. My thoughts were going a mile a minute, and I was surprised by how quickly I made it to Michael's booth. I looked up when I got to the edge of it and saw the front tire of a motorcycle.

I saw Michael standing on the far end of the tent, talking with a man and gesturing to a nearby motorcycle.

"Hey Ivy," Max said when he saw me walk by.

"Hey," I said, smiling at Max.

He and two others were working the booth along with Michael, and unlike Michael, Max wasn't helping any customers at the moment. I was so anxious to talk to Michael before someone else had the chance to tell him what I had done, that I was about to ask Max to take care of Michael's customer for me.

Just then, while I was looking at Max and contemplating the appropriateness of asking him to do such a thing, I heard a little whistle come from the other side of the tent.

I glanced in Michael's direction to find that he was smiling at me and had just started to walk my way. His customer had turned to walk out of the tent, and Michael's attention was now focused on me.

There were ten or fifteen motorcycles between Michael and me, and he walked so slowly that I was the main one closing the distance. I was glad he did that so that we could be more alone once we finally connected.

Someone started to come into the tent from my right side, and I watched as Michael gestured with a flick of his head, telling Max to take care of them. This exchange only took a second or two and, before I knew it, Michael was focused on me again.

He smiled at me and lifted his eyebrows as I came into his immediate space. It seemed like he was flirting with me, and I felt giddy and nervous.

"What?" I asked shyly.

"What yourself. How'd it go?"

"Fine," I said. I felt oddly timid, and I knew Michael picked up on it, because he pulled back and stared at me as if wondering what I was thinking.

He reached out and grabbed my hand.

"How'd it go here?" I asked.

"Busy. I tried to make it over to your set, but we were non-stop with customers." He gestured to the motorcycles. "We sold more than I expected. I think about half of these are going home with new owners tonight."

"That's amazing!" I said.

The word amazing reminded me of something.

"I sang Amazing Grace," I said.

Michael tilted his head at me, and his expression grew intense as he looked into my eyes. "No, you didn't," he said.

I nodded. "I did. I'm sorry. I know you would have wanted to be there. I was looking out at the audience, and the fair, about to close with Dancing in the Street, and I just felt like I needed to sing it."

"Did you really?" he asked. He was staring straight into my eyes, and I smiled and nodded. "Did they like it?" he added.

I nodded again.

"Congratulations you two!"

The words were called from the crowded pathway, and I knew they were directed at Michael and me. I smiled and waved into the group of people walking by, hoping they wouldn't say anything else.

"What was that?" Michael asked.

"They were just congratulating us," I said. "You know, on everything."

Michael stared out at the path as if slightly confused by the random salutation, but he didn't say anything. I tugged him toward the back of the booth so we wouldn't be so visible from the pathway. He noticed what I was doing and took control, leading me to a spot near the back of the tent before turning me in his arms.

"How did the song go, Ivy? Tell me about it. Tell me everything. I can't believe you sang it and I wasn't there. I hate that."

"It went well," I said. "Everyone seemed to really like it. I looked out after I finished, and it seemed like they were moved. It was crazy. I felt overwhelmed, so I didn't have the best stage presence after that."

"What'd you do, trip or something?"

I shook my head, with a little laugh. My nerves were on edge. My heart was pounding and I could barely breathe. I was staring straight at the man I wanted more than anything in the world, and I felt petrified and elated at the same time.

"I think I might have said we were getting married. I probably definitely said it, I think. I did. I just came out and said that."

His face went serious. "Who, me and you?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Who'd you say that to?" he asked.

My heart fell at his serious expression.

"Everyone," I said.

"What exactly are you saying?" he asked.

"After I sang, the man interviewed me, and I sort of told all the people at the concert that my name would be 'Ivy Bishop' because me and you were getting married." I bit my lip, and glanced toward the front of the tent. "That's why they said congratulations just now."

He kissed me.

I had been expecting him to say something, but instead he just grabbed my face, pulled me toward him, and kissed me—right on the lips—a big, smacking kiss. He held onto my face and we both smiled before he spoke.

"Did I miss you singing gospel and my own engagement?" he asked.

I smirked and nodded, and he kissed me again.

Chapter 19

We stood under that tent, and Michael let his lips meet mine with a few sudden kisses—excited kisses that made me smile uncontrollably. He kissed me multiple times, tilting my face this way and that as he placed them all over my cheeks and mouth.

Somebody walking with the fair traffic noticed us and called out from the crowd. It was obvious that they were talking to us, but we pretended not to hear it.

"Come on," Michael said.

"Where are we going?" I asked, breathlessly as I jogged behind him.

Michael was obviously in a hurry to go somewhere.

"Michael," I said. "Where are you taking me?"

"Keys to the blue cruiser," he said, looking at Max and speaking to him in shop talk.

Max shrugged. "Richie started it for a customer earlier."

Michael looked at Richie, who was on the other side of the tent, talking to someone. "Richie, I need the keys to the blue cruiser!" Michael called.

I just stood beside him, feeling breathless and quietly holding his hand. Before I knew what was happening, Richie threw Michael a key, and Michael pulled me over to a gorgeous blue and silver motorcycle.

"What are you doing?" I asked when we came to stand by the bike.

He straddled it. "I'm taking you away from here. I need to kiss you right now, and we can't get any privacy here. Get on."

"Michael," I said, unable to believe he was serious.

"What?"

"We can't go anywhere on that."

"Why not?"

I looked at our surroundings. We were right in the middle of the fairgrounds. The paths were closed to vehicles and only had pedestrian traffic. I looked outside the tent with a cautious expression as if making sure I wasn't missing something.

"We can't just start that thing up and drive down the walkin' path."

"Sure we can," he said. "Don't worry, people will hear us. They'll get out of the way. Come on; get on. You'll see."

"Have you done this before?" I asked tentatively.

He shook his head as he started the engine. It revved to life with a low rumble that startled a couple of people who were walking nearby. I smiled at them regretfully before getting on the motorcycle behind Michael. I braced myself on his shoulder as I stepped over the seat. I was accustomed to riding with him by now, but I felt a little clumsy getting on because of how very wound-up I was. I was being whisked away under most unusual circumstances, and I shook with nervous energy.

He revved the engine cautiously as we drove out from under the tent and on to the path. He was right; people saw us coming, and they made way for us. Michael was a gentleman about it, going slow, and waving at people to thank them for moving to let us pass.

I couldn't help but feel like I was in a parade. Everyone stopped to watch us go by. All of them were either checking out the bike or checking out Michael and me. Several different people yelled out to us. A couple of them must have been at my set because they hollered congratulations.

It was a surreal ride through the fairgrounds on the back of that motorcycle—even more surreal than that time in the church parking lot. Everyone smiled and waved at us and made way for us to get through as if we were on some kind of important mission. I smiled so much my face felt like it was stuck that way.

"Where are we going?" I asked just as we got to the edge of the fairgrounds and were about to turn onto the road.

"Anywhere," Michael said.

He made a left and gunned the engine in a way that had me squeezing his waist and grinning against his back. He took me down a country road just far enough that we were away from any sign of civilization.

The fairgrounds were on the outskirts of town, anyway, so it only took two or three minutes of driving before we were completely isolated. I wondered at first where he was going, but once he pulled over on the side of the road, I realized it was to no place in particular.

He stopped the motorcycle and held it steady as I got off. I stood and waited for him to get off as well, and he did, taking me into his arms as soon as he got to his feet. I easily walked into his embrace, and he held me there, chest to chest. He pulled back and stared down at me with that sweet, gorgeous smirk that said he loved me.

"Okay, now that I can kiss you properly, go ahead and tell me that whole story again."

"You mean about what happened at the fair?"

He nodded.

"I said that you and I were… I said I thought you and I were gonna—"

"Wait a minute," he said shaking his head. "Back up, back up. Start at when you were singing. I want to hear the whole story."

I smiled. "Well, for my last song, I decided to do Amazing Grace, because I was looking out at the crowd and, well, just feeling thankful."

He nodded contently as if enjoying the story.

"So, everyone responded really well to that, which made me all excited and everything. Then the guy interviewing me stuffed the microphone in front of me and called me 'Ms. Lewis', so I told him I was soon enough gonna be Mrs. Bishop." I wiggled my own eyebrows and gave him a silly expression as if I couldn't believe it myself, and this made Michael let out a little laugh.

"What'd you tell them," he asked, "…that you were gonna marry me?"

I nodded. "I told them you didn't know about it yet, though, and they all got a big kick out of that. The old man interviewing me was funny. Right when I said your name, he asked if you were the same one who built motorcycles."

"What'd you say?"

I squinted at him. "I said you were."

He smiled. "I love that story."

"I love the part at the end when you drove me through a bunch of people and then sped off to the woods with me."

"I love that part, too," he said. "But that's not the end."

"What happens next?" I said.

He was staring at my mouth, so there was no doubt in my mind what he was going to do.

"What happens next?" I asked, pretending not to know.

He continued to look at my mouth. "Guess," he said.

I licked my lips, and causing him to smile. "We play tick-tack-toe?" I asked.

"Nope."

"Red Rover?"

He shook his head. "You can't play Red Rover with two people."

"Chess?"

"No."

And then it happened.

He kissed me, and there was no trepidation, no hesitation, no holding back. He put one hand around my back and the other around my head and kissed me as if his life depended on it. I opened my mouth to him, and he answered by kissing me deeply and passionately for several long seconds. My blood ran hot, and I relaxed in his grasp, entirely giving myself over to his kiss.

I felt like I had melted completely by the time he broke contact. My heart pounded in my ears. We both struggled to catch our breath for the first few seconds, and then he smiled sweetly at me before placing a gentle kiss on my now-tender upper lip.

"I see why you had to drive me out here," I said.

He nodded. "We might have caused a scene with that."

I grinned at him. "We caused a scene as it was."

"Yeah, but not one like that would have caused."

I touched my lips, which were still swollen after his passionate kiss. "You're right, that would have."

"Will you please marry me, Ivy?"

I smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

He kissed me again. "So, yes?" he asked.

"I can't wait."

"Then let's do it."

I smiled. "Let's."

"When?" he asked.

I couldn't believe I was having this conversation. I was elated. He was my true love, and here we were, talking about making it official in front of God and the state of Tennessee and everybody.

"I think soon," I said nervously. "Do you?"

"Tomorrow?" he asked.

I smiled and leaned up to kiss him. My mouth landed on his lower lip, and I pulled it into my mouth before letting go and smiling at him again. "I have to work tomorrow," I said, thinking he was joking. "But we could do it the next day."

"Good, so day after tomorrow it is." He gave me a little business-like smile and nod as if to indicate the deal was set.

"Wait, really?" I asked when it hit me that he might actually be serious.

"Yes, really," Michael said. "Tomorrow would be even better, but you're working."

I gave him a sideways stare and a cautious smile. "You seem like you're actually serious."

"I am a hundred percent, actually serious," he said. "As far as I'm concerned, we should've done it already." He paused and regarded me like he was realizing for the first time that this might be slightly overwhelming for me. "If you want to," he added with a casual shrug that made me pop up and kiss the side of his mouth.

"I want to," I said, holding onto him tightly by the waist. "Are we really doing this?"

"Yep," he said. "Hang on a second."

He let go of me but didn’t go far. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocketknife, flipping it open and fidgeting with it until he had the desired tool option. He stooped to the back tire, and used the wire clippers on his knife to cut a spoke loose. I watched as he used the handlebar as a tool to wrap the spoke, creating a small ring. He clipped the wire again before putting away his pocketknife. I watched as he continued to bend and shape the small piece of wire into a circle with his fingers.

He smiled and handed me the almost perfect circle. "It'll have to do till I get to a jewelry store," he said.

I took the ring and slid it onto my finger, thinking how cool God was for letting Michael know how to do things like that. I held it out, staring at the silver band that was now on my finger.

"I love it," I said. "How'd you do that?"

"I just bent a spoke into a circle," he said.

"So, you just broke your bike to give me this?"

"Yes, but I'll fix it. It would be worth it even if I couldn't, but I can."

I folded my hands, staring lovingly at my new ring. "It would be worth it, huh?"

Michael and I went back to the fair after that. We rode in the same way we had left, and again, people willingly made a path for us. It seemed by their expression that they almost enjoyed seeing us ride by.

So many people had seen us that Michael got multiple offers on the motorcycle. I didn't say anything, but Michael could see by my reaction that I was hesitant to see him get rid of it, so he ended up telling the customers he could make them one like it.

I felt as though the entire night had been a huge roller coaster ride. It ended with Michael dropping me off at my parents' house. (I wasn't planning on living there long, but I decided to stay with them until I got my own place.) Jacob was out with some of his friends, and I assumed my parents had already gone to bed.

Michael and I parked in the driveway. I got off of the bike, and he put the kickstand in place but stayed sitting comfortably on the seat. "Where are we going to live if we end up getting married soon?" I asked, coming to stand next to him.

"What do you mean, if we get married soon? I thought it was settled. We already told everybody from the shop it was happening."

I was fully aware that we had already told people, and I was ecstatic about that, but it honestly hadn't fully sunk in that we were really doing it. I shrugged at him.

"Are we going to move in together?" I asked shyly.

He squinted at me. "Of course we are. That's what you do when you get married."

"Where are we gonna live?" I asked.

"At my shop for now. We can get a new place if you're not comfortable there, but the shop's apartment is pretty big if you want to—"

Michael stopped talking when he saw my excited expression. I loved his apartment. It was a big place that needed a woman's touch, and I loved being right there in the middle of the action. I nodded excitedly at the thought.

"The shop's great."

"Just until I get you a proper house," he said. "Once we start making babies, you'll want a bigger place, I'm sure."

I smiled and moved to stand even closer to him so I could tell him goodnight. I rested my leg against his, and he smiled and held onto me. Once again, I felt overwhelming gratitude for this moment.

"Night," I said. "I love you."

"Come see me in the morning," he said.

"I will."

"Ivy?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."

"You do?"

He nodded.

"How much?" I asked.

"More than motorcycles," he said.

"More than music?" I asked.

Michael made a thoughtful expression but nodded.

"Good," I said. "Because I love you more than music and motorcycles, too."

Chapter 20

I became Mrs. Ivy Bishop exactly one week after I announced our engagement at the fair. I moved in with Michael, and in the weeks since we got married, I had made a cozy little nest out of the apartment that was attached to the back of the shop.

Jacob helped me build a couple of planter boxes out back so I would have a vegetable garden come spring. I did things like that (and other small projects) while Michael was working, and he always looked forward to seeing what had changed when he finished.

We had been married for two months now, and we both loved how the place was looking. It was the middle of fall, and cool weather was officially upon us. The floors of the shop were concrete, and the same was true for the apartment, only when Michael moved in, he had them polished and stained to a rust color. I thought the floors were really nice, and I didn't want to install wall-to-wall carpet, but my latest project was to make a few braided rugs out of scraps of fabric in my mom's attic for the sake of keeping my feet warm. I wasn't great at making rugs, but I enjoyed the process, and my third one was better than my first.

I liked my side projects, but music was still my priority. My parents bought us an upright piano as a wedding gift, and I played it for Michael all the time. He was sad about missing my gospel debut at the fair, but he got to hear me all the time now. I played soul renditions of hymns for him any chance I had.

When I wasn't playing music at home, I was doing it in Nashville. I had been back and forth to Nashville way too many times since I moved back home, but I would soon be on a schedule where I was able get by with only going up there one or two times a month. I still wanted to stay active in the music scene, but not nearly as much as I did when I lived there, or even as much as I'd been doing in recent weeks.

I had to go to Nashville literally every weekend lately. In fact, I hadn't been to church at my dad's at all since Michael and I got married. This would be my first weekend at home, and today my first time back playing the piano for the service.

My dad heard about the rendition Amazing Grace that I did at the fair, but he hadn't heard me sing it. He told me just before the service started that a hundred people had requested it in recent weeks, and that many of them would be at the service today in hopes of seeing me sing. He said word had gotten around that it was my first time playing since I moved back. My dad also made a point of saying he would like to hear me do it, which made me even more nervous than the hundred other people.

I was so uncertain that I didn't commit to doing it. I told Dad we'd do Amazing Grace either way, but that I would decide how it would go once the service started. I knew from the moment I walked out that I would do it.

I came out of the backstage area and saw right away that the sanctuary was packed. There was not an empty seat in the house, and there were even a few standing in the back. There were familiar faces and some who were unfamiliar. It was a mixed group, and I smiled as I looked out at them. I realized I saw some faces from Jim-bo's and Michael's shop, and other equally unlikely places, and it made my heart feel happy.

I knew I had to use the voice God gave me.

There was a microphone next to the piano just in case I decided to sing, and I turned it on the instant I sat down. Mr. Dixon glanced at me in surprise because the plan was that I might sing Amazing Grace, and that was the last song. I winked at him and began playing according to plan. He was the stuck in his ways sort, but he was also a professional, so he rolled with it, continuing with the service.

I sang along to all the songs, but I did it very softly with the microphone pushed away from my face. I mostly blended in with the choir until it came time for the last song. At that point, I gave Mr. Dixon the nod that I would take over from there.

I prayed one simple prayer before I sang.

In those few seconds while the others were leaving the stage, I prayed that God be glorified by what I did. It was my true prayer for that to happen, therefore I sang only to and for Him. I sang with all my heart, thanking God for His truly amazing grace. I glanced at the crowd some, but I wasn't focused on them—I was only focused on singing the song.

My dad wept.

I caught sight of him when I was almost done with the song. His face was in his hands and he was really weeping. I had to look away to keep from crying myself. The reason it touched me so much was because I could tell my dad wasn't touched because he was proud of me, or because of the Church was packed. He was crying because he was in just as desperate need of God's grace as I was.

I kept my head down for the rest of the song. Seeing my dad nearly moved me to tears, and I decided for the rest of the song to just sing and pretend nobody was even there.

I finished the song and made a small bow to a round of applause. I headed into the rows of pews where I found Michael and sat right next to him. He told me how beautiful and special I was before we focused on my dad who had gone up there to preach the sermon.

He was all torn up at the beginning, and he wiped his eyes and said how thankful he was for me sharing the song and especially for God's grace. I knew that's what he had been thinking, and it was still hard holding back tears as I watched him get himself together enough to preach.

Before I knew it, church was over and we went to my grandma's to eat lunch. Her fried eggplant was a favorite of Michael's, and he usually ate about twenty pieces of it before she was done frying it.

He was currently inside intercepting piece twelve or so while the rest of us lounged around the house, doing other things and waiting for her to finish up. I was on the back porch with my mom and dad, and we could see Michael and my grandma through the kitchen window. Maw-maw had put him to work breading eggplant, and she paid him in bites.

Jacob yelled at my mom to come see something on his new motorcycle, so she got up to go do that. With my parents' permission, Michael had given it to him as an early graduation gift, and Jacob was anxious to show it to anyone who would stop and look.

I personally had already looked it over about 250 times since Jacob got it. He loved it so much that he basically wanted to take it apart and put it back together just for fun. Michael had created a monster, and I shook my head and smiled as my mom walked over to the side of the house to get a motorcycle lecture from Jacob.

"Ivy, baby, I wanted to tell you thank you for…" my dad cut off what he was saying in such a way that told me he was trying not to cry as he said it. "I just wanted to thank you for singin' this morning."

He touched my leg with a comforting hand, and I smiled at him.

"That's a really special gift you have, Ivy. You get it from your mother. She could sing like that. It's special, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your dad. I think you're able to minister to a different generation with that voice, Ivy."

"Michael's in a unique position, too," I said. "He's able to reach people even you or I wouldn't be able to reach. He earns the respect of a certain group just because of what he can do with motorcycles. Did you know Michael met Mr. Morrow's brother in prison?"

My dad nodded. "I heard something about that but then the Sheriff said he couldn't find where he had a record."

I let out a sigh. "He doesn't have a record because he wasn't in there serving time. He was there because he chose to be. It was a rough prison, and they couldn’t keep a Chaplin, so he volunteered. He talked shop with them, and earned their respect. And after about a year of planting seeds, Mr. Morrow's brother ended up accepting Christ. Mr. Morrow had been trying to get his brother to believe in God for years, so he wrote a letter, explaining that he had accepted Christ and that it had come about through a young man who had been volunteering at the prison. Mr. Morrow was so thankful for his brother's conversion, that he gave Michael the shop."

My dad took a second to let what I said sink in. "Why haven't you mentioned that?"

I shrugged. "I guess I knew it would make you like him, and I wanted that to happen without trying to convince you."

I knew Michael was a different type of man than my father. But I also knew that they could be different and equally as good—equally as capable of reaching people.

My dad breathed a long sigh before squeezing my leg. "I do like him," he said. He glanced toward the window where his mom and Michael were working. "I'm proud of you—proud of both of you."

I smiled, knowing it was not only a sweet statement but also an apology.

"I'm proud of you, too," I said. It always gave me a funny feeling to say that to people who were older than me, but I did it anyway.

Dad glanced at me with a smile and thanked me. I was looking at him when Michael came out of the house. I noticed he was carrying a piece of eggplant.

"Is that for me?" I asked before he ever made it out of the door.

"It wasn't, but you can have it if you want."

I had been sitting on a swing with my dad, but got up so I could meet Michael. He grinned at me as he held the eggplant in the air. I chomped the end of it, taking about half and leaving the other half for him. He popped the rest into his mouth just before he reached out to take me by the waist. I went easily into his arms, and we smiled at each other as we chewed the completely, utterly delicious bite of food.

My dad got up, saying something about checking out Jacob's motorcycle as he opened the screen door and walked outside.

"How many of those have you had already?" I asked, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes. I really didn't care how many he had I just felt like I wanted to flirt with him by asking questions.

"Too many," he said. "I'm already full. Can't you feel my big belly?" He poked out his belly, and I touched it, but it was just trim and hard.

"You're just trying to get me to notice how muscular you are," I said, still flirting.

"Nu-uh," he said. "I don't care if you see how big my muscles are or not." The whole time he said it, he was slowly bringing his arm out front so he could flex his bicep. He held his crooked arm between us and stared down at his own muscles as if he was completely serious even though I knew he was being silly. "Go ahead and squeeze it," he said with a straight face. "Feel that."

I felt his arm and then looked at him with wide eyes, lifting my eyebrows as if I was completely shocked. "Wow," I said. "You must work out."

"I do," he said, confidently nodding. "And I have my own business. I build motorcycles. I have to do a lot of heavy lifting and manly stuff."

He was so good at being completely serious that it was all I could do to hold back a smile.

"Sounds interesting," I said with a straight face. "Motorcycles, you say?"

He nodded.

"Did you get all these muscles just from motorcycles?"

He nodded again.

"I think I want to go to your motorcycle shop."

"You can," he said. He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss right on my lips. "Why don't you just move in?" he asked after he kissed me.

I nodded. "I think I will."

Epilogue

Michael

Not even a year later

"Twins?" Michael asked, looking totally dumbfounded. "Are you serious? Two of them? Two babies? Does Ivy know?"

"Of course she knows," the nurse said. "She was sedated for the delivery, but she's already met the babies."

"She has? They already came out? Two of them? Are they here? Where are they?"

Ivy's family was in the waiting room with Michael, listening to everything that was being said. They heard the birth process had begun four hours before, and Michael had been pacing the waiting room floors ever since.

"Mrs. Bishop is still a little groggy, but everything went well. She had the chance to meet the babies, and they're both healthy."

Ivy's mother let out a relieved sigh and collapsed into her husband's arms.

"Are you saying there were two babies in my wife?" Michael asked.

The nurse looked at him. "Yes sir, two," she said. "A little boy and a girl."

Michael felt light headed, and Ivy's mom made the noise to match—another gasping sigh that sounded like she wanted to pass out.

"So, they're not identical?" Jacob asked dazedly.

Honestly, it didn't seem like a bad question to Michael at the time, but the nurse chuckled at Jacob.

"No, they're not identical," she said. "One's a boy and one's a girl."

"Two babies?" Michael asked, staring at the nurse but not really seeing her.

"Yes sir. Congratulations. They're nice looking little ones."

Another happy whimper came from Ivy's mom.

"And you're sure you have the right person?" Michael asked.

"Ivy Bishop," the nurse said with a smile. She reached out to pat Michael's shoulder, indicating that she wanted him to follow her. "I think the mother would like to see you, if you're ready."

Michael followed the nurse down two long hallways before they reached Ivy's room. The door was cracked, but Michael couldn't see anything until he stepped inside. The nurse went in before him, and Michael had to take a few steps into the room before he could see his wife.

There she was—her dark hair pulled away from her face—that angelic face that was smiling sleepily at him. She had two bundles in her arms, and both of them were swaddled and seemed content. One was in pink and the other in blue, and Michael glanced at them for a second before looking at Ivy again. She was completely out of it, but he could see that she was happy and seemed comfortable.

There was another nurse in the room when they arrived, and Michael didn't even see her before she spoke. "She's already fed them both," the second nurse said. "She believes in breast feeding, so we brought one of our leche nurses up here to get her going. I think they did real good. The babies are resting." She leveled Michael with a stare and gestured to Ivy. "She's going to be tired for a little while, and she's going to have her hands full with two babies, so you take care of her. Is her mama here to help?"

Michael nodded dazedly.

"Good, well, I'm going to let you meet your children. Congratulations, Mr. Bishop. We'll be right next door at the nurses station if you need anything." She nodded at nurse one, and they both walked out, leaving Michael in the room with his new family.

He instantly went to Ivy's bedside. He started to sit next to her, but he couldn't help himself. In one agile motion, he kicked off his shoes and swiveled to sprawl out right next to her. He lifted his arm above his head and settled on his side, staring down at Ivy. He meant to look at his new babies, but he couldn't take his eyes off of his wife. She stared back at him with a tired but altogether serene smile, and he got lost in her dark brown eyes. She was beautiful. He loved her so much.

"Do they look like you?" he asked, hoping they did.

(Another tired smile.) "Look at them and see," she said, staring up at him.

She stretched upward as if inviting Michael to kiss her, and he did so with no hesitation. He kissed her cheek and then her mouth. "I can't believe there are two of them," he whispered.

"I know," she whispered back. "I don't remember anything. They just woke me up and told me."

Michael finally tore his eyes off of his wife to look at his children—first the little girl wrapped in pink, and then her brother. "Which one's older?"

"Jane."

"I hope that's the one in pink," Michael said, teasing her.

She smiled and nodded sleepily.

"Are we still going with Jesse for a boy?" he asked.

Ivy nodded.

"Why'd you change your mind about Shannon for a girl?" Michael asked.

Ivy shrugged one shoulder. "I just did. I don't have to change my mind. We can still go with Shannon if you want. I just thought Jane sounded good with Jesse, you know, for twins. But we don't have to. I'm good with anything."

Michael looked at his beautiful daughter. He touched her delicate forehead with the utmost tenderness. He had never felt something so soft. "Are you Jane Bishop?" he whispered. His eyes stung when he said it, and he took that to mean that Jane was the right name. He glanced at his wife, nodding with wide eyes in hopes of keeping them dry. "I think she's Jane," he said. "Jesse and Jane. I like it."

Ivy gave Michael a content smile as she stared up at him. "Don't forget Ivy and Michael," she said, tiredly. "We're gonna love each other forever and ever."

She nudged her chin for another kiss, and Michael put his mouth on hers the instant she looked up, kissing her three times in a row like he just couldn’t stop at one.

He smiled at her. "Ivy and Michael forever and ever," he said.

The End

 (till book 2)

Thank you for reading Ivy and Michael's story. The Bishop Family Series will follow the lives and loves of Ivy and Michael Bishop's children and grandchildren. Next stop, the eighties.

 Other titles available from Brooke St. James:

Another Shot:

A Modern-Day Ruth and Boaz Story

When Lightning Strikes

Something of a Storm (All in Good Time #1)

Someone Someday (All in Good Time #2)

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Finally My Heart's Desire (Meant for Me #2)

Finally My Happy Ending (Meant for Me #3)

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Kiss Me in Carolina (Hunt Family #2)

California's Calling (Hunt Family #3)

Back to the Beach (Hunt Family #4)

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Dear California (Martin Family #2)

My One Regret (Martin Family #3)

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Back to the Bayou (Martin Family #5)

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Not Your Average Joe (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #2)

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