11
BLAKE
“What made you want to sing?” I asked, pulling into a parking spot in the middle of downtown. It was our first venture into Jackson Hole.
Hadley turned to me and smiled. “My mother. She sang to me every night before I went to bed. Granted, it was always Christmas songs, but she had the most beautiful voice.”
It was amazing how gorgeous she looked with no makeup on, her blonde hair thrown in a messy ponytail. I wondered if anyone else ever had the privilege of seeing her like that. We hopped out of the car. “Why country though? I know a bunch of people give you s**t because they think you’re not the real deal.”
Huffing, her smile faded. She joined me on the sidewalk, her arm brushing mine. Instead of playing the role of siblings, we decided it was best to be past lovers. “I do
