Stone Cold by Cheryl Douglas

album,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement. “It’s my favorite. They’re so talented, aren’t they?”
    For a split second Drake allowed himself to forget their history. He was able to pretend she was in his home as his wife, sharing a meal at the end of a long day. That’s how it would have been, if not for… He wouldn’t let himself go there, not tonight.
    Refilling her wine glass, he said, “Working with them has been a lot of fun. They’ve got a bright future ahead of them in this business.”
    She brought her glass to her lips and a look of sorrow passed her face. “Lucky them.”
    “Are you still writing music?” he asked.
    “I am,” she said, taking a sip of wine before setting it back down on the table.
    She’d barely touched the fine vintage, explaining that she preferred not to overindulge, given her history with drug abuse. He respected the fact that she’d managed the pain virtually on her own, using meditation and visualization techniques Phil had taught her. Drake didn’t understand it, but if it gave her relief from the pain without putting her at risk of a setback, he was all for it.
    He couldn’t deny she wasn’t the same woman she’d been when they were together. She was stronger, more confident. As though the struggles she’d had to endure this past year had built her up instead of torn her down.
    “I’d love to hear some of your new material,” he said, raising his wine glass to his lips. He hesitated, waiting for her to respond. When she looked uncertain, he said, “You don’t want to share them with me?”
    “Um, I haven’t shared them with anyone. They’re deeply personal. Writing about my experiences has been an important part of the healing process for me.”
    “That’s understandable, Cassidy. You’re a song writer. That’s how writers express themselves, right?” He’d always been in awe of her talent as a song writer. He knew she could have made a name for herself selling her music to recording artists, but she guarded her body of work in the hopes she would one day make it to the big stage and be able to perform her songs for her fans.
    “I guess so.” She tossed the napkin beside her plate and shifted in her seat as though she was trying to work out an ache or pain. “Writing has always been a part of me. It’s like my muse is my guide. The very best part of me.” She smiled. “She knows what to say and what not to say, where I need to go and how I’m going to get there.” Laughing, she said, “She’s much smarter than I am.”
    “You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.” He reached for her hand, helping her to her feet. “Let’s go in to the living room and relax for a bit before we turn in.”
    Dora had been in to collect their plates and offer dessert and coffee more than an hour before. She wished them a good night and said she was turning in to finish reading a book she couldn’t tear herself away from.
    Drake had enjoyed watching the natural rapport developing between Dora and Cassidy. She was very maternal, exactly the kind of person Cassidy needed in her life. He hoped they would develop a solid friendship during the time Cassidy spent with them.
    She settled on the oversized chair, he on the sofa. He was hoping she would join him, but after that impromptu kiss on his front porch, she was probably afraid to get too close.
    He looked up and caught her gazing longingly at the baby grand piano in the corner of the room. “If you’d like to play, you’re more than welcome.”
    “Oh no,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “I couldn’t. I mean, it’s been a while.”
    He frowned. “Do you still play guitar?”
    “Um, no,” she said, dipping her head.
    He could see the blush stain her cheeks. She was obviously embarrassed by his line of questioning, but he was too curious to relent. “What happened to yours?” He knew she’d waited tables in high school for two whole summers to be able to afford it. It