Wishing On A Star (A Shooting Stars Novel Book 3)

by Terri Osburn

  Arms crossed on the island top, she asked, “Were we in love?”

  He could only speak for himself. “I was.”

  Jesse stayed quiet for several seconds. “We were just kids, though.”

  “Plenty of high school sweethearts make it for the long haul. We could have, too.”

  “If things had been different,” she added. “I guess we’ll never know.”

  He wanted to argue that it wasn’t too late, but Jesse clearly didn’t agree. Ash slid the grilled cheese onto a plate and set it and the bowl of soup on the island in front of her. “Eat up and then I’ll show you what I’ve done with your song.”

  Pulling the food closer, she nodded, and he turned back to the stove to make his own sandwich.

  “Ash?” she said. “I was in love with you, too.”

  Keeping his back to her to hide the sudden grin, he muttered, “Good to know.”

  What was it about Ash that made Jesse incapable of keeping her dang mouth shut?

  And where did she get off being cranky about him not having sex with her? The last thing Jesse needed was to fall into bed with her ex-boyfriend immediately after learning that her current boyfriend was falling into bed with enough women to field a national beauty pageant.

  That was not her finest hour.

  And then she’d asked about his divorce—which was none of her business—and somehow rolled right into their best-forgotten history. Not that Jesse had ever forgotten those early days of first love. Ash had been her first kiss, her first date, her first boyfriend, and her first lover. He’d seemed perfect until the day he walked away. Was that why she’d made such lousy choices since?

  If she picked a guy she knew deep down wasn’t a keeper, then she wouldn’t be so devastated when he left her. Is that what she’d been doing? Sabotaging her own happiness by settling for the worst men she could find?

  That little nugget of self-realization came as Jesse finished her soup, and then watched Ash clear the plates and load the dishwasher. Had she ever seen a man load a dishwasher before? Heck, had she ever seen a man do any household chore without her having to throw a fit or hold his hand?

  No. No, she hadn’t. She was officially the worst boyfriend-finder ever.

  Thankfully, she managed not to share this revelation with Ash, but only because they’d gone to work as soon as the kitchen had been cleaned. The distraction of laying down the early demos of not one, not two, but three of her songs kept Jesse from wallowing in the wreckage of her personal life. One of the songs had been an older tune titled “Save Yourself” that Ash dug out of her tattered notebook.

  Upon finishing the cut—a female anthem about a woman wising up to her mistakes—they discussed naming the album after the song. Never had a tune been more pertinent to Jesse’s life, both professionally and personally.

  The bridge alone said it all…

  Stop tossing your heart at the liars and losers

  Stop playing the victim ignoring the bruises

  You’re worth more than this

  You deserve to be kissed

  By a man who knows what the truth is.

  The lyrics had been inspired by a college roommate who’d married her abusive boyfriend after graduation, despite her friends’ pleas for her to leave him. Within two years, her husband had put her in the hospital, and she’d needed reconstructive surgery just to breathe properly.

  Lucky for Jesse, none of her boyfriends had been physically abusive, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t left her with scars.

  “Which house is it?” Ash asked, jerking her back to the present.

  “It’s the one ahead on the left,” she said as they turned down her former street. “The one with the orange flower pot on the top step.”

  To her surprise, Ryan hadn’t called Dana looking for his errant girlfriend. He hadn’t called anyone as far as Jesse could discern. Apparently, her one text reply that simply said, “You should have kept your date with Charlotte,” must have been enough for Ryan to move on with his life.

  Which made sense in a sick, twisted way. For him, this was the same scene played out many times before, only with a different girlfriend.

  “How do we know if he’s here?” Ash asked, parking his truck on the curb in front of the bungalow.

  “The last message came four hours ago, and it sounded like airport noise behind him.” Jesse stepped out of the truck and waited for Ash to come around the front. “I’d have heard from his manager by now if he wasn’t in Boston.”

  There had been nearly a dozen voice mails in total, plus another ten or so text messages. The first few of each had been frantic. The next half-dozen half-hearted pleading that evolved into whining. The last ones bordered on good riddance and make sure you get your crap out of my house. Fourteen months of her life and that’s all she’d gotten.

  Excellent life choices, indeed.

  Staring at the house that had been her home the day before, Jesse was surprised to feel no connection to the place. Just sadness and the bitter taste of betrayal. Maybe there had been a reason why she’d never put in more effort to make the place feel like hers. None of the women who passed through Ryan’s house ever did. A plant here. A picture there. Jesse had made the largest contribution with the swing on the back porch.

  Once on the curb, she sized up Ash’s truck. “Do you think we can fit a porch swing in there?”

  “You’re taking his porch swing?” he asked.

  “It isn’t his. It’s mine.”

  Ash tucked the keys into his jacket pocket. “Then we’ll make it work.”

  They’d picked up a few large moving boxes on the way over. All Jesse really had here was clothes, but she’d amassed a sizable collection of stagewear. After unlocking the front door, she removed the key from her key chain and left it on the counter.

  “Where do we start?” Ash asked, stepping in behind her and closing the door.

  “My stuff is in the spare bedroom.” She led him down the narrow hall to the second door on the right. In truth, her everyday clothes were in the main bedroom, but Jesse wasn’t ready to be in that room again. “The suitcases are in the back of the closet. We can pull them out and if you’ll load the clothes onto the bed, I’ll pack them.”

  Ash did as asked, hauling out the largest of the cases, a dark-blue hard-shell number covered in gray flowers. “You could fit a body in here.”

  She’d thought the same thing when Silas had gifted her the case. “A woman needs a lot of crap out on the road.” Opening the suitcase on the bed, she waited for the first load, but as Ash returned to the closet, a knock came from the front door.

  They froze, staring at each other as if they’d been caught robbing the place.

  “Who is that?” he asked.

  “How should I know?” she whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The knock came again, and Ash said, “Do you want me to answer it?”

  The only person Jesse didn’t want to see was currently in another time zone. “No, I’ll get it. Keep pulling stuff out and pile it on the bed.”

  Jesse hurried to the front door as the knocking grew more insistent. Yanking it open, she found a harried Geraldine hovering on the doorstep. Maybe Ryan had called someone after all.

  “My God, woman. I thought you were dead!” Geraldine cried, engulfing Jesse in a bear hug.

  “Why would I be dead?” she asked, struggling to breathe.

  The older woman jerked back. “Ryan showed up at my house in the middle of the night last night ranting that you were missing and demanding that I let him in to find you.”

  And people called Jesse a drama queen. “I wasn’t missing. I left him.”

  To be fair, she’d left him without so much as a note, but the damaged phone—which clearly hadn’t broken to bits since he’d managed to call her from it—should have been a good clue.

  “Why would you leave him?” Without waiting for Jesse to answer, she added, “
He cheated, didn’t he? That boy couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants if his fool life depended on it.”

  Confirming the assumption seemed unnecessary. “I’m sorry he scared you. I’m just here to get my things, and then I won’t be coming back.”

  Hot-pink lips pursed. “You aren’t going to give him another chance?”

  The question felt disloyal. “Would you?”

  Geraldine shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time I went the extra mile believing I could fix a bad boy.”

  “Then you move in with him, because I’m done. I need to go help Ash in the bedroom. Again, I’m sorry that Ryan frightened you, but I’m fine.”

  “Ash?” she asked, concern pivoting to curiosity. “As in your producer, Ash Shepherd?”

  Well, crap. Geraldine was a ninja-level gossip, and their little music community operated much like a small southern town. One word from the older woman’s talkative lips, and within days—if not hours—Jesse would be having a mad affair with her brand-new producer. She’d be one of those artists. The kind who was willing to dabble in the sheets with anyone they believed could make them a star.

  Jesse was not one of those artists.

  “Yes, that’s him. He has a truck and offered to help move my things.” No need to add that her things would be moving to Ash’s house, even if only temporarily.

  “Can I meet him?” she whispered, looking like a child who’d learned Santa had just swept down her chimney.

  Denying the request would only lead to speculation, so Jesse stepped back and motioned for her to come in. “Sure. He’s down the hall.”

  So much for getting in and out without drawing attention from the neighbors. There were at least three other musicians and probably twice as many songwriters on this street alone. This meant killer block parties, but also lots of eyes always watching. And Jesse knew Ryan’s house often put on the best shows. More than one story featuring Ryan chasing a departing woman-of-the-moment to her car had been told around a fire pit.

  Jesse had lasted longer than any of Ryan’s previous relationships, which had contributed to her delusions that he was different with her. What a joke the neighbors must have thought her. The silly little girl who couldn’t see the truth.

  She could see it now, but that didn’t lessen the humiliation one bit.

  Seventeen

  “How does anyone own this many sequins?”

  Ash dropped yet another pile of glittery clothes on the bed beside the suitcase. So far, he’d found an endless supply of jeans, boots, and dresses all covered in the shiny little dots. There was also a denim jacket that could double as a disco ball, and enough high heels scattered around the bottom of the closet to fill a runway show.

  As he waded back in for another pile, Jesse returned. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Who owns this much crap?” he answered over his shoulder. “It looks like you stole some pageant queen’s wardrobe.”

  “Then you won’t like the crap in my closet either.”

  That had not been Jesse’s voice. Ash backed out of the mess, nearly tripping over three pairs of shoes. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

  “Ash, this is Geraldine Allsop,” Jesse explained, brows furrowed in a way that said she wasn’t happy about their visitor. “She lives next door.”

  He nodded in greeting. “Nice to meet you, Geraldine.”

  Skipping the traditional reply, the older woman leaned close to Jesse, her eyes sizing Ash up from head to toe. “You didn’t tell me he was so pretty.”

  Ash raised a brow in Jesse’s direction as she said, “He isn’t that pretty.”

  “Excuse me?” Not that he wanted to be called pretty, but still.

  “If I were twenty years younger and looking for a husband,” Geraldine said, “this boy would be a danger to my singlehood. Good thing I’m at the perfect age to just play with him a little.”

  She knew he could hear her, right?

  Jesse didn’t flinch at the bold statement. “You can’t play with him until he’s done helping me get this stuff out of here.”

  “No one is playing with me at all.” Turning to the admirer, he added, “No offense, ma’am.”

  Geraldine hit him with a haughty glare. “Suit yourself, stud. But it’s your loss.” She shifted her full attention to Jesse. “Where are you staying? You’re welcome to my spare bedroom, but I suppose you’d rather be as far away from this house as possible.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good. I’m staying with a couple of friends in Hendersonville until I can find an apartment.”

  This was news to Ash. He assumed she meant Ingrid and Dana, but they’d been together all day, and she hadn’t mentioned the move. There was no reason she couldn’t stay with him. Between the work they were doing this week, and the proximity of his house to the studio, staying put made more sense. The drive from Hendersonville was going to be a bitch in traffic and burn twice as much gas.

  “Good to hear,” the neighbor said. “So long as you won’t go homeless.”

  “I wouldn’t let that happen,” Ash cut in, dropping the last pile of clothes on top of the others.

  Geraldine’s penciled-in brows arched. “That’s more hospitable than any producer I ever met.”

  “I’m not—”

  “We’re in a hurry,” Jesse cut in, flipping open the case on the bed. “I want to get out of here before dark.”

  Dark would be in less than thirty minutes. They would never get all of this in the truck by then.

  “I can help,” the woman offered.

  “No, thanks. We’ve got it.” Jesse nudged the neighbor toward the door. “I’ll call you with my new address as soon as I have one.”

  “You better,” Geraldine said as the two women left the room.

  Ash returned to the closet for the shoes, wondering why Jesse had been in such a hurry to get rid of her guest. And why had she cut him off from explaining that he wasn’t only her producer?

  When she returned alone, he said, “What was that about?”

  “What?” Eyes down, she started loading clothes into the suitcase.

  “You couldn’t get her out of here fast enough. And since when are you staying at Ingrid’s place?”

  “I talked to Dana this afternoon. They’re letting me stay in their guest room until I can find my own place.”

  “You’re already in a guest room. One that’s a few miles from the studio instead of thirty minutes away. What am I missing here?”

  The stack of jeans packed, she moved to the dresses. “I can’t stay with you.”

  “Why not?”

  She wadded up a dark-green number and finally met his eye. “For the same reason I needed to get Geraldine out of here. Gossip.”

  Now she’d really lost him. “What gossip?”

  “I’m already being called difficult. The last thing I need is rumors that we’re sleeping together.”

  Ash had to sift through that one. “For starters, we aren’t sleeping together.” He resisted the urge to add a yet to the end of that statement. “But if we were, that would be our business. I signed on to do the album before any of this happened, and I don’t have the credentials or the clout for people to believe you’d screw me to get ahead. So what exactly are we trying to avoid here?”

  Jesse dropped onto the bed. “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter what we are or aren’t doing. It only matters what people assume, and between my teetering career and the breakup with Ryan, I don’t want to look any worse than I already do.”

  The female brain could make leaps and bounds with the agility of an Olympic gymnast.

  “Hold up. Your career isn’t teetering, and the fact that you’re having to start over as a solo act isn’t your fault.” Ash couldn’t believe he even had to explain this. “The crap with Ryan isn’t your fault either. Based on Dimitri’s reputation alone, people will know that as well as you do.”

  “Taylor ditched me to cut her own album,” she said, ignoring his logic. “Ryan s
lept with other women while dating me. There’s one common denominator in both of those scenarios, and it’s me as the loser.” Jesse rose to her feet and returned to packing. “I can’t keep a duet partner, and I can’t keep a boyfriend faithful. No matter how you spin it, that’s the reality.”

  Ash bristled. “How do you not see that their actions say a lot more about them than they do about you?” Kicking a shoe out of his way, he swept around the bed and spun her to face him. “You’re the victim here, Jesse. They’re the assholes. To hell with anyone who says differently.”

  “That isn’t how it works,” she argued. “I’ve never done anything to earn that stupid difficult crap, but people still believe it. And if I stay with you, they’ll believe that the only way that I got a producer is by sleeping with one.”

  “Then let them believe it. You can’t live your life worrying about what people will think.”

  Jesse shook her head. “I’m a woman trying to make a living in the entertainment industry, Ash. Every decision I make has to be based on what people will think. My peers. My fans. My label. They all decide if I get to keep doing this, so I don’t have the luxury of saying to hell with anyone.”

  The reality of her words finally penetrated his thick skull. As a man, no one would ever accuse Ash of sleeping around to get ahead. No one would judge him on how shiny his clothes were or how small his waist was. But Jesse faced those assumptions and judgments every day. For no other reason than the misfortune of being born a woman.

  Stepping back, he said, “If we’re going to get all of this up to Hendersonville, we should get moving.”

  Jesse grasped his arm. “I’m not going because I want to.”

  The confession only heightened his frustration as he accepted her decision. “Good to know.”

  “That asshole never deserved you.” Dana had refrained from doing an actual happy dance, but her joy at the change in Jesse’s relationship status was clear. At the same time, she was angry on her friend’s behalf. “You were the best thing that ever happened to him, the jerk.”