by Nadia Lee
“Ever done a stint in a kitchen? I still haven’t mastered the art of flipping things in a flying pan like you just did.”
“Oh, that?” Emily flashed a smile, but it couldn’t quite hide a tinge of sadness underneath. “It isn’t hard. You just need a lot of practice.”
“Yeah, but you said you rarely cooked.”
She might’ve done it all the time for one of her exes. The notion sat with me as well as rancid almond butter. Based on her reaction, the bastard—or bastards—hadn’t appreciated her effort. If she cooked for me like this all the time I’d handle the cleanup, then draw her one of the bubble baths she seemed to like so much, lick her all over until…
Shrugging, Emily sprinkled chopped parsley over the shrimp scampi and took the plates to the dining room. I grabbed some utensils and helped her set the table, and she immediately returned to the kitchen to take the garlic bread out of the oven.
“Get the wine for me, would you?” she said.
I took out the bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge, uncorked it and handed it to her. While she placed it on the table, I grabbed two wine glasses.
“Perfect.” She smiled. “We have everything.”
I smiled too. It was such a sweetly domestic scene. I hadn’t experienced this much. My exes had been too busy to bother, and I realized I liked it a lot more than I’d expected.
I pulled out a chair for Emily, and she sat down.
“No salad or veggies?” I asked, half curious and half teasing, as I settled in my seat. I started to pour wine.
“We have plenty of greens.”
“Where?”
“Here.” She pointed at some parsley bits with her fork. “See how green that is? And garlic is considered a vegetable, I’m sure. Some kind of vegan thing, anyway. It doesn’t come from dead animals.”
I laughed. “You eat like a kid.”
“Don’t knock it. This is a tasty way to eat, and tasty food reduces stress, which is good for you.”
Food wasn’t the only thing good for me. The company was pretty fine, too. Her pleased smile, the way she said what was on her mind…
We clinked our glasses. “To a neighbor who lets me borrow her hot water.”
“To a neighbor who heroically took care of a dastardly snake monster.”
The wine was delicious, and the food was even better. I knew it’d be good, but not this good. “Damn.”
“Told ya. I’m awesome.”
“Did you secretly mock my breakfast because you could do better?”
She laughed. “No. I totally appreciated that because I don’t like to cook breakfast.” She took a small bite of her bread, then sighed softly. “Dad always left too early, and I was rushed in the morning too. But in the evening, I cooked.” She sounded wistful.
“Lucky him,” I said.
The soft look in her face vanished and was replaced with the hint of a sneer. “Yeah. Lucky him.” From the way she gazed at her pasta, I wasn’t sure if she realized the change in her expression. “He sure is a lucky guy.”
There was a story there, but I didn’t probe. It probably wasn’t a happy one. We all had things we didn’t want to think about, much less talk about. Now I wished I’d agreed to have her buy me dinner. Then maybe her eyes wouldn’t have been so narrow because of old, unpleasant memories.
An impulse to kiss her and make her think about something other than the past tugged at me. Shockingly, it was less sexual and more on the caring side. Yes, I was attracted to her, but the need to make her smile was the primary driver and motivation. The realization startled me because I’d never had such desire, not even for Caitlyn.
Time to change the subject. “Well, I’m lucky too. Because I’m here in my favorite place in the world with a clever romance writer with a secret talent for cooking.”
The unhappiness in her eyes dissipated. “Kingstree is your favorite place?”
I nodded.
“Not the Maldives or whatever super-secret, ultra-luxurious resorts the rich and famous go to for their media-free vacation?”
“What do you know about those places?” I asked. My money and fame opened doors to all that I wanted, things I hadn’t even known existed.
“I’ve written about billionaires, and I do my research. Those places looked nice. Very exclusive.”
“I’ve been to a few,” I said, making a mental note to find out if she planned to feature one of them in her next book. Later, of course, since she probably wanted a break from even thinking writing at the moment. But if she wanted to do some in-person research, I’d take her there. Flying absolutely sucked, but I’d put up with it for her. “They’re nice, but they’re more like a dream you can only stay in for a little while. Everyone has to return to reality. Kingstree is reality for me—and it’s fantastic.”
She sipped her wine. “How is Kingstree so wonderful for you?”
“I grew up here. My grandmother raised me and my sister here after our parents died, and people know me. I mean the real me, not the magazine cover version. They treat me like a person, not a celebrity, and they don’t try to use me to their advantage.”
“Do people often try? Use you, that is.” She regarded me. “You seem too smart to be used.”
“Thanks, but they do often try. Lots of women approach me for exactly that.”
She shot me a skeptical look as she had another bite of pasta. “But you like it, right? I mean, you’re getting all the sex you want in exchange for hanging out with them. Isn’t that how it works?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want just sex. I mean, okay, sure, I won’t lie. At first it was fun. Like, a lot of fun. And it’s still fun. But I want somebody I can be friends with, too.”
And Caitlyn would never be a friend. Or any of the others, either, now that I thought about it. A “girlfriend” I’d had early on after Axelrod broke out only stuck around because she thought she could use her connection to me to break into the music business. Remembering her reminded me of the reason I’d assumed Caitlyn would work out—she wasn’t an aspiring musician.
An old resentment fleeted through me. I should never have assumed anything.
“Don’t feel too bad about it,” Emily said softly. “I’m not friends with my exes.”
“How come?” I asked, part of me happy that she wasn’t close to her exes. The latest story by Emily I’d been reading was a reunion romance, where two lovers were getting a second shot. I thought she believed in stuff like that.
“Because they were bastards. I’m not the type to think about what-ifs with some douche who wasn’t good enough for me in the first place.”
A woman who knew her value. That was hot. “What if one came back for another chance?”
She scoffed. “No way. He could beg on his knees, lick my boots, and I’d still say no. You know what I learned over the years?” She guzzled down half her wine. “People do not change. They can say they did. They can say they’re capable. They can make promises. But they don’t fundamentally change who they are. Cheaters cheat, liars lie and assholes asshole.” She wagged her finger. “And before you say anything, ‘asshole’ is totally a verb.”
“You’re pretty cynical for a romance writer. Don’t you believe in true, everlasting love?”
She laughed like I’d said the funniest thing ever. “What gave you the idea that something like that is real?”
“My parents. And grandparents. They were together forever and made the best lives possible.” And I remembered how much they’d cared for each other, tried to create warm, laughter-filled homes. It was something I’d always imagined I would have at some point in my own life, when I met the right woman.
“My parents have been married forever too, but that doesn’t mean there’s true love, Killian. It only exists in books and songs, which is why people will pay to read about it. It’s a beautiful, fleeting dream, like your super-secret vacations. But like you said, it isn’t reality.”
If she’d said it with nothing but cynicism and mockery
, I might’ve argued. But there was such calm acceptance and wistfulness to her that I couldn’t bring myself to say anything over the odd fist of emotions lodged in my throat. Maybe she’d been too badly burned by some asshole. I found myself hoping that he was impotent, too.
She gave me a small smile. “Don’t look so shocked. Here. Have more wine.” She poured some Pinot Grigio for me, as though alcohol would be enough to soothe the burning ache her words had left in my chest.
But I didn’t want the wine. As soon as she set the bottle down, I held her hand, then kissed the knuckles. “I’m not shocked. Just sad that you think it can only happen for your imaginary couples, but not for you.”
* * *
Emily
I went still as the impact of his words hit me. It wasn’t even that he was saying anything super enlightening. I’d thought the same in the past. But no other man had ever voiced it. And no other man had looked at me like he wanted a chance to change my mind.
Longing shot through me, because yeah, it would be amazing to have a happy ending like my couples. But then fear followed, chilling me from the inside out. Even my heart seemed to beat unevenly at the idea. If I hadn’t been able to find anything close to a romance-novel happy ending, what made me think I could find it now, especially with a rock star who had hot young things chasing after him all the time?
Because he isn’t chasing them back. Because he’s with you right now.
And I wanted to listen to that voice, let him show me what was possible. But the walls around my heart remained. The suspicions and the old scars didn’t just vanish.
Suddenly I couldn’t draw in enough air, like the day I’d published my book for the first time. I stood up. “I have to go. I forgot to…uh…do something.”
Smooth, Emily. So smooth.
I looked down at my plate. I’d eaten all the shrimp, left some pasta. It wasn’t a big deal. If I got hungry later, I’d munch on Animal Crackers. “You mind taking care of the cleanup? Actually, if you want, I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Killian rose, peering at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I just, you know, forgot something, and I have to take care of it right now. Otherwise…er…my editor can’t start working on my book.” It was a terrible lie, but he wasn’t a writer. He wouldn’t know.
I rushed home…then stopped in front of the door. Shit. The snake nest. I pulled out my phone to call the pest control and animal removal company, and spotted a text from them an hour earlier informing me my house was clear. My phone must’ve gone off while I was cooking.
I went inside my house. Now that I was away from Killian, my heart was beating more steadily, my skin wasn’t prickling and my chest didn’t feel funny.
I trudged to the fridge, keeping an eye out for random serpents, and grabbed a beer. I wished I hadn’t said anything about my faith in real love—or lack thereof. It wasn’t something I’d ever told anybody. As a romance author, it was expected of me to believe in the power of love, just like Killian was supposed to believe in the power of rock and roll.
It was just that my guard came down every time I was around him. He made it easy for me to bypass my safeguards—even my all-time favorite: keep my mouth shut so nobody would have anything to lob back at me. My dad had taught me the value of silence by using his cross-examination skills over and over again to corner me into saying or admitting things I didn’t believe in.
I put my feet up on the table, slowly sipped my beer and thought back on the day so I’d be better prepared next time I saw Killian. I wondered what it was like to believe in love the way he did. He’d seemed genuine when he told me. On the other hand, my exes had seemed pretty genuine too until things started to get hard for them. As in I’d started to pay more attention to my career than their needs.
It was most likely that Killian loved the idea of love—having somebody who’d put him above all else. Didn’t rock stars have egos? He was successful, too. And hot. It only made sense.
I cued up Netflix to watch some movies until I fell asleep, even as my mind whispered that Killian might be different.
Chapter Twenty-One
Killian
The morning after the dinner with Emily, Billy’s Plumbing and All Things Water called. They had a cancelation, and could come out if I was okay.
Was the sky blue? Hell yeah, I was okay. I wanted hot water for my dishwasher and laundry. Grandma had always said the whites never looked right without a hot-water cycle, and my recent loads had proven her right.
So I put some music on and waited for their work van to show up while reading one of Emily’s books. But I kept drifting, thinking about Emily’s reaction toward the end of the dinner. The wide, uncomfortable look in her eyes. The squirming. The slight trembling of her fingers. I didn’t think she’d realized how transparent she was. An unfamiliar ache wrapped around me, because she was obviously freaked out about making what we had between us something more.
My phone—the personal one—buzzed on the table, interrupting my train of thought. I picked it up to see who it was, since it wasn’t playing Darth Vader’s theme.
Group video call with the guys. I hadn’t talked to them in a while. Smiling, I answered it.
“Hey.”
“Yo, yo, yo, yo! How’s life?” Dev said with a wide grin. Mischief and good humor lit his eyes, his black hair slicked back. The man hadn’t shaved in at least two days, but that undoubtedly hadn’t stopped him from scoring. It looked like he was in a hotel suite.
“I’m good. How’s Fiji?” I asked. He’d been wanting to go since forever, and had split for the archipelago as soon as the tour was over and the doctors said I was okay.
“Wasn’t bad. But I’m in Spain now. Lots of hot chicks, man. Lots of hot chicks.”
I almost laughed. Dev lived for women. He didn’t believe in “limiting his horizons,” and he was the biggest reason the band always had a swarm of women buzzing around. They knew he welcomed them all, even if I didn’t. And that was okay. It was a big improvement over the dark phase of his life immediately after his relationship with Ashley imploded. She’d been cheating on him, and he basically quit believing in commitment.
“You should join me,” Dev said. “I know you hate flying, but man, it’s awesome. I kept a box of chocolate-flavored condoms for you.”
“Thanks, but I haven’t even opened the one you snuck into my bag.” It had been his not-so-subtle way of telling me to get laid. There was no problem a vagina couldn’t fix.
Max rolled his eyes. He also enjoyed women, but didn’t pursue them the way Dev did.
Cole merely shook his head. He was engaged, so he kept his dick on the straight and narrow.
“How you feeling, K? Better?” Max said.
“Yup,” I replied, smiling a little. Max never called me Killian. Mainly because he didn’t want to say more syllables than absolutely necessary. He preferred nonverbal communication when possible, grunting when some kind of sound was required.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t say what needed to be said. Max was the one who’d suggested taking time off and doing our own thing after my hospitalization. We’d lived and breathed in each other’s space for a decade. He thought it’d do us good to do our separate thing for some time. Everyone had agreed, and we generally looked more energetic and rested now, the break and time away obviously having done everyone some good.
Did I look better too? I was still bothered by the fact that my brain wasn’t creating music yet, but I didn’t bring it up. I didn’t want to cause any unnecessary concerns when I hadn’t given Emily’s method a try yet. Not the bath idea, but trusting the process. I hadn’t done that before because I’d never had to. Ideas had always come to me in a fire-hydrant gush, more than I could ever possibly use. But things were different now, and I was a firm believer in trying pretty much anything at least once to see if it works.
“You’re always welcome to come hang with me and Teri if you’re tired of small-town
living,” Cole said.
“Thanks, man, but it’s okay. Kingstree’s treating me well.” Besides, as nice as his repeated offer was, I didn’t want to intrude. Time on the road could be hard on a couple, and I wanted Cole and Teri to have as much privacy and time together as they needed.
“Or you can join me,” Dev said. “Nothing recharges you like a country full of willing women.”
“Women aren’t vitamins,” I said.
“Dude, they’re like vitamin coffee. They wake you up. Make you think better. Make you feel young and studly.”
“Still no thanks.” I had no reason to fly thousands of miles for that when I had Emily next door. She made me laugh and put me off my guard, and I liked her. And she made me want to shield her from the world, even though the urge was ridiculous. But when she had that sad, resigned look in her eyes yesterday, I’d felt the need anyway.
“Bro, you still sore about Caitlyn?” Dev asked.
Cole tightened his mouth. “She’s a bitch.” He knew how I felt about people violating my privacy—and trying to profit off me. “She recently posted that she had to leave you because you were impotent.”
I let out a hollow laugh. Of course she did. Caitlyn would say or do anything for attention. She probably didn’t know I’d blocked everything—all her social media and email accounts, phone numbers, everything—so I couldn’t see any of her shit.
“Don’t worry. I commented and reminded her that she didn’t leave you, but you threw her out like month-old trash because she was frigid and fourth-rate in bed,” Dev said, his eyes flinty. “I also added that no self-respecting man wants to stick his dick in a bag of icy sand.”
Damn. I almost felt sorry for Caitlyn, although she’d kind of asked for it. Dev had a thing about women who betrayed their men, and he had a very sharp tongue.
Max grunted. “Total bitch.” Three syllables meant he had my back one thousand percent, no questions asked.
“She sure is, but just so you know, she has nothing to do with my life anymore. I’ve completely blocked her.” I put the book down and shifted on the couch to get more comfortable. Emily was the one who occupied my thoughts.