Steph narrowed her eyes at Griffin. “You go.” She turned to Dave. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Can’t I stay?” Dave asked. “I planned—”
“Not now, Dave,” Steph said between her teeth.
He took the hint and headed out. He should’ve known once Griffin showed up, Dave didn’t stand a chance. He had to get to Steph first before Griffin could ruin the moment. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Steph shout, “Go!” and then Griffin was out the door too. Dave picked up the pace. The last thing he wanted was to spend one extra minute with that guy.
By the time he got his ladder and dragged it around to his car, the skies opened up. He dove into the car. He’d wait out the storm. Griffin’s limo was still sitting there too. Dave quickly decided he wasn’t leaving until that limo did. Half an hour later, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and Dave tied the ladder back on the car. The limo finally pulled away, and Dave left too, thinking about how far he was out of his league.
Sure, he’d been all macho bravado in front of Griffin, but what did he have to offer Steph that Griffin couldn’t top? Griffin could buy her anything, take her on fancy vacations, drive her around in limos, take her to celebrity parties. He was probably great in the sack after sleeping with all those models. (Not that Dave liked to think about that.) Dave had only slept with seven women. None of them had complained about him in bed, but they hadn’t sung his praises either.
In retrospect, he should’ve had his past sexual partners fill out a survey afterwards, rating different aspects of his lovemaking on a scale of 1 to 5. Those kind of data points would’ve helped him improve exponentially, making his present situation much easier to deal with confidently. How could he possibly compare to a player like Griffin?
Why in the world had Steph ever given Dave a second look? He wasn’t ugly, he knew that. And he kept in shape. Still, he’d been told, on more than one occasion, he resembled the mild-mannered Clark Kent. It was the glasses and dark brown hair, he was sure. Now, he was in some bizarro world going up against what his women friends would call a mimbo—a male bimbo. A very famous one. Not exactly an even playing field there.
He impulsively stopped at The Dancing Cow on his way home in hopes that a giant bowl of sugar would somehow help him figure out just how the hell he was supposed to compete with a freaking rock star. The shop was empty. He checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly six thirty. He figured most people were home eating dinner, not stuffing themselves with junk.
Barry was working the register. They’d met last weekend when Dave went to Barry and Amber’s wedding as Steph’s date.
“Hi, Barry.”
“Good evening,” Barry replied cheerfully. “Oh, hey, I remember you from the wedding. You’re Steph’s boyfriend, Dave.”
Dave inclined his head. He didn’t know if that was true anymore. He crossed to the counter with the bowls and took an extra-large.
“Ten percent off for friends,” Barry called.
“Thanks.”
Dave filled the bowl with chocolate peanut butter fro-yo, then headed to the candy bar, where he scooped on crumbled Oreo cookies, chocolate chips, Gummi bears, Heath bar, and mini-Reese’s peanut-butter cups. He shifted down the counter to pump three huge globs of hot fudge over the whole thing. Finally, he set it on the scale to pay.
“Someone’s in the mood for chocolate,” Barry said with a huge, friendly smile.
“Yup,” Dave said. “I thought you’d be on a honeymoon.”
“We took the long weekend in Cape May, but Amber didn’t want to leave her classroom for too long. We’ll take the real honeymoon over winter break.” Barry rang him up. “Aruba.”
Dave nodded absentmindedly. He paid a ridiculous amount, even with ten percent off, and took a seat at a long counter by the window. He took the first spoonful, but his throat was tight, and he set the spoon down. He dropped his head in his hands and stared at the table.
“Hey, you okay?”
Dave raised a hand. “Fine.” He heaved a sigh and was about to leave when Barry took the seat right next to him.
A beat passed while Dave sat uncomfortably, staring out the window, unsure why Barry was sitting there. They weren’t exactly friends. He’d only met him briefly at the wedding. He could feel the other man’s stare.
Finally Dave turned. “What?”
Barry shook his head. “Nothing. What’s got you so depressed that you can’t even eat that delicious pile of sugar?” He indicated the mess of candy sitting untouched.
Dave said nothing.
“Putting two and two together,” Barry said, “a giant bowl of candy and looking depressed, I’d say woman troubles.”
Dave grunted and stared at the table. He really didn’t want to talk about this with another guy. It was a blow to the ego to have a famous rock star top you in the man department. Women thought his dilemma romantic—how to win the girl. Men would see it for what it was—a ballbuster.
“Steph’s crazy about you,” Barry said.
Dave turned in surprise.
Barry nodded. “I know this for a fact because she’s good friends with my wife, Amber. Marriage confidentiality rules.” He nodded sagely. “My wife—I just love saying that—my wife. Anyway, we tell each other everything anyone tells us, but it stops right there”—he circled his hand—“in the circle of marriage confidentiality.”
“Steph’s married,” Dave muttered.
“I heard,” Barry said sympathetically.
Dave stood and grabbed the bowl of uneaten fro-yo. “See you around.”
“Wait, don’t go. I’m sure I can help you. I know Steph. I’ve got the inside scoop between her and Amber.”
Dave shook his head. “You can’t help me. Not unless you can turn me into a rock star.”
Barry’s eyes lit up. “Stay right there.”
A few minutes later, over Dave’s protests, Barry was putting the necessary items into the trunk of Dave’s car.
“I’m not doing this,” Dave said.
Barry patted his arm. “Just in case,” he said with a wink.
Chapter Five
Griff finished his room service dinner in his briefs while watching the home channel that always had those happy families moving into their new homes. He liked to pretend sometimes that he was part of one of those families, nestled in their new home, loving just being together. Life on the road wasn’t as glamorous as it first seemed—hotels blended together, lots of solitary meals, living out of a suitcase.
He thought again of Steph. She was still keeping him at a distance. If he could just get through that anger, he thought they could connect again. She was still the same person. He’d changed, sure, but he knew he was a better man when he was with her than he ever was on his own. On impulse, he called his manager, Bill.
“I need another week,” he said. “Cancel The Bridgette Show.”
“You can’t cancel three days before!” Bill hollered. “Do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to get you that gig?”
Griff held the phone away from his ear while Bill worked his way through a furious tirade. When he’d wound down, Griff said, “Look, I’m going to get press without that show.” And my wife back, he added silently.
Bill switched to a cajoling tone that Griff tuned out. The truth was, he’d been in a slump musically speaking. Steph had been his muse for all of his biggest hits. He set the phone down as the inklings of a melody tickled his brain. He grabbed his guitar to capture that gift. He hadn’t written an original song in a year. He composed like a madman for the rest of the night, adding lyrics for the song inspired by Steph. He called it “Missing Limb.”
He played the finished song, euphoric in his creation. This was what it was all about—the music. It was powerful stuff. He let out a satisfied sigh as he carefully tucked the guitar back in its case.
Whether Steph wanted him around or not, he needed to be near her. She was his muse.
~ ~ ~
That n
ight, Dave went from worried to depressed during his phone call with Steph.
“Dave,” she said. “I’m so sorry about this mess with Griff. I don’t want you in the middle of it. He leaves on Saturday, so let’s just wait to see each other until he’s gone, okay? Hopefully we can put all this behind us.”
He didn’t agree to wait until Saturday. He couldn’t afford to give Griffin three whole days to win Steph over while he sat back and did nothing. So he told her the truth, minus one small part, because it was time to bring out the big guns no matter how ridiculous.
“I’ll be glad to put this behind us too,” he said.
“Good.” She sounded relieved. “I’ll call you Saturday. Thanks for understanding. Bye.”
He hung up and promptly went to his car to unload the stuff Barry had put in there. This was a good strategic move, better than anything he’d come up with so far if Barry’s enthusiasm was any indication. This was the big time—the battle of his life, no rules, all-out till the end. It would all be worth it to win Steph.
~ ~ ~
After no small amount of convincing on Jaz’s part, Steph agreed to meet her friend for drinks at Garner's the next night. Thursday was Ladies’ Night, so they got vodka martinis half price. They sat at the bar sipping while Jaz told her about her latest fight with Will over her adult tap-dance class that he said sounded like a herd of hippos.
“And then he strongly suggested I soundproof the wall on my side of the building!” Jaz exclaimed. “He’s the one with the problem. He should—”
“Am I too late?” Amber asked, a little out of breath as she rushed up to them. She scanned the restaurant and turned to Steph, her eyes wide. “I got here as soon as I heard. I was asleep last night when Bare got home, or I would’ve heard earlier. And then this morning…” A flush crept up her neck. “Anyway, I just heard. Bare can go a little overboard. I try to pull him back when I can.” She scanned the restaurant again and halted, staring at the back of the restaurant. “I’m so sorry—”
“Oh, boy,” Jaz said. “I thought it was just a romantic dinner.”
Steph's stomach pitched. What now? She looked to where her friends were staring and reached for calm. “I told him I needed some time. I specifically said Saturday.”
Jaz giggled. “I think it's sweet.”
Steph sent Jaz a dark look. “I can’t believe you went behind my back.”
Jaz held her hands up. “I’m sorry. He stopped by the studio, and he was just so earnest. He loves you, Steph. That can’t be bad.”
“Sorry,” Amber said meekly. “You’re going to get the Bare treatment, except Bare never mentioned…” She giggled and turned to Jaz. The two of them cracked up.
Steph shook her head, crossed to the dining area, and stared. Dave was standing next to a karaoke machine, a microphone set up in front of him, wearing a green Shrek T-shirt. And ogre ears. The man owned ogre ears?
Omigod. He had a ukulele.
His face lit up when he saw her. Some of the regulars turned to smile at her to see how she was taking it.
She forced a smile as she approached Dave. Jaz and Amber stayed behind at the bar. Or maybe they left. She wished she could too.
“What are you doing?” she ground out.
He hit a button and the music blasted out. Dave launched into an enthusiastic rendition of Smashmouth's “I'm a Believer” from Shrek.
He belted out the lyrics while strumming the ukulele. The clash of notes was jarring.
She backed up. The next line of the song rang out too close to the mike, and a screeching feedback rang through the room. Dave kept going, the ogre ears bouncing in time.
Steph sank into a chair and simply gawked. He was terrible. Completely off-key. He windmilled one arm before a dramatic ukulele strum and danced what could best be described as jumping jacks. Combined with the green shirt and ears, a vision of a leprechaun came to mind. A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her.
The ogre ears tipped precariously forward, jutting out like horns over his glasses. He kept singing.
She bit her lip. Don't laugh. He's really trying. Heat crept up her neck as more people wandered over from the bar to watch. Why, Dave? Why? And, Barry, I’m going to kill you.
~ ~ ~
Dave could feel the crowd getting behind him now, clapping in time to the music. He shoved the ogre ears back in place. He couldn't read Steph's expression from here, but he had to keep going. This song was meant to say what was in his heart. And if he wanted to stand a chance against Griffin, he had to go big. He could rock ’n’ roll too. The karaoke had been Barry’s idea, but when Dave had found his favorite song from the Shrek soundtrack on the playlist, he knew he had to go all out in costume. Plus he already had the ogre ears, T-shirt, and ukulele.
He put the ukulele down so he could really move. The swim! He held his nose and wiggled down in a dive. He knew all the old dances from his grandmother. Finally it came in handy!
He leaped up and pounded his heart, pointing to Steph. Yes, I do believe. In us!
She slid further down in her chair.
The mashed potato! “I love you, Steph!”
He lost the beat as his eyes locked with a woman who appeared to be glaring at him. Was that his sister? He’d mentioned his plan to wow Steph at Garner’s, but he never imagined Christina would take the hour-plus train ride out from Brooklyn to see it. He tried to jump back in with the lyrics. Something was off. The song blared on. He bounced up and down a few times, stuttering over the words. The clapping trailed off.
He grabbed the ukulele. Mad strumming! Finally he recognized the chorus again. I'm cooking now!
Run and slide on his knees! The other way! Would this song never end? Sweat ran down his face. He wasn't sure if Steph was getting his message.
Jump up and down. He returned to the mike. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Dave gave it his all.
The mike screeched, and he pulled it off the stand, leaving the ukulele behind as he recognized the last notes. Big finish. Run and slide on his knees right to Steph's feet. “I believe in us,” he told her in a husky voice.
A few people clapped. “Thank you,” he said in the mike.
Steph grabbed his arm and stared. “Did you get a tattoo?”
The mike picked up her voice, and it rang out through the restaurant. A few people giggled. He shut off the mike. His ears burned as he glanced down at the heart now emblazoned on his bicep. It was a dumb idea. He could never pull off a badass tattoo.
“One of my students does fake tattoos,” he admitted. “It was supposed to be symbolic. I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve like Shrek does for Fiona.”
At Steph's horrified expression, he added, “Except you're more like the princess version of Fiona than the ogre version.”
Her eyebrows scrunched together. He wasn’t sure if she thought he was crazy or if she didn't believe his sincerity. He reached for another way to convince her of his intentions. “Steph, together we could be a prime number, indivisible except only by ourselves, though I don't think that would happen. I think we have a future—”
“Begging, Dave?” drawled a voice from behind Steph.
Dave rose to his full height to stare down his nemesis.
“Nice ears.” Griffin snatched the mike from Dave's hands and approached the karaoke machine. He turned it off and addressed his audience. “This song is very special to me.”
Someone in the audience screamed, “Aaaah! It’s Griffin Huntley! I love you, Griffin!”
Everyone was going crazy, screaming and clapping. Especially the women. Griffin raised a hand. “Thank you, thank you.” When they finally quieted, he continued, “I wrote this song for my wife, Steph. Honey, this one's for you.”
Flashes went off as people took pictures of the famous Griffin Huntley giving an impromptu concert. Dave watched Steph carefully for her reaction. She was riveted, just like the rest of them. His heart sank.
~ ~ ~
Steph stared as Griff sang without music to a rapt audie
nce. It was the song that had made him famous. The song that he’d written for her the day after her mother had died. The song that had come to him, he said, because of his love for her. “All for You” was an anthem that built, starting slow and building to a rocking chorus. In the cozy confines of the restaurant, his voice was beautiful, rolling with the gorgeous melody. There was a reason she never listened to his music. It reached past her defenses and wrapped around her heart.
She could feel Dave staring at her, but like everyone else she was mesmerized by the music, his voice, his charismatic presence. Griffin Huntley was made to be a rock star.
Tears welled up in her eyes as the memories came flooding back. Even though she’d known her mom would die soon, the day she did finally pass, quietly in her sleep, was still a shock. Steph had sat with her just the night before, holding her hand as she rested in the hospital bed they’d moved into her home. Griff had been with them too for a while, until her mom asked him to take Joey out for ice cream. Her mom had talked to her about the future. She wanted to hear all the things that Steph had planned for her life, all her dreams. And Steph, somehow knowing deep down that it was near the end, had told her mom everything she hoped for in her life with Griff. How she hoped he would make it big, how they would have children and bring them up with music too, how they’d travel the world as a family, how they’d make sure they did some good in the world.
Her mom had smiled and squeezed her hand. “I like that.” She drew in a raspy breath. “Remember you, Steph.” Another raspy breath. Then so quiet, she almost missed it, she said, “Your dreams too.”
Steph hadn’t understood at the time. Her dreams were Griff’s dreams; they were one and the same. When she’d explained that, her mom had looked into her eyes, hers burning with intent. “You. Don’t forget…you.”
Then she’d fallen asleep, never to wake again.
“Steph, are you okay?”
She turned toward the voice, still lost in the memories. She blinked at the incongruous vision before her. Dave, the ogre ears still on his head, as her husband's voice reached out to her through the power of music, reminding her of the love they once had, reminding her of the loss of her mother.
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