by B. B. Miller
“I’m sorry about how tonight ended. I didn’t want it to. I wish . . .” I shake my head. “I wish a lot of things, but mostly that you’ll like this. Do whatever you want with it. Use it as your ringtone or delete it if you want, but this is me not giving up.” Propping the phone up against the bowl in the middle of the table, I focus on the music and start strumming, the melody raw and a little haunting. Letting the last chords fade out, I look into the camera. “Travel safe, Abby.”
There’s a wave of relief as send it off and set the guitar to rest against the side of the couch. I’m spent—emotionally and physically. My body begs me for a break, my eyes fighting to stay open. Stretching out on the cushions, I glance over at the familiar outline of a bottle of Jack. It can taunt me all it wants. Tonight, I’m just too fucking exhausted to care.
Abigail
“Ooh, this one’s a little clearer!” Maddie’s excited voice floats to me from the passenger seat. “It’s a clearer shot of your hair, which looks fabulous, by the way. The side of your face is still blurry.”
Frowning, I glance over to see her eagerly flipping through the photos on her tablet. She’s been at it for days now. It began as soon as I’d stepped off the plane, when she’d called and almost punctured my eardrum with her squealed news that I’d almost broken Twitter. I finally caved and told her what happened, right from our inauspicious first meeting.
“Give it a rest, Maddie.” I return my gaze to the road ahead of us and tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
“Are you kidding? I’m living vicariously through you. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to either of us in years.”
I roll my eyes. “More exciting than Dylan?” I taunt innocently. She pauses for a moment, considering, and shrugs.
“Of course not. But he and I both have our celebrity crushes, and he’s confident enough in our relationship to let me have my little rock star fantasies.”
“Dylan has a celebrity crush?” He seems too down-to-earth for that.
She shrugs and resumes tapping on the screen in her lap. “Emma Stone. He’s got a thing for that whole naughty-nice vibe she’s got going. We’ve used it in role-play. It’s hot.”
I wince, not wanting that image in my head. “I’ll take your word for it. But seriously, haven’t you seen everything that is out there to be seen?”
“This time.” She slips her tablet in its sleeve. “You two make such a lovely couple; it makes me feel better about poor Wyatt.”
A pang of guilt hits me. After dodging a few of his calls, I finally sucked it up yesterday and let him down as easily as I could. He took my “just friends” request well, better than I probably deserve.
“But next time,” she continues and flips her hair over her shoulder, “I expect you to hold your head high and smile at the cameras.”
Scoffing, I shoot her a look. “Next time? It was sheer coincidence that there was this time. A complete fluke.”
“You say coincidence, I say fate.” I groan at her proclamation.
“You’ve been reading those sappy romance novels again, haven’t you?” I ask dryly, making her laugh again.
“Don’t change the subject. Of course it was fate!” She tosses her head, ignoring my question. “And he took full advantage of it. My God, the whole evening, sounds awesome.”
I glance at her, but see no reproach in her statement. She knows, as only a best friend can, that I haven’t told her everything that happened; only that he’d taken me to an off-the-beaten-path gallery and dinner at a food cart. A wistful smile spreads across my face as I recall the murals, illuminated only by the wavering flashlight. But more importantly, I remember the feel of his strong hand engulfing mine. How he could impart both comforting warmth and an electric sense of adventure at the same time.
But those pictures . . . I’ve been in paparazzi shots before; the inadvertent shot of me as part of a group at a symphony fundraiser or some such event, but never like this. Never as the “lucky bitch du jour,” as one dubious blog dubbed me. Thank God they didn’t know my name, and my face had either been obscured by my hair, or only caught in a blurry profile.
That hadn’t stopped those closest to me from figuring it out. Before I’d even checked into my hotel in LA, I’d had Maddie’s squealing phone call, excited texts from April and Tess, and an almost hostile voice mail from Nadia. I cringe, remembering my discussion when I’d called her back.
She had gotten right to the point. “I thought you said there wasn’t anything going on between you and Lane.”
“There isn’t. Nadia, it was an accident; a complete fluke that we were staying in the same hotel. He ran into me and asked me to dinner to talk about Parker.” Okay, so it was a little more than that, but anything else that happened is private. “It turned out to be a lucky break. It gave us a chance to discuss the issues I’ve been concerned about. After we talked, I’m comfortable going ahead and starting the planning process. Let’s talk when I get back in the office next week, okay?” I had smiled, sure that would put her in a better mood.
It didn’t.
“Great. I’ve been busting my ass to get this arranged and getting nowhere, and you just ‘happen’ to run into him out of town? You certainly looked cozy enough when you got back to the hotel,” she spat. I frowned into the phone, taken aback. I understood her irritation, but the near-outrage in her voice confused me.
“Trust me, it wasn’t. What on earth is the problem?”
She snorted. “Seriously? The problem is that it looks like your personal relationship is taking precedence over Parker Jensen’s dream. You’re using Parker to get close to Lane.”
My mouth dropped open. “Nadia, I don’t have a personal relationship with him. You know you can’t take anything from a bunch of photos. They’re always used out of context.”
“Out of context. Right.” Her sarcasm was seriously beginning to piss me off. “Well, our other donors may not care about ‘context.’ Some of them may even wonder if you slept with him to get his donation.”
“Nadia!” I was dumbfounded; I couldn’t believe she said that. Then my eyes narrowed as my blood boiled. “I’m going to hang up now, so I can prepare for my meeting with Mattel,” I stated coldly, my temper getting the better of me. “But I promise—we will be discussing this again later.”
There was a nervous silence from her end, as she finally realized that she pushed me too far. “Abby, I’m sorry,” she backpedaled quickly. “It’s just that, after you direct me not to try to fix your blunder at the Fairmont, his team stonewalls me for days, I see pictures of you holding hands during some clandestine date.”
“There was no ‘blunder’ and it wasn’t a date,” I snapped. Angry adrenaline surged through my veins, but I wasn’t sure who I was more upset with—Nadia or myself. “He was merely helping me past the photographers. That’s it. I was networking with a client, as we both do with clients. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”
Shaking off the memory of her angry words, I hit my signal to turn onto Sonoma Boulevard and point my black Audi convertible north to Napa. I bought it used almost eight years ago, but it’s my baby. Driving it usually puts me in a good mood, but it’s not helping today.
God, even the mere thought I would exploit Parker to get to Kennedy brings a sour taste in my mouth. I grit my teeth as my outrage rises again.
I may find him attractive—who wouldn’t? That’s not a crime. To suggest more is just plain insulting. A twinge of guilt hits me as I remember the feel of his arms around me, and the intensity of those blue eyes burning into mine as his face came closer, closer . . .
I shake my head slightly to clear my mind. I’m being ridiculous. There’s no reason to feel guilty. I simply remind him of his sister. It had been a good conversation, we cleared the air, and I gave him something to think about, hopefully. His intentions are good. I believe that now. The next step is to introduce him to Parker. I feel a surge of excitement at the thought. Parker is going to be speechless.
“Stop that.” Maddie startles me, and I glance over to see her stern look.
“What?”
“You were thinking about Nadia, weren’t you?”
I purse my lips. “How did you know?”
“You looked like you wanted to slap someone, and I was fairly certain it wasn’t me.” She reaches over and gently tucks my scarf back into my collar, preventing it from flapping around in the breeze. “Don’t worry about it, Abby. No one who knows you would ever think you were taking advantage of your position simply to bone some guy.” She gives me a wink. “Even if the guy is a total sex god like Kennedy Lane.”
I snort. “Sex god?”
“He must be! Hello! You’ve seen those pics of him from the show at the Hollywood Bowl, wearing those tight jeans. The man is packing some serious heat!” We burst out laughing even as I feel my heart skip a beat. There was a moment on the subway where I felt a hint of something when he brushed against me, but I can’t think about that. Ever again.
“Maddie,” I scold when I can breathe again, but she simply grins at me, having succeeded in raising my mood. Then her look becomes mischievous, and I brace myself.
“Have you heard from him again? Since you had your non-romantic non-date?”
My breath catches with the thought of his latest video message flooding my mind. His song is so poignant, so pensive and honest, it brought tears to my eyes the first few times I watched it. This is me, not giving up, he’d said. The sound of his voice filled me with warmth that I haven’t felt in a long time.
“He sent me another song.”
“Wow.” Her eyes grow big, and she’s obviously struggling to rein in a grin the size of California. “Abby, that’s so . . .” She shakes her head, her hands flailing in front of her, and I roll my eyes.
“It’s okay. Let it out before you hurt yourself.” The words are barely out of my mouth before she bursts, “That is so freakin’ awesome! You know he doesn’t send things like that to just anybody. He obviously trusts you. Say what you want about what he’s feeling, but this is big.”
I zip past a semi and smoothly rejoin my lane. “I remind him of someone he used to know, is all.” I wouldn’t break his confidence by talking about Robin, but I need to nip this in the bud. “Yes, it’s pretty cool, but don’t make it into something it’s not. And don’t tell anyone about it. Please.”
She shoots me a hurt look. “As if I’d tell anyone your business. Give me a little credit.”
“I know. Sorry.” We smile at each other, and I turn up the music to allow Ed Sheeran’s lively patter swirl around us in the open air.
Eventually, I let myself relax as we’re surrounded by California’s lush wine country. I love it out here, and it’s been too long since my last visit. When we reach Napa, Maddie is full of ideas for what we “absolutely must” do during the two days we’re here, despite my plea for rest and relaxation. Fortunately, we can both agree on hitting the outlet mall. I head for the outskirts of town and soon pull up in front of a charming white building that boasts elegant black trim and a dark red front door.
The Walker Inn is my parents’ pride and joy. It had been a large farmhouse back in the day, and my parents have turned it into one of the most popular lodgings in the area. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and has been a refuge to me when I need to unwind.
Before we’ve even pulled our bags out of the trunk, my mother is skipping down the porch steps, a smile eclipsing her face. She’s wearing a floaty skirt in beiges and burgundies with a simple cream top and looks like she could be in a House Beautiful ad. “Abby! Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad to see you! And, Maddie. You’re looking wonderful!” She envelops us in hugs that only a mother can give, full of warmth and comfort, and smelling like home.
“Hey, Terri. Thanks so much for letting me tag along.” Maddie grins at my mother.
“You know you’re always welcome. And maybe you can give me some insight as to why my daughter has been so moody lately.” She eyes me, but laughs again and flips her reddish hair over her shoulder when I roll my eyes. “I’m just kidding, Abby.”
“Well, it’s about time you’ve come for a visit.” I whirl around to lay eyes on my dad, standing with his hands on his hips. Sometimes I think that he’s never quite adjusted to not wearing a gunbelt during the day.
“Hi, Dad.” I give him a hug, giggling a little when his beard tickles my cheek. I pull back and look at him in confusion. Dad is strictly a jeans and T-shirt man, and yet he’s standing before me wearing a neat black button down and pressed khakis, looking supremely uncomfortable. “You look good, Dad, but what’s going on?”
He scowls, but before he can open his mouth, my mother chirps, “It’s our new look. It’s good for business to dress up a little. Raphael highly recommends it.”
“Who’s Raphael?”
“He’s the consultant we hired last month to spruce up our image a bit. He’s done wonders with just a few small suggestions. I can’t wait for you to meet him!” She’s bubbling with excitement, and I smile reflexively. Dad turns, and I swear I can hear him grumble something along the lines of, “pretentious bullshit,” before he grabs our bags. “I’ll take these inside. We’re full up, so you girls are bunking together this weekend, all right?”
“No problem. I brought earplugs,” I deadpan, while Maddie gasps and pushes my shoulder.
“I do not snore!” With a huff of mock indignation, she grabs her bag and stalks into the house, leaving my dad and me chuckling behind.
After Mom happily shows us the changes Raphael the Consultant has suggested, we help her prepare the evening meal. Mom’s cooking skills have improved markedly since I was a kid, when mac and cheese out of a box was the standard fare. Tonight she’s serving grilled venison with a port wine reduction and roasted root vegetables. It smells fantastic. She’s coaxed me into making my chocolate cheesecake for dessert—assuming I can keep Maddie from eating the Oreos before I can make my crust.
A few hours later, the guests have eaten, Dad is camped out watching football in the den, and Mom has corralled us with a bottle of wine in the abandoned dining room. The room is all dark wood and mocha walls with comfortable chairs surrounding round oak tables. The sconces high on the walls illuminate it with a soft glow. I’m relaxed and thoroughly enjoying listening to my mother chattering away. This is what I’ve needed—a little time away from bitchy coworkers, tragic stories of childhood illness, and intense rock stars.
Mom is eating up Maddie’s stories of Dylan and shooting me inquisitive looks. Finally, she can’t stand it anymore and turns to me fully. “Okay, Abby, tell me what’s up with you. You’ve been very quiet tonight. I get the feeling that something is bothering you. Whatever happened with that obstinate-but-hot celebrity donor who was giving you trouble? Did that work out?”
Maddie coughs into her wineglass as she stifles a laugh, and I shoot her a look. Mom thumps her on the back a few times, before turning back to me expectantly. “Things are looking up there,” I say vaguely and quickly pour her some more wine.
“Well, there is nothing you can’t handle.” Her obvious confidence in my abilities warms me. “But why do I get the feeling there’s more?”
“I’ve just been thinking about Lucas a lot lately,” I admit. Their expressions sober immediately.
“Ah. Did I tell you that . . .” She pauses, biting her lip. “I talked to his mother last week. Did you know he’s out of jail?”
“Again?” Lucas had been in and out of rehab and jail a few times over the past few years. I didn’t know the details. I no longer cared.
“He has to attend court-ordered therapy as part of his probation.” She sighs. “Maybe it will stick this time.”
“Maybe.” Maddie sounds doubtful and watches me carefully. I know she’s worrying he’ll try to contact me again, like he did the last time he was released. I doubt he knows where I’m living now.
“Well, I don’t know about you ladies, but I need to get some sleep,” Mom say
s brightly, diverting me. “I want to take you to a new shoe store tomorrow after the breakfast rush. Okay?”
We eagerly agree and stand to give goodnight hugs all around. Maddie and I make our way to my bedroom at the far end of the manor, moving aside a few boxes of wine to act as suitcase stands. After we’ve pulled out the sofa bed and made it up for Maddie, we snuggle in for the night. However, after a while of listening to Maddie’s soft snoring while I toss and turn, I sit up and throw back the covers. My mind won’t stop churning. Maybe a walk will help.
I pull a fleece throw over my shoulders and wander out the back kitchen door to the porch in my pajamas. Taking a deep breath of the cool night air, I instantly feel myself relax. I walk along the trimmed path down past the small parking lot, with no real destination in mind, but my body seems to know what it needs. I end up at my favorite spot and sit down. It’s a flat area on the backside of a slope so that when I sit, I’m hidden from the house. In front of me is the edge of one of the vineyards, row upon row of neat vines coming to stop just feet away. Something breaks from the row closest to my spot, startling me; it’s only a rabbit, which darts across the lawn toward my mother’s kitchen garden. I sit in the quiet, looking up at the moon. I can barely hear the cars in town. Much more peaceful than the constant traffic noise in New York.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I prop my chin on my forearm. New York. I can’t regret anything that happened there. Kennedy is, without a doubt, one of the most complicated people I’ve ever met . . . complicated, sad, alluring, exasperating. Closing my eyes, I can almost feel his arms around me and smell his spicy scent. It’s an intoxicating combination. I smile wryly; I’m sure plenty of women have succumbed to that particular brand of intoxication over the years. He’s probably lost count.
Even though Kennedy could never be the man for me, the feeling he evokes tells me what I should be looking for in a man. I know I made the right decision with Wyatt. I shouldn’t settle for limp and listless, no matter how nice and safe the package. The fire and smoldering emotion that flare in me whenever Kennedy is near are what I want . . . what I need. I just have to find it in the right man.