by Mandi Beck
“Yup. I’m sure,” Bear says as he moves down the bar to the guy waving his glass.
“Perfect. Come have coffee with me. It’s not dinner, just some coffee, and you can tell me how your classes went this week, and I can tell you how awesome Amsterdam was.” Smiling hopefully, he knows he has me when Bear yells from down the bar.
“Go, Willow. Have a cup of coffee with the man, for fuck’s sake.” Flipping him the bird, I turn to Joaquin.
“Okay, but not for long. I haven’t seen Lyric all day because of a problem at the school.”
Standing and holding out my jacket for me to slip on, he agrees. “I have a hot date later anyway, so I can’t be out long.” I whip my head over my shoulder to look at him, mouth agape. “I’m kidding, chèrie. You were jealous though, weren’t you?”
I roll my eyes. “Hardly, Frenchie,” I lie. I have no right to be, but I can’t ignore the little ping I felt. Jealousy is a feeling I know all too well after years with Stone and not something I like about myself. “Let’s go.”
“Lead the way.” With a sweeping gesture he motions for me toward the door.
“There’s a little place called Spun a couple blocks from here. It’s coffee and pastries, books and yarn. Cute, little place, open 24/7. Do you mind walking?”
“No, not at all. Did you say yarn?” he asks as he strolls along beside me.
“Yes. That’s the reason for the name too. Spun sugar for the pastry and sweets. Spun tales for the books. And spun yarn for obvious reasons.” I shrug. “They have a room off the back of the shop that is nothing but wall to wall yarn and big comfy chairs. They have classes and everything.”
“Have you taken one?”
“I have. I was terrible at it. I signed up for this beginner’s class, I was pregnant with Lyric, and I thought how awesome it would be to be able to knit stuff for her. You know, baby blankets and little scarves and hats.” I smile over at him. “I sucked. I couldn’t make a single thing and then I swore that because of that I was going to be a terrible mother. It was awful.” I’m laughing now at the memory. “They felt so bad for me that everyone in the class made me something for Lyric, which only made me feel worse since they could all do it. Although it’s true that some of them didn’t do it well, they still did it.” Joaquin is chuckling softly as he listens to me, and it’s . . . nice.
I indicate that we have to cross and suck in a little breath when he places his hand at the small of my back to guide me across the street. “So you’re a terrible knitter. Can you cook?” he asks, opening the door for me.
“I can as a matter of fact,” I inform him. Nodding in approval he follows me to the counter. I’m here quite often and they know me by name now. Also knowing that I drink tea, their special house blend, and that I like to prepare it myself.
“Hey, Willow. Haven’t seen you in a few days. How’s that beautiful baby of yours?” Kim, one of the owners, asks.
“She’s good thanks, getting so big.” We chat for a moment and then I place my order, looking over at Joaquin who, no surprise, orders a café au lait and a chocolate croissant. He hands Kim the cash and looks over at me and I roll my eyes.
“What? Did you want to pay for your own?”
“No. You can pay. I was rolling my eyes at how French you are.”
“How French I am?” His brows are drawn in confusion.
“Café au lait and a croissant?”
“Oh, come on! Who doesn’t like a chocolate croissant?”
“He has a point there. Plus, mine are killer,” Kim says as she prepares our order. I watch as she puts the silver kettle and everything I’ll need to make my tea on a tray with the biscotti before turning back to Joaquin.
“They are really good, but you’re still really French,” I tell him.
“Oui, I am.” Flashing me that charming smile of his, he takes our tray and walks over to a table in the corner, right in front of the window so that you can see all of King Street.
“Aren’t you worried about someone recognizing you by the window?” I whisper.
“No. Are you?” I am. Not that they would recognize me if I weren’t sitting with him and truth be told, Canada is so much more laidback when it comes to celebrities. The paparazzi aren’t like rabid dogs here. He must notice my hesitation, however slight, because he redirects us to a booth in the back that is almost completely hidden from the rest of the customers. And the windows.
“Thank you, Joaquin.”
“You’re welcome, chèrie.” We don’t discuss it further. He just sets our tray down and helps me with my coat before removing his own and sitting.
“So how was the tour?” I ask, as I make my cup of tea. It’s odd to ask someone that question after so long of living on tour myself. I never thought I would find myself in a position to discuss such things with anyone again. Especially after completely removing myself from that part of my life.
“It was fantastic. Exhausting of course. There’s so much travel time involved, as you know.” He takes a sip of his coffee and goes on. “We have a new tour manager and breaking her in has been some work, but she really has a ton of potential and some fantastic ideas on how to keep the show fresh.” You can hear the passion in his voice when he talks about what he does, and it makes me smile. “I’m a one-man show. I don’t have a band, so I have to find ways to be entertaining when it’s just me and my guitar up there.”
“Oh yes. Because you singing is not entertainment,” I joke.
Laughing at my teasing, “No, no. It is but you know what I mean. Even I get bored with just standing there. Corinne has some ideas for the next tour that I’m eager to try out. That’s all.”
“It always helps to get a fresh set of eyes. Someone innovative who thinks outside the box. Especially in this industry,” I correct myself, “Your industry. Music.”
With a fork he cuts off a piece of the gooey croissant and pops it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a second. “Do you miss it?” he asks when he’s finished chewing. “I remember you toured with them for a long time. I’ve met him.” I notice that he doesn’t say Stone’s name. “But never had the pleasure of meeting you. Nice guy. Moody. Brilliant at what he does though.” His description of Stone is spot on. He is all of those things. And more. “So. Do you miss it?” I can hear the underlying question. Do you miss him? is what he’s really asking. So I answer honestly.
“Some days I miss it very much. Other days you couldn’t pay me enough to go live that life again. The constant traveling. The strange cities, cramped tour bus with five guys.” Even though the tour bus turned into a plane before too long. I shake my head. “I miss the music. After a while I lost that and that’s when it stopped being fun for me.”
“Is that why you left? Because it wasn’t fun anymore?” His tone is gentle, inquisitive but not prying.
“I left because things changed. People changed and I got hurt. Badly.” I take a sip from my mug.
“And the bébé, Lyric?” he asks, again not in an intrusive way. And again, I answer honestly.
“Lyric is mine,” I say in a soft, firm voice which leaves no room for argument.
“Fair enough.” Tilting his cup in my direction he takes a drink.
“How long are you in town for? Do you have to get back to Quebec soon?” Dipping my biscotti in my tea, I glance up at him as I take a bite.
“No. Not yet. I’m staying here for a while. I have an apartment over in The Beaches.”
“I live in The Beaches,” I interrupt excitedly, though I’m not sure why. He smiles and goes on.
“And there’s this woman I’m trying to get to know who lives in the area so I thought I’d stick around.” Winking at me he forks off another bite of croissant. He’s flirting with me and I don’t hate it. In fact, I like it and find myself flirting back without hesitation.
“Is that right? Anyone I know? Maybe I can put in a good word for you.”
“Maybe you do. She’s about your height, gorgeous, like you are. Sings
like a damn angel and has the most beautiful daughter. Stubborn as hell though.” Grinning he adds, “It will be fun getting her to come around. I’m up for the challenge.”
“Is that right? Is that all she is to you, a challenge? So once you get her to come around, then what?” I question. Almost afraid of his answer.
“Then I treat her like a woman should be treated. Show her that she doesn’t have to hide from the world because she’s more than her past and anyone in it.” Softly spoken words, accented and full of promise.
“Is that right?” Barely a whisper, gone is my bravado and sass. How is it that this man, this stranger, already knows me so well?
“Oui.” One word said with total confidence and conviction. And just like that I realize how much trouble I’m in. Fighting him, this smooth, French-speaking and determined man, is going to be harder than I ever imagined.
Willow
WITH LYRIC’S HEAVY CAR SEAT in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, I use my elbow to ring the doorbell a couple times. It doesn’t take but a minute before it’s swinging open and Cora is reaching for the baby.
“Why didn’t you call from the driveway? We would’ve come out to help,” she scolds.
“It’s not a big deal, she’s just getting heavier.” Placing the sack on the kitchen counter, I peel off my coat and wait for Cora to get Lyric’s off before going to hang them in the front hall closet.
“Where’s Bear?” I call as I make my way back.
“He had to go to the Bird for a minute. There was a problem at the studio. He’ll be back soon.” She coos at Lyric, talking crazy to her, making the baby laugh with glee. “Why don’t you tell me about Joaquin? Bear said you left to have coffee with him last week and that he’s been by the bar a few times since then.” Cora peers around Lyric at me. “’Fess up, pretty girl. You’ve been here for more than a year and you’ve never even looked sideways at another man and now you’ve been out with one and he’s hanging around. I’m going to need the details.”
I snort, “I was pregnant, in case you’ve forgotten. Not a ton of men looking to date a pregnant chick.” Going over to the bag I brought in, I start putting things on the counter for our dinner. I come over here at least once a week and eat dinner with them. I bring the groceries, and Bear usually cooks while Cora and I gossip and catch up on all the craziness that goes on at the bar. Since Bear isn’t here, I decide to go ahead and start dinner.
“Bullshit. There were plenty of men around, hoping to date you. You never gave any of them the time of day. Not that I blame you. You had a lot on your mind,” she says, never taking her eyes off Lyric as she kicks and gurgles.
“He wants one of my songs,” I tell her. “I don’t want to give it to him, so I think he’s trying to sweet talk it out of me.”
“Is it working?” Cora asks. I can hear the smile in her voice.
“No. Yes. I don’t know, Cora.” With my back turned to her I start chopping potatoes. “He’s so smooth and not in a gross way. He’s gentle and attentive. Joaquin is just different.”
“Different from who?”
Not able to stop the sigh that slips out, “Different from Stone,” I confess. “They couldn’t be more different if they tried and it’s refreshing. You know?” Putting the knife down I turn to face her. “I like him, I’m just scared.”
“Nothing to be scared of. You set the pace, Willow. Take your time and get to know him. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her motherly tone is soothing.
“It almost feels wrong though, Cora. I know that’s stupid. That I don’t owe Stone anything, but I’ve been with him for so long I feel like I’m cheating.” Spinning around and tackling the potatoes again, I groan, “What is wrong with me? We haven’t been together for ages and yet I don’t know how to be anyone but Stone Lockhart’s girlfriend. How pathetic is that, eh?”
“You’re the furthest thing from pathetic I’ve ever seen and I don’t want to hear that again,” she demands. “It’s natural to feel a little guilty. Hell, when I first started dating Bear, my husband had been dead for three years and I still felt like I was being unfaithful every time Bear took me out. Took me a long time to shake that way of thinking.” The chair scrapes back and she comes to stand at my hip, Lyric leaning her head against Cora’s shoulder sleepily. “When you belong to a man for as long as you did and loved him as hard as you have, you can’t just turn that off. You have to teach yourself to live for you again, and that’s what you’ve been doing. Little by little and day by day you’ve become your own woman. There’s no rush with this guy, Willow. If he’s worth it, he’ll understand that.” I glance at Lyric and then at Cora.
“And if he doesn’t?” I ask softly.
“Then fuck him. He’s a waste of time,” she says, shrugging.
“Simple as that, huh?”
“Simple as that, pretty girl.” Cora beams, walking into the living room with a sleeping Lyric.
“Simple as that,” I murmur.
My phone is ringing, dancing across the top of the piano as I try to jot down the last chorus. I reach over and silence it only for it to start skipping on the shiny surface and again I silence it. I get exactly three words written when there’s a knock at the door and Aidan pops his head in.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but your friend Perry just called the studio and said for me to tell you to answer your damn phone.” His face is bright red as he repeats what my friend said.
“She’s such a pain in my ass,” I grumble. “Thanks, Aidan.” He nods and quickly backs out of the room. No sooner does the door close than my phone is ringing again.
“Oh my God, woman, what in the hell do you want?” I huff.
“You answer the phone when I call, bitch face,” Perry retorts. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all damn day.”
“Sorry, Cora asked if she could take Lyric to see her mom at the nursing home, and I’ve been locked away in the studio all day. What’s up, buttercup? What’s so damn important that has you blowing my shit up?” I chuckle.
“Remember that last-minute assignment I got sent out on?” she asks in a hurried whisper.
“Yeah, LA, right?”
“Right. You’ll never guess who the hell I’m shooting, Willow.” Her voice is muffled a bit like she has her hand cupped over her mouth so nobody else can hear.
“I can barely hear you. Why are you being so damn weird, Perry?”
“I’m in a corner hiding from the rest of the crew because I’m freaking the fuck out a little,” she hisses.
“What? Why? What’s wr—” And then it dawns on me. “Oh fuck. You’re shooting Stone.” My voice trails off and right away Perry fills the silence in a panic-stricken voice.
“What do I do? I feel like he’s going to look at me and know that I know where you are and that you have his baby and aren’t telling him and he’s gonna know, Willow. He’s gonna look right at me and know!” Her words are flying a mile a minute and getting louder and louder the more harried she gets.
“Perry!” I yell. “Shut up! Stop saying my name.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. See? I told you. He’s going to know.”
“He is not going to know as long as you don’t tell him. And Lyric is mine. Now knock it off before you give yourself a damn panic attack.” Standing now I start pacing. She cannot screw this up. He can’t find me now. Not when everything is going so well. I’m not ready to face him. I may never be ready. “Perry, listen to me. He has no clue that we stayed in touch, so he has no reason to think you would have any idea where I am.” Trying to keep my voice as calm as I can, “It’s all going to be fine. Just do what you need to do and don’t tweak. I need you to not tweak out. Please.”
Her breathing has slowed some, “Okay. Okay. He doesn’t realize we stayed in touch so how could he possibly know. Okay. I can do this. Okay.” If she says “okay” one more time I might start to tweak.
“Just stay calm, do your job, and get out of there. Easy.” I sound more confident
than I am but just barely manage to hold off my own panic attack when I hear them call for her. “They’re calling your name. Break a leg or whatever you tell photographers and just keep your mouth shut. Don’t even mention my name and everything will be fine.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I’m all done here.” Perry disconnects and I exhale a shaky breath. Please don’t let her fuck this up.
Stone
AS THE FIRST SUIT LEAVES the room I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket and light one. Inhaling deeply, I can literally feel the tension leave my body. Fuck, one day it won’t be this bad I remind myself. We’d been stuck in a meeting with the producers and the studio all morning, hammering out details for the new album, Willow. If I could, I would name every damn track on the thing after her. Maybe she would see. Maybe it would matter. And maybe hell would freeze over and pigs would fucking fly. But music is all I have. It’s my only weapon in my very limited arsenal to reach her.
Lawson jabs me in the ribs. When I turn to look at him, he lifts his chin indicating the end of the table. The rest of the guys stand and Arrow just kind of gives me his disapproving look. The one he saves just for me lately. I let him; we both know what I threw away. He’s not shy about reminding me. I think at one time he would have gladly taken Willow from me if he thought he’d get away with it. Judge is close behind him, a tilt of his head with a glint of warning in his eyes. I can’t fuck up anymore or the label will be all over our asses.
“Hey, Stone,” the woman standing in the boardroom, fake tits pushed out in pride, says coyly, familiarly. “Did you want to hang out for a bit before you guys hit the road?” I spare her a quick glance and shake my head no.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Oh, come on,” she whines. When I shake my head no again, she says, “You used to be a lot more fun,” with a pout any porn star would be proud of.
“Oh yeah? When was that? Back when I would already have my cock out and down your throat because I was too high to give a fuck about anything but my own pleasure? Certainly not about the fact that my girlfriend was waiting for me. Maybe even in the hall. Back when, even with your mouth full of my come, I still wouldn’t remember your name, or care? Is that the ‘used to be’ you mean . . . Melissa?”