Before she could say anything else, or think of another reason to run, I plopped a bowl down in front of her and then a carton of eggs. “Here. Crack some eggs into this bowl.”
She gave me a blank stare.
“No wonder you live on slime,” I muttered and stepped up close to grab an egg. With her watching, I cracked the white shell on the side of the bowl, opened it, and dumped the contents inside.
I watched with some amusement when she picked up the white porcelain mug and took a sip of her coffee as though she needed fortifying to crack an egg.
When she was done, she took the egg and followed what I had done just moments before. Some of the white squirted out of the shell and toward her. She made a small sound and jerked back.
I moved forward, grabbing her hands, still around the partially cracked egg. “The goal is to put it in the bowl.” I reminded her, guiding her back over.
She giggled. “Sorry,”
“It’s all good,” I told her, staying close as she dropped the shells on the counter beside the one I had discarded.
“There,” she announced, as if she were good and accomplished. It was freaking adorable.
I picked up another egg and handed it over. “You aren’t done yet, princess.”
She made a disgusted sound. “Princess.”
“You look like one from where I’m standing.”
She rotated her head enough that our eyes could connect, just barely. I settled a little more firmly at her side, nudging my hip into the island and delivering a crooked smile.
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“Far from it,” I said low. “And I think you know that.”
A beat of attraction passed between us. Then she pulled away. Her stare went back down to the eggs. “Yeah, well, maybe I once was a princess, but I’m sure as hell not anymore.”
I cocked my head to the side. “No?”
She shook her head definitively. “According to some, I’m a toad.”
I laughed.
She glanced up sharply.
My laughter died away. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” She glanced down at the egg, avoiding my gaze.
“Shit,” I swore. “Someone actually called you a toad?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I lifted my hand, poised to stroke down the back of her head. I stopped just before I made contact, suddenly aware of my actions. “That why you came here so fast?”
She shrugged. “Partly.”
“And the rest?”
She stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”
I dropped my hand from her and stepped back. “Fair enough.” I pointed to the eggs. “Finish those.”
I started to move off in search of a pan but suddenly faltered. I stood there debating if maybe what I was thinking was wrong, if it would only push her away further.
I wasn’t one to overthink things—much—so I spun back around.
She squeaked when I clasped her gently around the top of her elbow. The egg she had just cracked slipped out of her hand and into the bowl, shell and all.
She gasped and started to reach for the pieces.
“Hey,” I said, pulling her around.
Whatever she heard in my voice made her forget the food.
Her round, dark eyes collided with mine, bouncing between them.
“You’re always gonna be a princess to me, princess.”
She made a scoffing sound, but I caught her chin and held it. “Always.”
Her soft exhale was all the reply I needed.
“C’mon,” I said, breaking the moment, not wanting it to be too heavy, but needing to make a point. “You clearly need assistance. Me showing you once was not enough.”
“You made me do that!” she announced, pointing at the shell mixed in with the eggs.
“It’s really not nice to blame other people for your own faults,” I informed her.
She gasped. She did that a lot. She was an indignant little thing.
It was sort of a turn on.
“Look,” I said right against her ear as I moved behind her, stepping so close her back came into contact with my chest. I put my arms around her, basically caging her in from behind, and reached into the bowl to pick out the shells.
She froze, went quiet, and just stood stock still while I surrounded her.
When I was done with her mess, I picked up an egg and held it in front of her. “C’mon, help me.”
Aerie put her hand over mine, and I smacked the egg into the side. Together we cracked open the egg, some of it squirting out and making her squeal and jerk back. My body was there to catch hers. The second she came fully against me, I heard her intake of breath, but said nothing.
She fit against me just right. Her hair felt like strands of silk brushing against my cheek every time I moved. Her hands were small compared to mine, her skin a warmer shade.
“Another,” I whispered into her ear, and we repeated the same thing with a fourth egg. “You try,” I said when I picked up number five. Instead of moving back, I stayed where I was.
You know, in case she needed help.
This time, Aerie mastered it by herself.
“Ha! I did it,” she said, spinning around and looking at me with a triumphant glitter in her stare.
“So you did,” I murmured, glancing down at her lips, then back up. Normally, I would have made some wisecrack…
But my brain wasn’t on full power.
“Now what?” she asked.
I snapped out of it and stepped back. “Can I trust you with a knife?” I half joked.
She nodded.
Ah… better not.
I handed her a fork instead. “Here whisk up the eggs.”
While she was doing that, I found a skillet and placed it on the stove to heat. Then I got the bacon cooking (microwave for the win!) and dropped some toast in a giant-ass toaster on the counter.
After that, I sent her to wait for the toast so she could butter it, and I began dicing up bell peppers, tomatoes, and mushrooms for the omelet.
“Where did you learn to cook?” she asked, watching me.
I smirked. No one ever expected someone like me to be able to eat anything other than cereal.
It was really quite insulting.
“Mom died, remember? It was just me and Dad growing up, and you have better skills in the kitchen than he does. So it was learn to cook or starve.” She didn’t say anything after I explained, so I glanced over my shoulder.
“How did she die?” Aerie asked softly.
My stomach tightened. “Cancer.”
“Cancer is vile,” she said, passion in her tone.
I was about to ask her about her reaction, but the toast popped up and she busied herself with it and the butter. Watching her move around the kitchen was sort of like watching a four-year-old on Christmas. All wonder and excitement in her eyes.
Made me want to cook with her more.
After I had everything chopped, I poured the eggs in a pan and sprinkled in the toppings. I let it do its thing for a few moments while I found a spatula. Turning back, I noticed Aerie right near the cooktop, looking at the pan.
“C’mere,” I said, drawing her body back in front of mine again. Positioning my arms around her, I held the spatula out for her to take. Once she did, I closed my hand around hers and held onto the handle of the pan. “Like this,” I instructed.
I showed her how to lift the edges of the omelet to allow more egg to cook. I moved the pan while she practiced. The only conversation was when I was telling her how to do it.
I was tempted to let the damn eggs burn, anything to keep her in my arms like this. But I figured burning breakfast would make me a terrible teacher, and the next time I pulled her into me to show her how to do something, she would think I was just putting on the moves.
I kinda was. But she didn’t need to know that.
Once the omelets, bacon, and toast were plated up, we both sat at the island to
eat. After a couple bites in silence, she glanced up. “It’s good.”
“I know.”
“So humble,” she quipped.
“Same time, same place tomorrow?” I asked, chewing extra loud.
“You are so annoying.” Ah, the fondness in her tone made me chew louder.
After a moment, she put aside her fork and dragged her coffee in front of her, wrapping her hands around it.
I stopped chewing like a mule and swallowed. “Princess?”
She winced, just barely, when I called her that.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
“We made a good team…” She began. “Before, with your guitar.”
I smiled. “I think we could make some good music together.”
She frowned and looked back at her partly eaten food. I ate a few more bites, waiting for her to speak again.
What? I was hungry.
Gazing into her mug, she said, “I’ve been burned a lot by men in the past year.”
“I know.”
Her face jerked up. “You do?”
I shrugged one shoulder, eating another bite of egg. “It’s not hard to see. All I had to do was pay attention.”
“To the press?”
“To you, Aerie. I paid attention to you.”
“But you still called me princess.”
I set down my fork, meeting her probing stare. “Always.”
She nodded slow, then swallowed. “I’d like to work on the album with you.”
I smiled wide.
Her lips tugged upward. “But that’s all it is. Work.”
I tilted my head. “Friends?”
She considered it. I batted my eyes—you know, to make me look innocent.
I don’t think it worked.
But still she said, “Okay. Friends.”
I did a mental fist pump.
Friends. I could work with that.
Aerie
Oh, it was easy.
Being around Nate took barely any effort at all. More than once, I felt my guard slip away completely. It made for good songwriting. Vulnerability always created the best music.
Well, that and butterflies.
I seemed to have an abundance of both when Nate was in the room.
Every morning, he made me breakfast; every morning, I helped. That was four days of standing beside him with the scent of coffee and eggs in the air. Four mornings of listening to him crack stupid jokes and chew so charmingly obnoxiously. Cheeto would play at our feet or sleep on one of the barstools. Nate sneaked him bacon.
If I wasn’t careful, I would get used to this.
If I wasn’t careful, I would remember what it was like to have a real home.
Still, I couldn’t stay away.
I was already in the recording studio when Nate strolled in. I’d come to realize he didn’t really walk anywhere. He strolled. He swaggered. It was like there was a beat playing in his head that only he could hear.
Glancing up from the notes in front of me, I gave him a look. “Why are you still wearing your pajamas?”
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he grabbed a bottled water out of the nearby fridge, uncapped it, and then took a long drink before rubbing his stomach.
His pajamas didn’t even match. The army-green plain T-shirt and blue plaid flannel bottoms definitely didn’t go together. Yet somehow, he made it work. And the deep green of the shirt made his eyes stand out all the more.
“It’s casual Friday,” he finally said, capping the water.
“You’ve definitely mastered the casual part,” I quipped.
Cheeto perked up the second Nate entered. He was curled up in a ball on the furry papasan chair in the corner. He was so small he practically got lost in all the fluff, but his triangular orange ears poked up like little beacons.
“Cheeto, my man,” Nate announced and went toward the kitten. “Give me five.” He held out his palm to the cat as if he really was going to give him five.
To my surprise, Cheeto put his paw in Nate’s hand, who, of course, swiveled his face around and gave me a smirk. “And you thought he would leave me hanging.”
“You’re a nincompoop.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“If you say so, princess.”
He called me that pretty much all the time. I was never one for pet names. Or nicknames of any kind. Being called anything other than my actual name always felt somehow mocking.
I didn’t mind when Nate did it, though.
Just one more thing I was going to get used to but shouldn’t.
“So…” He pulled out the chair near me at the round wooden table and flipped it around so he could straddle it. “You still liking everything we’ve come up with so far?”
I glanced down at the sheet music, our notes, and ideas and nodded. “I actually really do. For the first time in a long time, I’m pretty excited about music again.”
The green of his eyes sparkled, white teeth flashing. “My work here is done.”
“Actually, it’s not,” I returned, dry. “But I think in a few more weeks, we will definitely have a solid draft and we can work more on recording. I’ll call Byron and get a small crew out here to start with the studio time.”
“About that…” Nate began, his voice becoming a little more serious.
My phone went off. “Hold that thought,” I said and picked up the cell.
“Hey, Seth,” I said into the line.
“I’m judging by the carefree tone of your voice you haven’t heard.”
He thinks I sound carefree? Whoa. I couldn’t say I felt carefree, but I definitely did feel a lot less frazzled. The second those thoughts went through my head, the rest of what he said caught up.
“What happened?” My voice was sharp. Nate’s eyes flew to my face, but I kept mine averted.
“It’s not life or death. Nothing like that.” He assured me quickly but added a heavy sigh. “However, it’s not good news.”
“Just tell me,” I half growled.
“There’s a new story going around in the press today.”
“What else is new?” I muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
Nate was in the background, telling me to put it on speaker, and I mouthed the word no at him.
“Considering the amount of time you’ve spent in the press lately, it’s not. I wanted to give you a heads-up, though. Today’s headline is grabbing some traction. It’s being circulated at a faster than normal rate, and a few copycat articles of speculation are popping up.”
The palms of my hands grew damp. Nerves bunched in the back of my neck.
“I know you don’t want to, but I think it’s time you put some serious thought into what kind of statement you want to release.”
My lips pressed into a firm, thin line. “This is about Will.”
“It involves him.”
Well, there went my less-than-frazzled demeanor. “Thanks for cluing me in. I’ll get back to you, okay?”
“Just remember, no one believes that tabloid BS anyway.”
I winced and didn’t bother saying good-bye. Instead, I disconnected the call, then went right to the web to find the newest headline.
It took all of two seconds. Seth wasn’t lying when he said it was going viral. All the blood drained from my face, leaving me lightheaded. Black spots swam before my eyes, making me blink.
Even the black spots couldn’t stop me from reading and rereading the headline.
Princess to Toad?
The Fall of Aerie Boone
The article wasn’t very long and included several unflattering pictures of me and a few better ones of me and Will. I felt my cheeks burn as I looked through it. I was in the press a lot. Sometimes it felt very invasive, and the speculation about me was usually so far off the mark.
But this…
Sources tell us that the marriage to Will Solberg was just a last-ditch attempt at salvaging her unraveling world and reputation.
When we reached out to Will himself, he told us exclusively, “I love Aerie. So much so that I suggested we get married so I could protect her better.”
We asked for further details, perhaps a name… but Solberg, being the gentleman he is, declined to comment further. We can’t say we’d be as mum, especially after the new wife brought home an STD.
Seems Aerie Boone really has fallen from grace. We can’t help but wonder what Time Track Records was doing when they re-signed her. A toad on the payroll… But even worse? A toad with a raging case of warts.
I slammed the phone down on the table and brushed rapidly at the tears streaming down my cheeks. Thought was barely possible. The shock rippling through my brain and filtering down into my limbs was almost incomprehensible.
The entire article had been a slam piece… but those last couple paragraphs? The worst thing that had ever been printed about me.
Ever.
All at the hands of Will.
The chair nearly fell back when I stood abruptly.
“Aerie,” Nate said, concern thick in his voice. I’d forgotten he was here.
The reminder of his presence was like a right hook in my kidney. It made this even worse.
I ran from the room, ignoring his pleas to stop. I couldn’t face him, the article… not even myself.
Will hadn’t been lying when he said I’d regret this.
Nate
Well, that escalated quickly.
I picked up the phone she left behind as she ran from the room, catching the screen just before it went dark.
That red-headed temper that I didn’t often display? It rushed to the surface faster than it ever had. What the actual fuck was this shit? It must have been a hella slow news day, because this was all kinds of made up.
The fact that Will Solberg (aka the guy who most definitely wasn’t winning husband of the year) was quoted in this article, literally calling Aerie a toad and claiming she cheated and tried to give him an STD, was utterly ridiculous.
And it made me want to punch something. Hard.
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