"Al?" I ask calmly.
She turns to look over her shoulder and levels me with a glare. "Don't you dare sound so calm," she warns.
I look at Sara and we both smother laughs.
"I am calm, because it's pretty obvious someone needs to be right now. But also—"
"Do you remember when I used to work for The Cut?" she interrupts, slamming another cupboard shut.
The Cut is a high-end steak place downtown. Ali used to run their catering section. Or really, Ali used to be their catering section.
"Sure. But Al—"
"And do you remember how frustrated I'd be every day after work?"
I take a seat at the counter and wave Sara over to join me. "I do. Their kitchen wasn't set up for catering, it was set up for the restaurant, and it made it really tough for you to do your job. But honey, there's something—"
She whirls around. "Exactly! And that's why I opened my own shop, where I have things set up the way I like them. So that I never have to be in the middle of making a bourbon bread pudding and have to wonder where in God's name the vanilla extract is!"
Sara makes this strange choking noise and looks down at the counter with determination. I can see the edges of her lips curling, and her shoulders shaking with the effort not to laugh.
"Al, hon?"
"What?!" she snaps, wiping an arm across her forehead, causing several of her curls to break free of the bandana that's now also askew on her head.
Sara finally gives up the struggle, breaking down into peals of laughter.
I gasp as I struggle to contain my own. Meanwhile, Ali's eyes are sparking, and her brows draw down in anger. She points one hand, that's fisting a giant wooden spoon, at me. "You are not—"
"Al!" I finally have to shout to get her attention. Then I gesture at her.
She stands there, frustration blazing, as she slowly follows my gaze, because there, clutched fiercely in her other hand, is a bottle of vanilla extract.
She looks at the bottle in her hand, then at me, then at Sara, and bursts into laughter.
Five minutes later, we've all laughed ourselves into bruised ribs, and I've poured Ali a glass of wine. "Dr's orders," I tell her.
She and Sara get back to their bread pudding, and I go outside to check on Quinn and Ross.
Ross is right on the back deck, a phone glued to his ear. Quinn is hanging out with the tech guys, who've come to install the movie screen.
Ross gives me a grimace as he continues his conversation. "Yeah, I get that, man. And I'm happy to meet face to face, but I can't tonight. If you want to hang out in Chicago for the night, I'll come up there tomorrow and we can spend the whole day hashing it out."
He pauses, listening to the other person on the call.
"No, Sara is having a party. She's been planning it for weeks. I can't leave." He lifts his gaze to the sky, frustration all over the gesture. "Yeah, I guess that would be okay." Then his voice hardens. "But this isn't some after-party, Stone. It's a fourteen-year-old girl's first big event. She planned the entire thing from start to finish, and there will be families here, little kids, old people, all kinds."
I listen as he gives his bandmate ground rules, then the address and instructions for how to get here from Chicago. After he disconnects, he runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head.
"What's going on?" I ask as I move to lean against the deck railing next to him.
"Stone took it upon himself to fly to Chicago, wanting a face-to-face meeting with me."
"And he's insisting on coming here tonight," I finish.
"Yep."
"Is that a problem?"
Ross sighs. "Probably not, but he's unpredictable. And he's been really pissed since I gave him the news about my plans. I just have a bad feeling about the whole thing."
I touch his hand for just a moment. We're still just friends around the kids, although they both seem to know it's building into something more. It's tough to hold ourselves back when we're with others, but we know it's the right way to handle this. If we stand a chance at making this work long-term, we have to take the time to let it settle with the people we love.
"Maybe it's just that you're nervous for Sara and her party right now. But you guys have been in a band together for decades. He knows Sara. He won't do anything hurtful just because he's mad about business. No one's that selfish, Ross. She's a child."
He nods. "You're right. I'm probably just being paranoid. I'm so nervous about this being everything she's hoped."
I smile at him and let myself caress his cheek just for a moment. I really want to kiss him, but the sound of Sara's voice from inside reminds me to control myself. "It's going to be perfect. She'll love it, and she loves you. Don't worry."
He smiles back at me and it feels like something in the universe has just shifted. Like it's not him and me anymore, but us. It's something I haven't felt in so long, it takes me a moment to recognize. But then I'm floored by the knowledge that not only do we feel like a we, I also want him with a fierceness that's almost frightening.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, not touching me with anything but his voice.
"You're not so bad yourself," I answer softly.
"If we were alone right now—"
I sigh. "Don't. Don't say it or I might go insane."
"We're going to find a way to be alone tonight," he warns. "No matter what it takes."
"It might take sneaking out and doing it in the back of your car," I warn.
"Deal." His gaze is hot, and his promise is iron-clad. My heart races as we gaze at one another.
"Deal," I whisper.
If only I can survive until then.
By the time eight p.m. rolls around, Sara's party is in full swing. The lights in the backyard are like twinkling stars, and the musicians Ross flew in have just started their first set from their makeshift stage on the back deck. The documentary is rolling, the giant screen filled with images of the Mississippi River—steamboats, fishermen, flora and fauna—and the food is amazing.
Ali and Sara made Memphis ribs, New Orleans gumbo, Po' boys, boiled crawfish, beignets, bourbon bread pudding, and a slew of shrimp platters, veggie platters, and side dishes that make my eyes cross. It's completely amazing, and Ali said Sara was a natural.
I watch as Sara and some friends of Quinn's goof around with a soccer ball on one side of the yard, while adults dance to the live jazz, chase small children, and congregate around the bar we have set up near the garage. Ross's parents are seated at a table holding court, as they reconnect with old friends they haven't seen in years, and Martha and Violet are lounging in two Adirondack chairs, big pink drinks with umbrellas in them at their sides.
"I'm going to call it a success," Craig says as he moves next to me, barely avoiding a collision with his own kid, who's chasing some other boys around while Blanco runs after them yipping up a storm.
"I completely agree," I say, bumping his beer bottle with mine. "I think Sara has a future as an event coordinator."
"Or a bakery owner," he adds.
"Or a caterer."
We both smile.
"Thank you, by the way," he says softly.
"For what?"
"For caring enough to be a friend to him."
I'm taken aback. "I'm not sure what you mean? It's not like it's a hardship to hang out with him. He's a really good guy, in case you hadn't noticed."
He chuckles. "I had noticed, but I'm not sure he remembered, and I'm not sure anyone had taken the time to see that in years." He faces me and I see the big heart inside this big man. "I don't think anyone had seen anything but money and fame, and how they could get some from him, for a long time."
"He's lucky you never stopped seeing him," I tell Craig.
He's about to say something else when a sobbing ice cream-covered Mandy weaves up to us.
"Da-aa-dy!" she wails. "I d-d-dropped my ice cream!"
"That's my cue." Craig bends down and picks her up as she splays her
sticky fingers all over his shirt. "Come on," he tells her. "Let's go find you some more."
I laugh as they meander away toward the cooler with the ice cream at the far end of the yard.
"There you are," Ross says as he comes around the corner of the deck, followed by none other than the infamous Stone Andrews, bass guitarist for Odyssey.
"Here I am," I say, giving the tall lanky Stone a smile. His jet-black hair is sticking up multiple ways from his head, and he's wearing a pair of faded jeans that hang from his lean hips, a dark slate Henley, and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots.
"Carly, this is Stone, my bandmate," Ross says in introduction. "Stone, I'd like you to meet Carly Ellis, an old friend of mine here in town."
Stone's bright blue eyes light up and he takes my hand, not to shake, but to hold. "Well," he says with a slightly oily smile. "Now I get it."
I hear a strange sound come from Ross's throat, and Stone releases my hand. "Relax, brother. Just admiring your taste."
My gaze darts between them, and Ross's is dark and dangerous, so I try to diffuse whatever is going on.
"Well, it's nice to meet you," I tell Stone. "And it's great you could make it to Sara's party."
He smiles, his gaze wandering over my shoulder. "Yeah, where is she?" he asks. "I haven't seen the kid in years."
"I'm sure she'll turn up soon," Ross says. "In the meantime, let me show you to the food table. I know you're always ready to eat."
Stone laughs. "Do you now?" he asks, a sharp look in his eyes. "Know me, that is."
Ross's expression grows even darker, and Stone's more amused. He turns to me. "Carly. You're lovely, and it was a true pleasure. We'll spend some more time together soon, I’m sure."
He takes my hand again and kisses it. But his gaze is on Ross the entire time, so I know it has absolutely nothing to do with me. A chill crawls over my skin and I vow that I'll keep an eye on him tonight. Ross was right. Something doesn't feel right.
An hour and a half later, some of the smaller children have been sent home to bed, or even into Ross's house, tucked up various places with Martha and Violet watching over them. The adults are getting looser, dancing and laughing, some couples talking privately in the darker corners of the yard. The teens have taken to one of the game tables, with Sara dealing the cards and Quinn and his friends betting with candy and pennies.
I'm relaxing with Ali in the premier Adirondack chairs as we watch the band, when they stop playing for a moment.
"Hey there," the guy who's been band leader all night says. "You guys have a nice little town here."
Everyone cheers and claps.
"We're all from L.A., but when our friend Ross said he needed us to come play a party that his daughter planned, well, we knew it must be pretty special."
Quinn and his buddies start chanting, "Sara! Sara! Sara!" And she blushes adorably.
"We're going to have to stop pretty soon here, so the neighbors can go to bed—"
Everyone groans in despair and the band leader laughs.
"But before we do, we thought we'd get the host up here to help out. Ross! Where you at, man. Get up here."
The party breaks into cheers and shouts, and Ross leaves the circle of people he's been talking to and makes his way onto the deck. The guys hand him a guitar and he settles in front of the mic.
"Hey, look!" Craig yells from the dance floor, where he has Dee in his arms. "It's a rockstar!"
Ross chuckles and flips him off. Then he leans into the mic. "This one is for my prom date." He winks at me and Ali lets out a long sigh.
“Oh, my lord," she says, fanning herself, as Ross launches into one of Odyssey's best-known power ballads. My poor hear just flutters away inside my chest. "I think he's serious about this whole thing," Ali tells me.
Part of me is still worried. Even if he is serious, the details still need to be settled. Try hard as I am to just go with this, it's tough, because I really don't want to get used to this—to having him—and then wake up one day and discover I have to give it all back.
But as I gaze into his eyes, as he sings words to a song I know by heart, but have never had sung to my heart, all I can do is accept. Accept that he wants this, accept that we're going to try this, and accept that this might turn into something that lasts more than a moment.
I let the emotions wash over me as Ross's gaze stays locked on mine. I know I'll never be able to listen to this song again without remembering this sweet, hopeful moment with the man who's breaking down any defenses I ever had.
But suddenly, I hear a yelp from the yard, and Ali's head whips around. I turn a moment later, just in time to see a flash go off.
"What the hell?" Ali asks as she leans forward, trying to see.
"Please don't," I hear Sara's voice whimper, and then Quinn, angry but scared at the same time. "Stop it, man, she didn't give you permission."
There's another flash, and I stand just in time to see a man with a camera shoved virtually in Sara's face. He's got greasy hair and a beer gut that's stretching his dark sweatshirt.
"Come on, Sara," he says loudly. "Is it true that Daddy’s not hiding his pregnant girlfriend, but his pregnant daughter?”
I see Sara cover her face with her hands, but before I can move to help her, something flies past me in my peripheral vision.
"Oh shit," Ali murmurs.
In a split second, Ross is off the deck, and has ahold of the paparazzi's sweatshirt. I hear a collective gasp from the party guests as he lifts the guy off his feet and tosses him six feet away. The smarmy photographer lands with a thud on the ground, and Ross goes after him, leaning down to snatch his camera. He pulls it off the guy's neck with a snap, breaking the strap.
"You can't take that!" the paparazzi shouts.
Ross snarls and throws it—hard—against the brick wall nearby. The camera shatters into several chunks. But Ross already has the photographer up on his feet again, his sweatshirt bunched in Ross's hand.
"How the fuck did you get in here?" Ross snarls.
I see Craig and Quinn flank Ross, ready to back him up, and Ali grabs my hand as we work our way through the speechless crowd to reach Sara. She collapses into my arms, shaking.
"Ask your buddy," the photographer whines, pointing at Stone a few feet away.
Ross's lip curls in disgust before he shoves the man away. "Get the fuck off my property and don't you dare come back, or I'll have you thrown in jail."
The guy scuttles across the yard and out the gate like the hounds of hell are following him.
But before he's even out the gate, Ross turns, takes one big step, and punches Stone so hard he stumbles trying to stay on his feet.
"You mother. Fucker."
Stone regains his balance and holds a hand to his nose, that's gushing blood like a geyser now. "Screw you." His voice is like a hiss, vicious and cold. "You think you can mess with my world whenever the whim hits you and not pay a price? We had the best thing going in the history of music, and you want to ruin it—for what? So you can pretend you're a father? Or maybe it's for her—" He sneers at me, his lip curled in disgust. "You don't get to just walk away, Macalester. I poured my blood, sweat and tears into that band. It's mine." He jabs a finger at his chest. "You don't get to decide when it's done. I do."
Ross begins to move toward Stone again, his fists clenched, but Craig puts a hand on Ross's arm.
"It's time for you to go," Craig tells Stone. "You're not welcome here." He's got about fifty pounds and several inches on Stone, so when he steps toward him, I see Stone recoil.
"Yeah, whatever. I made my point." He shoulders past a few spectators, who look at him in disgust, and walks toward the gate.
Craig follows him, and several of the other men at the party do, as well. "And that lack of a welcome extends all the way to the city limits," Craig adds. "You enjoy your trip back to L.A. now."
A few moments later, we hear a car peel out and Craig and the other men return.
Everyone breathes a co
llective sigh of relief, and Ali looks at me as I stroke Sara's hair and comfort her. "I got this," Ali tells me, before she starts ushering everyone out, thanking them for coming and being incredibly gracious, given the circumstances.
Craig has his arm around Ross, talking softly to him, and Quinn is hovering near me, watching Sara.
"Quinn? Can you go get Sara some Kleenex and a drink of water?" I ask softly. He nods and heads off on his mission.
"Sweetheart," Ross says, reaching for Sara. She stiffens and clings to me. Ross looks at me with worry.
"Honey, it's all okay now," I tell her. "Your dad took care of it. Everything's going to be fine."
She shakes her head and begins sobbing harder. "No it won't. Nothing will ever be okay again. He's going to print stories about me that aren't true, and everyone's going to make fun of me." She looks up at me with a desolate gaze. "My party is ruined." Her voice is small and so lost. "It's all ruined." Then she looks at Ross. "And it's all because of you."
33
Ross
Sara's words are like a spike through my heart. The tears streak her face and it's all I can do to keep from reaching out and wiping them away. I don't, because her eyes and her words tell me that all the progress we've made this month has vanished, like the sunlight in a thunderstorm.
"Sara," I plead, my voice rough. "I promise, I'm not going to let any of that happen."
Carly looks at me with pity, and I hear Craig whisper in my ear, "It might be time to call it a night, man. Everyone's exhausted."
I can't take my eyes off my daughter, who's shutting me out moment by moment.
"Why don't I take you inside," Carly tells her. "We can make you some hot tea and get you into bed."
"Take me home with you," Sara says, that signature stubborn tone returning to her voice.
I hear Dee gathering the kids, and the guys from the band packing up their equipment, but none of it matters because the light has gone out in Sara's eyes.
Carly looks at me, questioning. "Ross? Maybe it would be best. Just for tonight."
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