The Plan: A Sweet and Sexy Rock Star Romantic Comedy (The Creek Water Series Book 3)

by Whitney Dineen

  Chapter 19

  Huck is dressed incognito like he was for dinner at the club the other night. He’s wearing clothes that look like they could have been purchased at any Walmart in the country. The chino pants, denim shirt, and baseball cap do very little to disguise him from me, but I’m guessing no one else will look twice. After all, there’s no less likely place than Creek Water, Missouri for a rock star to hang out.

  Huck and his daughter take the booth right behind me. I know this not because I look at them—leaving myself open to discovery—but because I overhear them talking.

  Maggie says, “Do you really think this is where she lives?”

  My ears perk up in interest.

  He answers, “I do. From what my lawyer says, she’s lived here her whole life.”

  “Are you excited?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, but in my mind’s eye I can see his face clearly thinking about how he’s going to answer his daughter’s question. He finally settles on, “I think so. It’s hard to say though. I mean, what if she doesn’t want to see me?”

  Who is Huck Wiley looking for in Creek Water that might not want to see him?

  “Don’t be silly, Dad. Of course, she’ll want to see you. Everyone loves you.”

  “Are you excited to meet her?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure,” Maggie says. “I think I am, but what if we don’t like her? What if she’s like all the other women who just want to hang around us because you’re famous. That would really suck.” I wonder if that’s something they have to deal with a lot. Who am I kidding? Huck Wiley has to be catnip for women of all ages.

  “I agree,” he tells her. “But you know what they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.” The rock star changes the subject. “How’s school been? Are you making friends?”

  Maggie sighs like the weight of the world is resting on her narrow shoulders. “Not really. You know I have a hard time with that.”

  “I do,” he says. “What I don’t know is why. You’re the sweetest girl in the whole wide world. You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re prettier than all the rest of them combined. You’ve got too much going for you, Mags, not to be surrounded by a bunch of friends.”

  “It’s just hard for me. I’m not like them.”

  “I know you feel that way, baby. I do,” he tells her. From the tone of his voice I sense this is a conversation they’ve had many times before. There’s hesitation on his part; like he wants to say something else to her, but he doesn’t think she’ll hear it.

  After Bobby Jean goes over to them and takes their order, Huck asks, “What do you think of Creek Water so far?”

  “It’s small,” Maggie tells him. “I like that.”

  “What about Pasadena? Do you like it better than Beverly Hills?”

  “It’s okay. The kids aren’t as interested in who you are there. I know some of them know you’re my dad, but they don’t ask me questions about you all the time.”

  “Honey,” Huck says, “I wish there was someplace we could live where no one knew me, but unfortunately that’s not possible, unless we want to live completely off the grid or in some remote part of the world.”

  “I know,” she sounds dejected. She’s quiet for a moment before declaring, “Did I tell you that Aunt Claire has chickens in the back yard now? The neighbors complained and told her that if she wanted to live on a farm, she should move to Oxnard.”

  He laughs. “Oh, no, what did Claire tell them?”

  “She said that she would prefer they moved to Oxnard. She said that fresh eggs don’t grow on trees and until they do, she’s going to have chickens.”

  “She’s the last person I’d expect to want them,” he says.

  “I don’t know. I think Aunt Claire wants the world to think she’s a fancy lady, but in her heart she’s pretty normal.”

  “What do you want to do today?” the rock star asks. “You want to hang out at Lexi’s or maybe we can find a movie theater nearby?”

  Either a busboy drops a load of dishes or someone is shooting clay pigeons in the back because there’s a hellacious racket. The noise drowns out my eavesdropping efforts for several moments. When I can hear again, Maggie says. “I want to meet Amelia.” This causes me to lean back startled.

  “It’s Sunday, baby. I think her store is closed today.”

  “Can’t you just call her? You said such nice things about her, I want to meet her, not shop or take a lesson.” What in the world did he say about me?

  “I don’t have her number.”

  “We can ask Lexi for it,” she suggests.

  “Maybe.” Then Huck changes the subject, “We need to get you set up with your online school curriculum. Why don’t we do that today and then it won’t be hanging over our heads.”

  “Nope,” she tells him. “My school in Pasadena has four days off right now, so I’m not doing any schoolwork until Tuesday. Fair is fair.”

  “You’ve got a point. How about we walk around town and get the lay of the land after breakfast? Maybe some fabulous opportunity will present itself.”

  I think to myself, Good luck with that. Sundays in Creek Water are a whole bunch of nothing, but I’ll let them find that out for themselves.

  Bobby Jean picks that moment to stop by with my food, and before I can stop her, she nearly shouts, “Amelia, honey, there’s no way in God’s green meadow you’re going to be able to eat all this by yourself.”

  She says my name loud enough for the businesses across the street to hear. By the time she’s finished dropping my food on the table, someone is standing right next to her. A little girl wearing a ski jacket and red cowboy boots is staring at me. Her head tilts to the side as she asks, “Amelia Frothingham?”

  I nod my head in response. “Yes, ma’am, that’d be me. And who might you be?”

  “I’m Margaret Joan Wiley,” she says as she sits across the booth from me. “I’ve been wanting to meet you,” she announces.

  Oh boy, while I’ve been wanting to meet her too, I’m a little less excited after the little scene with her daddy the other night. But there’s nothing I can do about that now.

  Chapter 20

  “Amelia,” the sound of his voice melts me like butter on freshly mashed potatoes. Huck Wiley is standing next to his daughter.

  “Huck,” I respond for lack of anything else coming to mind.

  He looks down at all the plates in front of me. “Are you expecting five other people?” he asks somewhat rudely.

  “Maybe.” I give him a cool look, uncertain how to speak to him after our last encounter.

  “Being that I only see one set of silverware, I’m guessing you’re on your own this morning. Maybe you’ve become a lumberjack in the last couple of days and need to refuel.” He tells his daughter, “I don’t think Amelia wants us here.” He stares at me while he says this like he’s declaring war or something.

  I hurry to say, “Maggie is more than welcome to join me.” I look at her and add, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Margaret Joan Wiley. May I call you Maggie?”

  Her eyes flicker back and forth between me and her daddy. “Sure, that’s what everyone calls me.” Then she asks, “You don’t like my dad?” I’m obviously doing a great job of not acting like an adoring fan.

  “I love his music,” I tell her truthfully.

  “But not him?” she wants to know.

  “I don’t know your daddy well enough to know whether I like him or not.”

  “Everyone really likes him,” she quickly adds.

  “I’m sure they do, but I like to make up my own mind.”

  A slow smile crosses Maggie’s features. “So, you’re not impressed by him?”

  “I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t impressed by his musical abilities,” I tell her. “He’s quite talented. I don’t know enough about his people skills to judge him on a more personal level.” I chance a glance in the rock star’s direction and find him staring daggers at me, as if the last time he
saw me he hadn’t propositioned me in the boldest way.

  “I don’t think she likes you, Dad.” Maggie releases a bark of laughter.

  He clears his throat before answering, “She doesn’t have to.”

  Then she looks at me and asks, “Can I come over today?”

  “It’s fine by me, if it’s okay with your daddy.”

  Without taking his questioning green eyes off of me, Huck says, “Sure, Mags, we can go over right after we’re done eating.” He seems about as excited as if he was scheduling his own execution.

  “I want to go by myself,” she tells him. “I can leave with Amelia and you can pick me up later. Is that okay?”

  “I thought we were going to spend the day together. I haven’t seen you in five weeks.” He sounds hurt.

  Maggie pats his arm like she’s trying to comfort him. “We’ve got two whole months. Don’t worry, we’ll catch up.”

  Huck doesn’t seem pleased. “Let’s eat breakfast first and then we’ll decide.” He signals Bobby Jean. “We’ll take our food over here when it’s ready.”

  Bobby Jeans replies, “Sure thing, hon.”

  I look at Huck and arch an eyebrow in question. “Is that your way of asking if you can join me?”

  Maggie asks sweetly, “Would it be okay if he stayed? I really have missed him, but I want to get to know you, too.”

  “For you, I’ll let him.” That’s when I feel something under the table and I nearly hit the ceiling. Somebody’s knee is trying to nudge my legs apart and I’m willing to bet it’s not Maggie’s.

  I slam my calves together with lighting speed before sticking my hand under the table to swat him away, but he’s already moved. Huck Wiley is a fiend. This breakfast is going to be unbearable, but there’s precious little I can do about it now.

  Maggie stares at my food and asks, “You don’t like your food to touch either, huh?”

  Looking at the small plates in front of me, I answer, “I ordered off the a la carte menu. I wanted a bunch of different things, so it seemed like the best way to go.” She looks disappointed so I add, “When I was a kid, nothing could touch. Actually, that’s not true. Green beans and corn could touch, but they couldn’t touch my meat or potatoes.”

  “What about your breakfast cereal?” she asks.

  “I didn’t pour the milk until right before I started eating it and then I had to finish the bowl in under five minutes or I’d have to throw it out.”

  “What about fried eggs?” she wants to know.

  “They were okay as long as the yoke didn’t run.”

  Maggie looks pleased with my answer. “My dad likes runny yolks. He says it’s the best way to eat eggs.”

  “Your daddy is a barbarian,” I tell her, which makes her smile even brighter. “You want to try my biscuits and gravy?” I ask. “Bobby Jean’s are the best I’ve ever had.”

  She looks skeptical. “The gravy is already touching the biscuit.”

  “How ’bout if I order one with the gravy on the side. Would you try it then?”

  She nods her head slowly. “I guess.”

  Huck watches us like we’re from another planet. The same planet as each other but not the same as him.

  I signal Bobby Jean and ask for another biscuit with the gravy on the side. “It’s for my friend Maggie,” I tell her that, so she doesn’t add two biscuits to the list of things she’s sure to tell everyone I ate.

  I scoot out of the booth and grab two sets of silverware from the next table. I hand them to my new dining companions. “Try the pancakes,” I tell Maggie. “They’re really good.”

  Maggie digs right in as her daddy watches her. She asks, “Why are the blueberries so small?”

  “Bobby Jean uses wild blueberries. They’re always smaller but they have a stronger flavor.”

  “They’re wonderful. Dad, you’ve got to try this,” she encourages.

  Huck unwraps his silverware from the paper napkin and digs in. I watch his mouth, mesmerized as his full lips open and his tongue peeks out just before he inserts a forkful of pancakes. He groans in such a way that it wouldn’t be hard to imagine he was doing something other than eating. Loathe as I am to admit it to myself, my body jumps to life, and I can feel the blood zinging through me, making contact with somewhat forgotten nerve endings. “They are good!” he says enthusiastically.

  Bobby Joe comes over and deposits their breakfast. Huck offers, “My compliments to the chef. I don’t think I’ve ever had such fine pancakes.” Apparently, I’m the only one he’s being grumpy to this morning.

  “They’re the best in these parts,” she announces proudly before saying, “I’ll be right back to refill your coffee.”

  I start eating and don’t worry about filling the air with chit chat. I take one bite of sticky bun, followed by one bite of pancake, then a bit of scrambled eggs, and finally a nibble of bacon. Then I take a drink of water and a sip of hot chocolate.

  I look up to see Maggie watching me closely. “How do you do that?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Take one bite of everything. I have to finish one thing before I can start the next.”

  I would never say what I’m about to say in front of anyone else, it’s just too embarrassing, but there’s something about Maggie Wiley that makes me want to tell her the truth. “I’m afraid if I eat one thing first, I’ll hurt everything else’s feelings. You know, make them feel like they aren’t as good as the thing I chose to eat first.” I further compound my humiliation by adding, “Now, I’ll take another bite of everything in reverse order to balance it all out.”

  Maggie asks, “But don’t the flavors get all mixed up in your mouth that way?”

  “Not if you take a sip of water between bites. That’s always an option.”

  While she considers my words, I risk taking a peek at Huck. He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my cotton-picking mind, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he turns to his daughter and smiles at her with such love in his eyes that my heart threatens to start liking him again. Of course, I dare not now that he’s running all hot and cold on me. What in the world is that all about anyway? You don’t proposition a person on one day only to treat them like you don’t even like them the next time you see them. It doesn’t make any sense.

  Chapter 21

  Huck pays for my breakfast as well as his and Maggie’s. I protest by saying, “I can pay for myself.”

  Maggie intercedes, “Let him do it, Amelia. Dad has loads of money.”

  “Money doesn’t make you a better person, Maggie.”

  “I know that. I’m not saying you should like him because he has money, I’m just saying that you should let him pay for things.”

  Ten-year-old logic at its finest. Who am I to disagree?

  As we walk down Main Street together, Maggie takes Huck’s hand. It’s such a sweet gesture that it makes me long for a child of my own—for someone who reaches for me with such ease and love, like I’m their everything.

  Huck notices me staring at their entwined fingers and shoots me a scorching hot look that says he wants to do more than hold my hand. I nearly trip over my own foot. If his behavior at the diner is any indication, I’m not sure the man even likes me anymore, but that doesn’t seem to deter his interest in other pursuits. As far as I’m concerned, Huck Wiley’s schizophrenic behavior is working against him.

  Maggie is like a puppy when we get to my shop. She bounces here and there, looking at everything she can lock her sights on. After about five minutes of this, she starts to get a little shaky, as in, her hands actually start to shake.

  Huck hurries to her side and says, “Let’s find a place for you to sit down, Mags. Take some slow, deep breaths for me, okay?”

  I lead the way to the back of the store where I have a table and chairs set up for the classes I teach. Once Maggie is seated, I notice that her pupils are dilated and she’s breathing hard. She’s having a panic attack.

  I reach for a bowl of stones that I ke
ep on one of the apothecary stands nearby. I put it in front of her and instruct, “Close your eyes for me, honey.” After a moment, she follows my suggestion, so I continue, “I want you to pick up one stone at a time and tell me what it feels like.”

  She picks up a piece of turquoise first and holds it for a moment before shakily saying, “It’s rough in places but smooth in others. It’s not heavy but it feels solid like if I threw it really hard it could break something.”

  Huck is standing behind his daughter as though prepared to pick her up and run at a moment’s notice. For the first time, I can see how vulnerable a parent feels when their child is gripped by something they have no control over. I feel a new kind of regret that I put my parents through this when I was younger.

  There’s no way to take away the burden of anxiety from someone else. Everyone has to learn how to handle it on their own. I tell Maggie, “That’s a good description. Now put that stone on the table and pick up another.”

  She reaches for a large pink quartz. “This one is really rough. It feels like a small mountain.” Then she’s does something unexpected and she smells it. I don’t comment one way or another because I know she’s finding her way out of her anxiety and that map is hers alone.

  “How does the quartz make you feel, Maggie?”

  She considers my question before answering in a stronger voice, “Powerful. It makes me feel strong like I can pick up a mountain.”

  I hurry to grab a geode off a shelf behind me and hand it to her. I tell her, “I found this rock myself and cut it open with a hammer. Tell me what this one makes you feel.” She tentatively takes it out of my hand. “Wow, it’s heavy.” Then she touches the back of it, before moving on to the sharp crystals at the core. She holds it for the longest time before announcing, “If people were rocks, I’d be this one.”

  Huck’s eyes fill with emotion. “How so, baby? How are you and that rock alike?”

  She answers, “We’re both kind of smooth on the outside. There are some bumps, but overall we’re pretty normal.” Then she turns it over and touches the jagged crystals. “Inside though, we’re rocky and sharp; we’re hurt.”