After just a few minutes, the houselights came down and about forty middle school kids, all dressed in the choir uniform of black pants and a white button down shirt, marched out onto the stage. They stood on risers, watching the director for the cue to start.
Jet had to smile. There was a distinct nervous energy in the air, between the kids getting ready to sing and the parents waiting for the show to start. It reminded Jet of the many times he’d performed on this very stage when he was Mila’s age. It was where he’d gotten his start.
Mila’s scanning eyes found her brothers and she gave a small, fluttering wave. Jet returned it and shot a thumbs up back at her. After the quick exchange, she turned her eyes back to her director and her whole demeanor changed. She became focused and serious, waiting for the cue to begin.
Jet’s heart clutched in his chest. He’d come so far from the kid that stood on this middle school stage. That was true in both a good way and a bad way. He’d had wide swings of both victory and defeat.
But now, watching Mila and her classmates fill the space with their voices, showing off all of their hard work to family and friends, he thought he might know how he’d dial back that clock a little bit. Maybe the key wasn’t so much to move forward in his life and career, but to find the path to the future by looking back.
If he could manage to recapture the joy that he’d felt at this age when he’d performed – the same joy that he saw on his little sister’s face at that very moment as she sung her heart out – then maybe that could be the thing that showed him where he was meant to be, and what he was meant to be doing.
Yeah. That felt good. It felt right. For so many years, he’d been chasing lots of things in his career – fame, money, a place on the charts. But what he really needed to chase was the one thing that was missing. Joy in his work. The love of the craft.
Chapter 20
Abby
Abby looked around at her festive surroundings. The living room of Mrs. Trelawney’s gorgeous mansion, high atop the mountains of Valentine Bay and overlooking the Pacific Ocean from the grand floor to ceiling windows, was spectacular.
Of course, the room was impressive on its own. Nothing in this perfectly-appointed home was less than magnificent. But add in the holiday decor? She may as well have been standing in the middle of the holiday edition of Architectural Digest or House Beautiful.
Fir bunting was draped elegantly from the molding, subtle and elegant white twinkle lights tucked into the branches. A large and professionally decorated Christmas tree stood in the far corner of the room by the fireplace, in which a cheerful and cozy fire roared, and burgundy velvet ribbon wrapped and tied in the most beautiful configurations around the room completed the Christmas touches.
Adding to the ambience, Christmas carols were being piped into the room at exactly the right volume – quiet enough so that it wouldn’t impede conversation, but loud enough to fill anyone but the biggest Scrooge with Christmas cheer.
Well, Abby figured, apparently I am that Scrooge. Because I don’t feel anything even approximating the holiday spirit right now. Bah freaking humbug.
Then, Mrs. Trelawney walked over to her and the reason why she felt so distinctly un-Christmas-y came flooding back to her in an instant.
“Darling,” Mrs. Trelawney began, in a tone that made it clear to Abby that Mrs. T viewed her as anything but darling. “I see people with empty glasses. That simply will not do. Circulate, my dear. Circulate.”
Abby gave the older woman the most patient smile she could manage and explained, not for the first time, “Again, Mrs. Trelawney. I am supplying the vintages for your gathering. And I’m also volunteering my time as a resident expert for your guests, should they wish to discuss any of the wines being served tonight. But I’m not part of the catering staff, and serving does not fall within my job description.”
Mrs. Trelawney waved her hand as if the explanation didn’t matter at all. Abby figured that, to her, it probably didn’t. But Abby couldn’t help herself, she had to keep setting the boundary. If she let herself be steamrolled, who knew where it would end?
“Just…just see that it’s taken care of, would you? Be a dear. Off you go.”
Abby gritted her teeth and prepared to deliver another calm but firm response, but her hostess’ attention had moved in the direction of the front door. The woman’s face lit up like the star on top of the Christmas tree across the room. “Oh, wonderful! My last-minute guest of honor has arrived.”
Abby followed her gaze to see who’d delighted her client so completely.
And then she couldn’t help but laugh when she saw it was Jet. Because, of course it was.
His eyes scanned the room and lit up when they found Abby, and her insides did the same. They were a matching pair.
“I can’t believe Jet Valentine was able to make it on such short notice,” Mrs. Trelawney gushed. “His grandmother assured me that she would insist, but that only goes so far with young people, you know?”
Abby tilted her head at the woman. “Mrs. Trelawney, I have to admit that I’m surprised you’re even familiar with Jet’s band, or his music.”
Abby was treated to a repeat of the hand wave gesture, as if what she’d said was of no real consequence. “My goodness, I’m certainly not. No, in my view, the only rock and roll music worth listening to died with Elvis.”
“O…kay…” Abby said, drawing out the word in puzzlement. “Why are you so excited that he’s here, then?”
“Because he’s in the news, darling. He’s not only a celebrity, but a person of particular current interest. That makes him the biggest ‘get’ of the holiday party circuit. And I’m the one who got him. Now, shoo, dear. He’s coming over.”
Abby gritted her teeth. Normally, she was about as likely to respond to someone commanding her to “shoo” as she was to someone commanding her to stand on one leg and bark like a dog, but she swallowed her pride and turned on her heel. Mrs. Trelawney threw this holiday wine and cheese party every year, and since the word “wine” was actually in the name of the party, Abby definitely wanted to remain the regular annual vendor. It did wonders for her bottom line, if not for her sanity.
She’d only taken a couple of steps in the opposite direction, though, when she heard Jet’s voice ringing across the room. “Abs! Where are you going? Get back here!”
Shit. Before she even turned and saw the woman’s face, she knew that this wasn’t going to go over well with Mrs. Trelawney. Still, she knew the only thing to do was slap on a full-strength holiday spirit smile and do her best to ignore the passive aggressive digs she was certainly about to endure.
She spun around and got back to where she’d originally been standing at the same time that Jet reached the little group.
Sure enough, Mrs. T cut her eyes to Abby, and the look in them was enough to let her know that she was about to be on the receiving end of a whole lot of insincere “darlings” and “dears.”
By the time Abby had retraced the few steps she’d taken and rejoined the little group, Jet was there, too. She found herself struck by a weird awkwardness. Like this was the morning after portion of a tawdry one-night stand or something. Which was weird – nothing could be further from the truth. She might not know exactly what the future held with her and Jet, but she wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed about the two of them. If anything, she was proud.
“So,” Mrs. Trelawney said, the tightness in her voice competing with the sugary-sweetness of her smile. “You know my wine vendor, Mr. Valentine?”
Abby couldn’t help but grin. “Wow. I haven’t heard anyone call you that since Mr. Gerber shouted it down the halls at you in middle school.”
Jet laughed, and together they imitated their long-ago Vice Principal, their voices going low and stern. “Mr. Valentine, where exactly are you supposed to be right now?” they chorused.
Mrs. Trelawney, far from finding the reminiscence as funny as they did, looked like she was biting down on a lemon.
; “Charming,” she said flatly. Then, with a small squaring of her shoulders, she dove back into “perfect hostess” mode. “Yes, that truly is charming. You’re childhood acquaintances, then?”
Abby didn’t say anything. After all, she didn’t know how Jet felt about them being public, or labeled, or…God, who knew what might be a concern to someone in his position? She felt it would be best for him if she just kept her mouth shut.
Jet didn’t seem to share her reservations, though. With a wide grin, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, then leaned down and planted a solid kiss on her lips.
She was still a little breathless when he said, “No. I mean, yeah, sure, we’ve known each other since we were kids. But Abby’s my girl.”
Whoa. His girl.
Normally, with any other guy and in any other situation, she wouldn’t have liked hearing it phrased that way. She would’ve retorted that she was a grown woman, not a girl, and if she was anyone’s woman, it was her own, thankyouverymuch.
She didn’t do that now, though. She didn’t even want to. Because hearing herself called Jet Valentine’s girl was just about the awesomest damn thing she’d ever heard.
Chapter 21
Jet
God damn. Jet had only come to this freaking party because he’d known Abby was going to be here. He’d thought it would be a good chance for them to hang out.
Plus, when he heard it was a “wine and cheese” party, he’d been stoked. It would give him the perfect opportunity to see how hard it was going to be for him to be around alcohol and not drink any. And, bonus, there’d be all that cheese around to ease the sting. Win, win.
But that wasn’t how it was working out. Instead of holding hands with his girl, laughing and talking while they listened to string quartet versions of Christmas carols and stuffed their faces with cheeses of the world, he was stuck here listening to Mrs. Trelawney talk.
And talk. And talk and talk and talk.
For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even been offered any cheese yet!
“So, you do have to understand how exclusive the guest list for this party is,” the woman droned. “There are three lists I maintain throughout the year. The A List, the B List, and the C List. Only the A List gets definite invites. Depending on the RSVPs from the A List, some from the B List might receive an invite – but it’s so rare that any invitations are turned down. People do know that failure to attend one year results in automatic demotion to the next list down for the next year, so believe me, people who matter make it a point to be here.”
“Mmmm,” Jet replied noncommittally.
His hostess apparently took that as agreement, though, because she continued, “Exactly! And it’s very difficult to move up to the list above during the course of a year. Normally, it takes people two to three years to regain a lost place on the A List, which as I’m sure you can imagine, is highly coveted. And going from C to A in one year? Well, my God, I suppose it’s possible, but it’s literally never been done, and I’ve been throwing this party for 25 years.”
“Well…” Jet began, with the intention of making some excuse to leave the conversation and take Abby with him. It didn’t work, though, as she just steamrolled right along.
“Of course, there was that two year period in the middle where my dear Werner was so ill. I simply couldn’t manage it during that dark time. But, after he was gone, rest his soul, my thoughts did, of course, turn back to reinstating the tradition.”
Jet’s brows drew together. His interest had been drawn into the conversation against his will. “Really? I mean…is that really an ‘of course’ kind of thing?”
“Oh, yes. I mean, it is an institution. And people were clamoring for it. I sent out a group email as autumn approached. No body text. Subject line only. It said, ‘If she throws it, will they come?’ You wouldn’t believe the response. You simply wouldn’t believe it.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t,” Jet said, and he knew he had to find a way to get the hell out of the conversation soon or he was going to lose his battle against laughter. That probably wouldn’t be great for Abby’s bottom line – and he knew she must care about that, because she’d been silent during the entire conversation in a very un-Abby-like way.
Luckily, at that moment, he spotted the perfect opportunity to distract the woman from her stream of chatter. He saw someone come through the door who was certainly far higher in the Valentine Bay social hierarchy than he was, which would be catnip to someone like her.
“Oh, look,” he said, gesturing toward the entryway. “There’s my grandmother.”
Mrs. Trelawney’s gaze moved to the front door and her eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, so it is! So pleased she could make it. Excuse me, dears. I must go and say my hellos.”
Jet grabbed Abby’s hand and they hurried away before she could change her mind.
Jet led Abby through the spacious but crowded rooms, then turned to face her. “Where’s the kitchen? Maybe we could step outside and get some air.”
She smiled and then bit her lip. Fuck, that was an adorable combination. He recognized it from when they were in high school. It was one of her standards – the smile because she felt either happy victorious (depending on if they were on a team together or competing against each other), and the lip biting was because she was concentrating on what she was about to say.
As with pretty much any time she was about to speak, he couldn’t wait to hear what might come out of her mouth. Even if it was about something as small as directions to the kitchen.
Her eyes sparked. “Well…guests aren’t technically supposed to be in there. But, I guess…I mean, I am the wine consultant for the evening. So, I suppose I’m sort of like an employee…”
He couldn’t help but grin at the mischievous glint that lit her eyes, and the flush of excitement coloring her cheeks. He laid his hand on the side of her face and rubbed his thumb back and forth along the soft ridge of her cheekbone. “God, you’re adorable,” he whispered and leaned in for a tender kiss.
When he pulled back, her head tilted to the side. “I appreciate the sentiment. Really, I do. But what was so adorable about that? I was just stating facts.”
He pulled her to him. “It was adorable because the idea of sneaking through the kitchen at this party is so ‘naughty’ to you that it puts that spark in your eyes. It just brings it home to me how different we are now. How different our lives are.”
She feigned disappointment. “Wait a minute. Are you trying to tell me that I am not the single most rock ‘n’ roll chick you’ve ever met? I think I might be insulted.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Holy shit, Abs. Even if I’d thought that up until now, the fact that you’d use the phrase ‘the most rock ‘n’ roll chick’ would’ve disqualified you.”
She joined in his laughter. “My crown would’ve been stripped, huh?”
“Oh, hell, yes,” he confirmed. “Faster than a beauty queen with a secret sex tape from her past that gets released and goes viral.”
She shook her head. “Wow. That was a very specific example that you just had right in your back pocket,” she teased.
“Yeah, well, to be fair, most of my analogies do involve beauty queens and sex tapes, so it was kind of right there in my quiver.”
Abby kissed him and then leaned her head against his shoulder. “God, I’ve missed this all these years.”
He stroked her hair. “Really? I don’t remember us doing this all those years ago. I know I’ve killed a lot of brain cells over the years, but I feel like that would’ve stuck with me.”
Abby gave him a playful smack. “Not the making out, perv. The banter.”
“Ah. You mean the verbal making out.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, well my little wild woman, how about you prove your rock ‘n’ roll creds and show me that forbidden kitchen.”
Abby took his hand and led him through the kitchen, which was bustling with catering staff, and out through the
back door. The air was crisp and cold, and made him feel even more alive than he felt every moment he stood next to Abby. And that was saying a lot.
He glanced down and saw Abby shiver and rub her upper arms. “Oh, shit. Yeah, it’s cold. Here, take my jacket.”
He whipped off his leather jacket. The one he’d had since he was fifteen and only dreaming of being a rock star. Wanting to look the part. The jacket was scuffed and beat up now, and he thought he liked it even more that way. It had been a part of him longer than anything else in his life, other than his family.
Without thinking twice, he slipped it over Abby’s shoulders and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close as they strolled around the impressive grounds of the property.
It was magical, really, with strings of twinkle lights wound into the branches of every tree. It was like being in a fairy tale. But, truthfully, he wouldn’t have even noticed his surroundings if he hadn’t been standing next to her. She made everything feel like magic, like being in a fairy tale.
He never wanted it to end. He didn’t want to burst the bubble. But there was something on his mind that he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around, and he wanted absolutely nothing more than to talk it over with her.
Shit. That’s what he’d secretly wanted to do with every problem even before they’d gotten back in touch. But now it was an actual possibility.
He took a deep breath. “I got an email from Rome today.”
She looked up, immediately grasping all of the layers of meaning behind the words. “Rome, the drummer in your band, right?”
He shook his head ruefully. “My former band.”
She mirrored his small head shake. “Nah. You founded it. It’s named for you. It’s your band. Even if you’re not in it at the moment.”
“Thanks, Abs.”
“So. Did he say what he wanted?”
“Not really. He wants to meet me for coffee next week when he’s in Portland. But he didn’t say why.”
Rocking Her Heart Page 9