CHAPTER 3 #2
Kevin unloaded the food onto both tables and topped up their glasses. “All set, man?”
“Thanks.” Cary’s manners were impeccable—another checkmark in her book. He passed her a side plate and a cloth napkin. “Tyler. That’s usually a guy’s name, isn’t it?”
“You should talk.” She folded the napkin onto her lap. “Cary’s a girl’s name.”
“Cary Grant,” he said with a grin. “My mom’s favorite actor. She loves those old movies. How did you get your name?”
“My dad named me after a singer.” She took a sip of wine before elaborating. “He’s into seventies rock, obviously.”
“I know the singer you mean.”
She rolled down the sleeves of her denim jacket and smirked. “Of course you know him. You’re you.”
Cary half-smiled, acknowledging her comment. “I take it he’s a big music fan, your dad?”
“He’s a musician. Bert Robertson.”
His eyes popped open. “He’s your dad?”
“Do you know him?” A hint of suspicion edged in her voice.
“No . . . no.” Cary leaned forward. “Nothing like that. But I saw Bert’s—your dad’s—band when I was a kid. He’s a gifted guitar player.” He lowered his voice. “His tone is incredible.”
Tyler wasn’t hungry, but she couldn’t resist the truffle popcorn—one of her weaknesses. Another was sappy love songs, the kind Cary used to be known for. But he hadn’t written a ballad in over a decade. Maybe longer.
“That’s what people say,” she answered finally.
“You must play?” he asked.
“Nope.” She licked the oil off her fingers. “I don’t know what happened to me. All my siblings play something.” She gulped a mouth full of water and wiped her hands on the napkin. “What about your family? Do your parents play?”
“My folks? No, they don’t play anything.”
“What would you do if you didn’t play music?”
“Photography,” he said, not missing a beat.
That’s right. Cary Kingston was also known for taking moody black-and-white photos of models and actresses—and dating them.
“I forgot you did that.”
He looked at her, steady and sure. “I’d like to take your picture sometime.”
Tyler’s phone vibrated. It was a text message from Kim.
Landed.
“Sorry, I have to take this.” She texted back a thumbs-up emoji. “I love Kim, and she’s a great TM, but she’s on the road with this band from hell.”
“That’s why I pay people.” He rubbed his chin. “It’s just easier.”
“What about the guys in your band?”
“It’s more like an arranged marriage.” He poured a glass of water. “Both sides know the deal going into it.”
Her phone vibrated—Kim again.
Josh can’t find his cymbals. FML.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, reading her screen.
Of all the days for this to be happening.
She didn’t want to lose her shit in front of Cary, but Josh wasn’t making it easy.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone even.
“Just everything.” Her heart pounded like the kettledrum in 2001: A Space Odyssey. “The airline lost the drummer’s cymbals—or he didn’t bring them.” She used both thumbs to text. “It’s highly likely he forgot them.”
“Where are they?” Cary swept a long piece of hair back into place. “The band. What city are they in?”
“Fredericton.” She held her thumbs in a ready position, waiting to hear back from Kim.
“Well, today’s your lucky day.”
She tried to muster a grin but couldn’t. She didn’t have a knack for bullshitting unless it was with Sebastien. “To tell you the truth it didn’t start off that great.”
“Sabian cymbals is an hour away from Fredericton.” Cary powered on his phone. “I’ll text Vegas.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, a sweet and gentle gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. “He’ll sort it out.”
“Thanks, but I think I can get a loaner.”
It wasn’t in her nature to ask for help. Plus, as a woman in the music industry you had to be tough as hell, work twice as hard, and do everything yourself.
“I know the headliner’s manager,” she added. “But he’s kind of hard to deal with.”
Cary’s phone lit up and he glanced at his screen. “See?” He moved his chair closer. “It’s already taken care of.”
“Really?” She began texting frantically. “You saved my life! And Kim’s.” A few seconds later she drew in a breath, then exhaled through her nostrils. “Thank you.”
“No worries.” He wrung his hands together. “So, will you be in Winnipeg for the home opener?”
“I’ll be in Winnipeg for my family’s benefit concert.” She dumped the red container of truffle popcorn onto her plate and picked out the kernels. The container looked like the cups from Josh’s house, but this one was made of metal and probably not used for beer pong.
“Benefit?” His eyes softened. “What’s the cause?”
“Cancer.”
A silent moment hung between them—weighted, still—before she pushed back her chair and reached for her bag.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I have to use the restroom.”
It probably looked like she was about to pee her pants, but that wasn’t it at all. She hated talking about her mom and didn’t want anyone’s pity. Michelle Robertson had died of cancer when Tyler was two, and the benefit concert they held every year was in her honor.
“Of course.” Cary stood like a gentleman as she passed him.
A short while later she returned with a fresh topknot and lipstick.
Cary stood again. “Is everything okay?”
She nodded. “What’s next for you, other than touring?”
“I’ve been writing—co-writing—trying to get another hit. You?”
“Same,” she murmured, taking her seat. “I mean working, not writing. I’m scouting bands on TikTok and YouTube.”
“YouTube?” He sounded confused.
“I’m looking for live footage. There’s nothing worse than hearing a great song, then finding out they can’t play it without Pro Tools.” She sighed, dropping her shoulders. “There’s nothing, other than my indie band and that girl band from Toronto.”
“Well, I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” He combed back his hair with his fingers. “So, will I see you in Winnipeg?”
“If you stay and watch the hockey game,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “I’ll explain the rules.”
It was subtle, a low-stakes way to test the waters. Less terrifying than asking him out and getting shot down.
“It’s more fun if you know them,” she added.
Cary’s brow creased like an accordion. “I don’t like rules.”
It was just past midnight when the Wine Bar began shutting down.
Kevin and the rest of the staff had drifted over throughout the night to snag selfies with Cary—after quietly promising not to post them. The last thing anyone wanted was a hundred screaming fans showing up uninvited.
Cary gestured to the Jenga tower of half-eaten plates. “Please take the rest of this food home with you.”
“I’m stuffed,” Tyler said, waving jazz hands in his direction. “Why don’t you give it to your building’s concierge? The overnight shift’s probably boring.”
Cary snapped his fingers. “Good idea.”
He signaled for Kevin to wrap it all up.
“Who’s working tonight?” She was more curious than anything.
“Who’s working?”
“Your building’s concierge . . . their name?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”
“That’s weird.” Was he too important to know their names? One checkmark erased.
Kevin broke up their conversation, arriving with a giant to-go bag. He’d packed it like carry-on luggage, not wasting a square inch of space.
“Ready?” Cary stood, holding the bag like an old lady’s purse.
Tyler bit on her knuckles. “What about the bill?”
Sebastien would have fired her on the spot for not paying the check and expensing it to Cary’s account. Too bad she had no intention of telling her boss anything, ever.
“I’ve got a tab,” he said and slipped a few hundred-dollar bills under the empty wine bottle. “What part of town are you in?”
“The West End.”
“So, you’re a West End girl?”
“Ha-ha.”
He smiled. “I’ll call you a taxi.”
“Don’t.” She flapped her denim sleeves against the breeze. “It’s a nice night for a walk.”
He gazed at the sky. “It’s a full moon.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t bark.”
“Funny.”
She followed his eyes. “You’re right. I stand corrected. It’s a perfect night for a walk. Anyway, I doubt you have the app for a taxi or an Uber.”
“No, but my concierge does, and I’ve got his number.”
With anyone else she would have argued her case, but he was their number-one client and she didn’t want to make waves.
After he instructed his building’s concierge to order a taxi, he asked, “And who am I speaking with? Thanks, Arjun.” He ended the call. “His name is Arjun.”
Okay, point taken.
“You could’ve googled the number,” she teased.
“Right.” His cheeks flushed, and she instantly backed off, not wanting to push too far.
As they crossed the street to his building, a yellow taxi pulled into the driveway and her heart sank into her boots. Being alone with him was a rare occurrence with Sebastien always lurking.
And now, like clockwork, reality was catching up.
Cary looked at her seriously. “Text when you get home, okay?”
She nodded, and after a slight hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her waist. She hugged him with more familiarity than earlier that day.
You smell like heaven.
“Thanks, I had a nice time,” she said.
“No, thank you.” He gave her an awkward smile, then leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.
Oh my god. Her head jerked back involuntarily. Did he just kiss me?
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her heart rate before it rocketed into space.
Who was she kidding? That wasn’t a real kiss. It was probably an LA thing. That city was lousy with touchy-feely types.
The taxi was idling so Tyler climbed into the back seat and cracked the window an inch.
“Don’t forget!” she shouted. “It’s your mom’s birthday on Tuesday!”
Cary stood in place and waved, smiling.
She lost sight of him as the taxi turned down the street.