Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Al Roker’s Cousin
“ Well-made pancakes are better than sex. ”
~ Zara Quinn
Emily
“The hell are you doing in there?” Zara's voice boomed behind my bedroom door. She tried the knob only to find it locked. I’d been hiding from her demanding nature, wanting to sit in the corner and lick my wounds alone. The solitude was my only defense against the ache in my heart.
It’d been an entire week since we returned from Panama City and the shitfest that was our spring break. Each day felt heavier than the next, the memory of Jake’s touch haunting me like a song stuck in my head on repeat.
“None of your damn business!” I yelled from under my covers.
I'd gotten my ass up for class, sure, but as soon as I got home, the pajamas were back on, and I was in bed watching sappy Hallmark movies, yelling at the women not to trust the stereotypical men who showed up on their doorstep holding chocolates and a puppy. Their predictable happy endings annoyed me now, where they’d once warmed my soul.
“The hell it ain't! Just because some asshole did the dick-and-dash two-step, doesn't mean you can lock yourself away in your room for the rest of your life!”
Oh, yeah? Try me.
I heard the doorknob rattle for a minute, and then Zara barged in. The hell?
“You’re picking locks now?” I could understand why she was worried. If the shoe had been on the other foot, I’d be climbing through her window.
“You should never doubt me!” She flung out her arms dramatically, and I chuckled. Her fierce loyalty helped to ground me.
I’d been avoiding her, and I rarely did that. I was engaged in a good old-fashioned pity party. The sting of Jake’s silence was a wound I couldn’t stop poking at.
After getting the big “D” with a rockstar and then getting ghosted by said rockstar, I felt entitled to one.
“How long is this going to last?” Zara asked as she tore the covers away from me.
“As long as I want it to.” I pulled them back, covering my head. Like a pill bug, I wrapped them around myself and whined, the cocoon of blankets shielding me against the world.
Zara sat on the bed and ran her hand up and down my back. “If it makes you feel any better, Rowan never called me, either.”
I shoved the covers down and glared at her. “No, it does not make me feel better. Now I just feel bad for you, too.”
“You don’t see me moping around, hiding in my bed.”
“That’s because you’ve got Antonio on speed dial. And Chris. And Blake. And?—”
“Don’t hate me because I’m popular and suck a mean dick. Or I’ll eat the pancakes I made you for breakfast.”
Like a shot, I sat straight up, pushing aside the blanket. My hair looked like I’d been electrocuted.
“Pancakes?” I asked. Zara’s pancakes were epic. I wouldn't have been surprised to find out she secretly laced them. The promise of her cooking was a rare light in my gloomy week.
She nodded. “Blueberry. With real syrup. And sausage and coffee.”
I was out of bed in a second, my self-pity forgotten in favor of a carb, grease, and caffeine overload.
Sitting at the small dinette in our kitchen, I dished up pancakes and sausage while Zara turned on The Today Show.
Zara claimed to be a distant cousin of Al Roker’s, so she watched it religiously.
I suspected the man had no true relation to her and the story was the product of her grandmother’s overactive imagination.
But Gram’s word was good as gold to Zara, so it was stated as a fact in our household.
Her quirky belief in the connection always made me smile, even now.
I’d just taken a sip of my coffee when Savannah Guthrie made an announcement.
“And now, to play their newest single, ‘Ocean Melody,’ welcome Steele Horizons.”
I dropped my coffee in shock, hot brew going everywhere. Zara screamed at the mess as I snagged the remote and turned up our tiny kitchen TV as loud as it’d go. My heart raced, a mix of hope and dread overtaking me as I heard his name.
Ignoring Zara’s freakout, I stared as Jake, Elliott, and Rowan came tromping onto a makeshift stage on the Plaza at Rockefeller Center. Seeing him on screen was like a jolt, rekindling the feelings I’d been tamping since the day I woke up in his bed with him gone.
“What the fuck, Em? You—” Zara shut up as she watched Jake on stage with his band, talking to the hosts of The Today Show .
“So, Jake, you’re performing something new for us? What made you decide to release a single after your album dropped?” Al was on the stage next to Savannah and the band, where they all sat on stools.
“I had some last-minute inspiration, Al,” Jake said.
His voice was warm, and I could almost feel it wrapping around me like it had the night he sang to me on the beach.
“Don’t listen to him, he met a girl!” Rowan shouted into the microphone, and Jake jammed his elbow into his side.
“Oh, a girl?” Savannah cooed. “Are you going to tell us more? ”
Jake smiled and looked into the camera. “Her name is Emily. And this is her song.”
My breath caught, his words piercing through the walls I’d been trying to build around my heart.
Rowan and Elliott took their places as Jake pulled out a guitar and strummed the song he’d played for her on the beach the night they made love. The drums and bass came in, transforming the country serenade Jake had sung into a full-on metal ballad.
Her shadow sways
Where stars kiss the sea,
My restless soul hums
An ocean melody.
Zara grabbed my shoulders and shook me as she squealed. “He wrote you a song!? The man who ghosted you wrote you a song?” Her excitement was infectious, but my heart was too tangled to join in.
“I don't understand …?” Why would he choose to reconnect like this? A public display of affection is a lot more intense than simply calling in a favor to find her contact info through the university. The grand gesture was overwhelming.
“Wow, that was amazing!” Savannah joined them back on stage.
“Thanks, I hope she likes it,” Jake said.
“She hasn’t heard it?” Her mouth gaped.
“Hopefully, she has now. Her roommate is one of your cousins,” Rowan said, sidling up to The Today Show's meteorologist. Al’s eyes widened with shock.
“That’s me, bitches!” Zara held her hands in the air and squealed.
“I met Emily on Panama Beach?—”
“And her roommate, Zara,” Rowan interrupted.
Jake gave him a look that said, shut up. “We had to leave town before exchanging deets. So, I'm turning to you—” Jake pointed to Al and Savannah “—to help me find her.”
“Oh, my God, how romantic,” Savannah gushed and turned to her co-host. “It’s like Cinderella, Al! How can we find her?”
“We were on the beach that night, and she sang me a song. If she calls the show and tells us the right song, we'll know.” Jake grinned.
His boyish charm on the screen was the same that had captivated me that night. I clasped my hands to my chest, knowing what I was going to do.
“Wait, you sang? ” Zara asked in horror.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not that bad!”
Zara pulled her head back and gave me a look.
I huffed. “Zara, I sang ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’ It’s pretty hard to mess that up.” The memory of our singing in harmony made me smile.
My best friend in the universe choked and then burst out laughing. She fell into her chair and cradled her head in her hands, her body still shaking.
“Well, that makes sense. He did rock your boat!”