13—Little Rock （The Green Room）
“How did coffee with your parents go?” Steve asks.
It’s an hour before the VIP meet and greet, and I’ve never been so excited to pose for photos with random strangers. I’ll take anything that isn’t sitting around talking about my messed-up love life or planning a fake wedding.
I give Steve a pointed look and discreetly nod toward the other occupants in the room.
He nods back.
“Coriander, Sage,” he calls to the women currently debating the merits of iced coffee versus regular coffee versus… milk? “Would you mind giving us a minute? We have… important… business… stuff.”
I shoot him an irritated look, and he mouths an apology. Thankfully, my childhood friends don’t seem to notice the obvious lie. They don’t notice much, which is helpful in most situations.
“No prob!” Sage chirps. “We just found out there’s a hot tub outlet around here. Want anything?”
“Do I want a hot tub?” I ask, staring at her. “No, thanks.”
They actually look disappointed. What exactly was their plan?
“Well, let us know if you change your mind,” Coriander says on her way to the door.
Sage flutters a wave and follows her out.
“They know a hot tub outlet isn’t a room of usable hot tubs, right?” I say.
Steve shrugs. “Maybe? Either way, it’ll keep them busy for a while. Remember the candle outlet?”
I cringe. “So many candles.”
“So many.”
I’ve known Coriander and Sage (previously Mary and Laura) since I was ten. We had nothing in common except our fifth-grade classroom and mutual appreciation for glitter pens. They just really liked following me around for some reason. More than fifteen years later, they still do and I’ve never had the heart to ask them not to.
I’m not great with confrontation.
“So the meetup?” Steve asks.
“Right. Yes. I had it.”
“And…?”
“Not good.”
His shoulders sag along with my mood.
“Not good because they didn’t like that the engagement wasn’t real?”
“Not good because I didn’t tell them the engagement wasn’t real.”
“Larry…” he exhales.
“I know, okay? It’s just… ah! Mama was so excited about shopping for dresses, and Dad would have tracked Jarvis down and messed up his hair if I told them the truth. Plus, you know how it is. They would’ve blabbed and everything would have blown up. We’re not ready for things to blow up, right?”
I’m not a huge fan of the way Steve is looking at me. He should really save his ire for the next part.
“I didn’t talk to Jarvis yet either,” I say, peeking through my fingers.
His death stare does a great job of lasering through the gaps.
“So Jarvis still thinks you meant yes when you said yes?”
“Well...”
“Larry!”
“I was going to tell him at lunch, I swear! But there was this Meyer lemon crisis and then he had to go do some cardboard photoshoot thing? Not sure. And now he’s been in hair and makeup since. You know what would’ve happened if I disturbed him while he’s being pampered.”
Steve grunts, but his expression softens slightly. “I don’t like this for you, Larry. Any of it.” He waves his hand and deposits his fist on his hip.
“I know. I don’t either.”
“Well, we need to get you unengaged as quickly as possible. I get that we’re not ready to go public, but there’s no way my Larinda is marrying a man who’s running a fundraiser to re-landscape his estate.”
Oh. Okay. That explains the orange charity bandana Jarvis was wearing. I guess it makes sense since the puppy ropes course construction probably destroyed his lawn.
“I’ll schmooze Mallory and see if I can get a read on his schedule,” Steve continues. “There has to be a time we can get him alone.”
I return a corroborating nod, but my pulse is racing at the thought. My brief brush with standing up for myself and saying “no” the other day seems forever ago. I was so proud of myself, and look where it got me—exactly the same place as if I’d said yes.
Because you did say yes.
Not the point.
A knock at the door draws our attention, and my heart thumps for a different reason when Val pokes his head in.
We haven’t seen each other except in passing since the meeting with my parents yesterday. I’ve been desperate to talk to him about what happened, but it’s been one thing after another. Even arriving in Little Rock didn’t help. An industry brunch followed by an interview and radio appearance mean we haven’t had the chance to connect even for a brief chat, let alone the soul-searching purge we need. The second I got to the green room to relax, I sent him a text to come find me.
“Hey. Sorry to barge in. Is now a good time?” he asks me. His gaze crosses to Steve. “You want to, uh, work on that song?”
“The song! Yes. Of course. The song. Do you mind?” I say to Steve. “Maybe go check on Coriander and Sage and make sure they don’t buy too many hot tubs?”
Val lifts a brow, and I shake off his question.
“You sure?” Steve says, firing an irritated look at Val. “You don’t want to finish discussing… the business stuff?”
“No, I’m good on the business stuff.”
Steve grunts and stomps toward the door.
“Do I want to know about the hot tubs… and business stuff?” Val asks once we’re alone.
“Nope. I only need you to come here.”
He hesitates for just a second before approaching me, and my world transforms into sunshine again as I lean into him. His arms fold around me, washing away the drama of the last few days. The familiar smell of forests and subtle citrus filters into my lungs and sends an electric charge through my veins. Combined with the firm, warm pressure of his body, the feel of his lips on my hair—everything about this wrong moment seems right.
“I’ve missed you,” I murmur.
“I’ve missed you too.” His voice is somehow gravelly and soft at the same time. Sexy and sweet, like everything else about him.
There’s no doubt in my mind I’m in love with this person. Fully, irrevocably in love with him and nothing will ever?—
“I don’t think you should break up with Jarvis.”
Stop. The. Track.
“I’m sorry?” I pull back to see his face.
He won’t meet my gaze, which can’t be a good sign.
“I’ve been thinking about the whole thing nonstop, and I don’t think you should give everything up for me. I don’t want you to.”
“Val…”
“No, I’m serious.” His beautiful eyes carve a hole in my stomach when they drift to mine.
“I am too,” I say. “I told you I don’t care about the fallout. We’ll figure it out. We’ll?—”
“And what if I’m not ready for it? What if I don’t want to lose everything?”
I flinch and stare at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? Y-you…” Shaking my head, I step back to put more distance between us.
“You’re used to having everything, Larinda. I just got something for the first time. Maybe I’m not ready to lose it so soon.”
Tears press on the backs of my eyes, and I force them away. I don’t cry in front of people (except when instructed, of course). Another talent I’ve perfected over the years.
He looks like he’s in physical pain as he shoves his hands in his back pockets and averts his gaze. Where is this coming from?
“Val, please. What’s going on? I know you don’t want that. I can see it all over your face.”
I reach out and grip his sleeve, tugging when he closes his eyes.
“Talk to me. We’ve never kept things from each other. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out like we always do.”
He shakes his head and opens his eyes again. “When everything blows up—and it will—you have a huge support system and an entire network of backup opportunities. You know what I have? A chair at my sister’s kitchen table in our tiny, cluttered apartment. I have nothing without this. Don’t you see? As soon as you’re done with me, I’m done.”
When I’m done with him?
I drop my hold, paralyzed by conflicting emotions. I want to smack him and hug him at the same time. He thinks so little of me? Of himself?
He pulls his ball cap off to adjust his hair before sliding it back on. It’s a gesture I’ve seen him do a thousand times, one of his many nervous tics. He also taps the desk with his left hand when he has an idea he’s struggling to manifest and twists his chair in small arcs whenever he gets overly frustrated. I also know his green eyes are deadly when he wears that hoodie with the phoenix on it, he loves tomatoes but hates ketchup, orders couscous anytime it’s on the menu, and has never said an unkind word about another person, even those who have hurt him.
I know everything there is to know about this person, and I know I could never ever be done with him.
“Anyway, I should go,” he mumbles. “Good luck tonight. You’re killing it. Your show is incredible.”
He starts away, and I grasp his wrist.
Our eyes meet, my skin burning at the point of contact. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so much in my life. How could he think for a second I’d want anyone other than him?
“You have a right to an opinion on this as well, but you’re wrong if you think this is a choice between you and Jarvis. This is a choice between you and no one. You can sacrifice yourself, or whatever this is, but it won’t change my position on the engagement. I’m not going to pretend forever. I will be breaking it off with Jarvis as soon as I figure out how.”
His expression morphs from concern to fear as he steps toward me. Weird.
“Please, Larinda. I totally understand your position, but please don’t break it off yet. No one expects you to marry him, just… don’t break up with him. I’m begging you.”
Wow. Is he seriously that afraid of losing his job? I squint at him, rare anger bubbling inside me. Well, I thought I knew him, but I guess not. How dare he ask this of me? Is he really that selfish? His career is more important than my heart and soul?
“Got it. Well, no need to worry. You’re a great producer. If you’re that concerned about a paycheck, I’m sure we can find you a new artist to keep you employed,” I snap. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll be an even bigger career boost for you than I am.”
He flinches but doesn’t retaliate as he looks away. “I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”
“Yeah? Well, you did. I thought you loved me, and now I find out you only love my name. You can freaking have it, then!”
I don’t know what that means, but it sounds awesome and like a total mic-drop dig as I march away.
The moment would have been perfect too if I hadn’t seen him rub the center of his chest before I slammed the door behind me. I know everything about him—including the fact that that gesture means he just did something he didn’t want to do.