Chapter Twenty-One
Shepherd always chose the kind of restaurant his other clients would love. The sort of place that served foam on things that didn't need foam. Iona watched him dissect his steak with surgical precision and tried not to think about where she'd rather be.
Which was anywhere Maeve happened to be, if she was being honest. It was becoming a problem, this inability to concentrate on anything except a grumpy Irish woman with too many walls and not enough patience.
Iona had spent the last week feeling like a teenager with a crush, which was ridiculous given that she was old enough to know better and had been married twice.
"You're not eating," Shepherd observed.
"I'm eating." She stabbed a piece of fish. "See? Eating."
"You're rearranging food and occasionally putting some in your mouth. That's not the same thing."
Iona sighed. He knew her too well. Eight years of marriage, fourteen years of co-parenting. Shepherd Nixon could read her like a balance sheet.
"I'm distracted," she admitted.
"I noticed." He set down his knife and fork. "Do you want to talk about Mo, or do you want to pretend we're here to discuss the weather?"
"The weather's been lovely."
"Iona."
"Fine. Mo. What are we going to do about Mo?"
"I was hoping you had ideas."
"I see her bedroom door every day, Shep. Mo herself has become a rare sighting. Like a weirdly sullen bird that only emerges to raid the refrigerator."
Shepherd grinned, but there was worry underneath. "She's fourteen."
"I was there for the birth, if you recall."
"I meant that fourteen is difficult. We were all difficult at fourteen."
"I wasn't difficult. I was delightful."
"You told your mother you were joining a band and moving to London."
"That was ambitious, not difficult. And I didn’t actually do it. Well, I joined a band. But I didn’t move to London. Not then, anyway."
Shepherd raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. "So, what do you think we should do?"
"Give her space, I suppose. She's pushing against everything. The more I try to pull her close, the harder she pushes."
"That's very mature of you."
"I'm a very mature person."
"You ate ice cream for dinner three times last week."
"That was meal planning. Dairy, sugar, cone. Very balanced."
Shepherd was quiet for a moment. "What if she came to stay with me for a while?"
Iona's chest tightened. "What?"
"Just for a few weeks. A change of scenery. Sometimes teenagers need a different parent for a bit." He watched her face. "It might give her room to breathe."
Mo, not in the next room. Mo, waking up somewhere else. Even knowing he was trying to help, it broke something in her chest.
"I don't know," she said, and her voice came out smaller than she intended.
"Think about it. No pressure. I’m not making demands, just a suggestion." He picked up his wineglass. "It would give you space too."
She glared at him. "Space for what?"
The look he gave her was knowing and kind and slightly amused. "Space for you and Maeve to work out whatever it is you need to work out."
Iona opened her mouth to deflect. To make a joke, change the subject, do the thing she always did when conversations got too close to things she wasn't ready to say. But Shepherd was looking at her with the patience of a man who had all night, and she was tired of pretending.
She sighed. "I have feelings for her," she said. "Maeve."
"I know."
"You know?"
"Iona, I've known since the first time I saw you two in a room together." He smiled, not bitter at all. "I always knew I was the booby prize."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true." He shrugged. "I got a brilliant friend and a brilliant daughter out of the deal. That's not a bad return on investment."
Something loosened in Iona's chest. "You really don't mind?"
"Mind that you're falling for the terrifying Irish singer who once made a record executive cry? Why would I mind that? I mean, as long as it’s what you really want." He grinned. "Can I give you some advice? As a friend?"
"If I said no, would you give it anyway?"
"Absolutely."
"Then go ahead."
"Be careful with her." He leaned forward. "Maeve is fragile. She always has been, even when she was pretending otherwise. Don't rush her. Don't push her. Let her come to you."
Iona nodded. She knew he was right.
"And what about advice as my agent?"
"As your agent?" Shepherd's grin came back. "Do whatever it takes to make that woman happy. When Maeve is on form, she's magic. A magic lead singer is worth any amount of personal drama."
Iona laughed. "You're a terrible person."
"I'm a practical person. There's a difference." He raised his glass. "To complicated feelings and excellent music."
She clinked her glass against his.
???
A rehearsal was supposed to be about the music. Focus on the music. Don't think about Iona. Don't think about the kiss at the cafe, or the fact that she'd agreed to try something she was absolutely certain she would ruin.
She was thinking about all of it. Terrified and panicking and turned on.
But there was something else, too. Something that was almost calm. If anyone could guide her through this, it was Iona. Iona, who had known her for too many years to count. It wasn't like starting out with someone new, someone she'd have to explain herself to. Iona already knew who she was.
That was either petrifying or comforting. Maeve hadn't decided which yet. After all, perhaps there was something wrong with Iona for still wanting to be with her when she was so obviously… herself.
Ellie was working through a bass line, Cam was actually keeping time for once, and Iona was bent over her guitar, adjusting something with a frown of concentration.
Maeve's eyes kept drifting to her. The curve of her neck.
The way her hair fell forward. It was ridiculous.
She was a grown woman, not a teenager with a crush.
Ellie stretched, rolling her wrist. Cam twirled a drumstick and nearly dropped it.
"We’re not bad now," Maeve said because she needed to say something.
"High praise from Her Majesty," Cam replied. "Should we get that in writing?"
Iona looked up, and their eyes met. Something sparked.
Maeve looked away quickly. Not quickly enough, because Cam started humming. It took Maeve a moment to recognize the tune. When she did, she wanted to strangle her. "Love Is in the Air" was not a subtle choice.
"Stop it," Maeve said. Cam kept humming, switching to "Can't Help Falling in Love" with a beatific expression. "I will come over there and shove those drumsticks somewhere extremely uncomfortable."
"Worth it," Cam said, and launched into an off-key rendition of "Whenever, Wherever" complete with hip movements that threatened the stability of her drum stool.
"Shakira? Really?"
"It's a classic."
"I hate all of you," Maeve announced.
"No, you don't." Iona was smiling, and it was doing things to Maeve's chest that she refused to examine. "You love us."
"I tolerate you. Barely."
"Same thing, from you."
Ellie shouldered her bass case. "I'm heading out. Early morning tomorrow. Jake's taking the kids to his mother's, and I want to be awake enough to say goodbye."
"Tell him I said hi," Iona said.
Cam was already grabbing her bag. "Yeah, I've got a thing too. A thing with a person. Don't ask about the thing."
"No one was going to ask," Maeve said.
"Good. Because I wasn't going to tell you." Cam blew them both a kiss and headed for the door. "Have fun, ladies. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"That leaves a remarkably wide field," Ellie observed, and then they were both gone.
The door clicked shut. The room went quiet.
Maeve became aware of how alone they were. Iona was still sitting on the amp, guitar on her lap, watching her with an expression that made her mouth go dry.
"So," Iona said.
"So."
Iona was walking toward Maeve. Slowly. Deliberately. Maeve should make a joke, deflect, do the thing she always did.
She didn't.
Iona stopped inches away. Close enough that Maeve could smell her perfume. Close enough to see the pulse jumping in Iona's throat.
"This is a terrible idea," Maeve said.
"Probably."
"We should be sensible."
"Definitely."
Neither of them moved away.
"I want…" Maeve said, mouth suddenly dry.
Iona grinned. "Should I guess? Because I think I can."
Maeve wasn't sure who closed the distance.
Maybe it was both of them at once. All she knew was that Iona's mouth was on hers, and her hands were in Iona's hair, and her body was pressed up against Iona’s. And they were kissing like they’d never come up for breath, Iona up against her, walking her backward until her shoulders hit the wall, and Maeve let her, wanted her to.
"Is this okay?" Iona murmured against her lips.
"Stop talking."
Iona laughed, and Maeve swallowed the sound, pulling her closer. Her hands found Iona's waist, then lower. Iona made a noise that short-circuited something in Maeve's brain. Fifteen years of careful, controlled solitude, and all it took was one sound from this woman to undo everything.
They were going to be sensible about this. Yeah. Right.
The door banged open.
"Forgot my jacket!" Cam announced, already halfway into the room. "It's the leather one, you know the one, I left it on the…"
She stopped. Stared. Her mouth fell open.
Maeve and Iona were frozen against the wall. Maeve's hand was somewhere it definitely shouldn't be in public. Iona's shirt had come untucked. Her hair was a disaster.
Three seconds of absolute silence.
Then Cam's face split into a grin so wide it looked painful. "Oh my GOD."
"Get out," Maeve said.
"I knew it! I KNEW it!" Cam was backing toward the door, but she was also laughing and possibly crying. "This is the best day of my life. This is better than when we went platinum. This is better than that time I met Cher in a bathroom!"
"CAM."
"Oh, don't mind me, carry on, pretend I'm not here." She grabbed her jacket from the chair without looking away from them, as if afraid the scene might disappear if she blinked. "This is magnificent. This is art. I'm going to remember this moment forever."
"There will be murder," Maeve said. "Yours. Soon."
Cam cackled and fled, slamming the door behind her.
The silence returned. Maeve and Iona looked at each other. The moment was gone, shattered into a thousand awkward pieces.
"Well," Iona said. She was flushed and rumpled and looked thoroughly kissed. "That happened."
"She's never going to let us forget this."
"Never. We'll be eighty and she'll still be bringing it up."
Maeve groaned. But she was also trying not to laugh. Of course Cam would barrel in at the worst possible moment. Nothing in her life had ever gone smoothly. Why would this be any different?
Iona tucked her shirt back in, smoothed her hair, and somehow managed to look composed again in seconds. A talent Maeve had always envied. "Raincheck?"
"Raincheck."
Iona kissed her once more, quickly, and headed for the door. She paused with her hand on the handle. "For what it's worth? Totally worth the interruption."
She was gone before Maeve could respond.
Maeve stood alone in the empty rehearsal space, heart pounding, lips still tingling. She thought about how much trouble she was in.
The good kind, maybe. If she didn't ruin it first.