Rory
My eyes blur as I stare at the email.
Then the tears start. And they don’t stop.
I finally text Paige to ask if she wants to come over so I don’t drown myself in the sink.
At times like this, I can only think of doing one thing. I grab my favorite Pink Floyd record and click on my mom’s old record player.
This is the music of heartbreak and shattered dreams.
I should be packing up my apartment. Instead, I lie on the floor, close my eyes, and absorb David Gilmour’s iconic guitar on “Shine On You Crazy Diamond.” That guy was a genius.
No one writes music like this anymore. Everything on the radio is overprocessed and syncopated to death. It’s too perfect. Too smooth. Too produced. I can appreciate that computers make writing music faster, but it also sucks out its soul. Do people even use real instruments anymore?
When I have to flip over the record, I decide I probably shouldn’t lie down again. I can’t wallow forever.
I sit in my ratty old bathrobe with a cup of cold coffee and that email, which I printed out so I can parse the mayor’s words. Note that this isn’t wallowing. This is where I question what I could have done differently to not flood a beautiful historical building.
When someone knocks on the door, I jump up, glad I won’t be alone anymore. Hanging out with Paige always makes me feel better. She’s so optimistic and sweet.
But when I open the door, it’s not Paige.
“What are you doing here?” I croak, my voice hoarse from crying.
Jace’s brows furrow as he rakes his hand through his shaggy hair. “I thought you invited me over.”
“Why would I do that?” Invite the hottest guy in town to hang out when my eyes must look like bruised, overripe peaches? My nose drips, and I run for my box of tissues in the living room.
I’m in the middle of a snot crisis when Jace leans through the front door. “Because I heard you might want to be my nanny.”
Why would he think that?
I grab my phone and look at the text I sent Paige. I meant to write, Please come over. I have more bad news. But spell check auto-corrected my words to, Have him come over. I’ll help him with his bad news. And Paige must’ve thought I was agreeing to help her brother-in-law.
I laugh, then I laugh harder. Until I cry.
“Whoa, hey. It’ll be okay.” Jace puts his arm around my shoulder, and we sit on the couch, side by side. “Wanna tell me about it?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
“Okay.” He pauses for a long stretch. “Pink Floyd, huh?”
“Yes.”
“On vinyl?”
“Of course.” I hiccup. “Is there any other way to listen to the Wish You Were Here album?” Unfortunately for Jace, I’m feeling extra snarky right now.
“Uh, no. That would be my preference too.”
But then I’m listening to the lyrics and crying again, which is embarrassing because I hate crying in front of people. Jace tucks me to his hard chest and rubs my back, and I can’t handle it. The words are out of me before I can stop. “I’ve had a really bad week.”
“Me too,” he says quietly. “Only I feel like a bastard for saying that.”
Sniffling, I lean away. “Explain.”
He motions to the floor where I finally notice the baby in a car seat. “Don’t really wanna equate my bad luck with my kid, you know?”
That makes sense. “She’s really cute. What’s her name?”
“Layla.”
I purse my lips. “No offense, but she doesn’t look like a Layla. Did her mom have a thing for Clapton?”
The man does a double take. “You listen to Eric Clapton?”
“What classic rock lover doesn’t?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “You’re full of surprises today.”
I don’t know what that means, and because I’ve maxed out on whatever awkward thing is happening right now, I hand him the email. “I got fired.”
His brows tighten. “Damn, that sucks.”
“You didn’t know?” This is a small town. People talk.
“Just heard you might need a job while the library is renovated,” he says as he scans the paper. “The mayor fired you over email?”
My injured pride is momentarily mollified by the anger in his voice. “Pretty crappy, right? I feel like my boyfriend just ghosted me.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, Rory.” The man wraps me in his arms again.
Is he hugging me right now? Not knowing what else to do, I awkwardly pat his shoulder.
When he lets go of me, his green eyes are so bright, they look like sea glass.
“Listen, I understand if you don’t want to be my nanny.
You can say no. Going on the road with a band isn’t for everyone.
Except it pays well. I need to keep what I’ve saved up for the recording studio, but I’ll give you almost every penny I make on the tour. ”
I dab my nose with a tissue. “That seems excessive.”
He shrugs. “I’m paying what I think you’re worth. And the bottom line is if I don’t find a nanny, I can’t go on the tour, which means I’ll be letting down my bandmates and manager. I’ll feel like a major fuckup if I blow this.”
“So no pressure or anything.”
He chuckles, and I crack a smile. Layla starts to get fussy, and he leans over to pick her up.
“No pressure. Swear to God, my family won’t give you shit if you decide this isn’t your thing.
You have a degree and a career, and I can’t imagine your dreams include wanting to hang out with a baby while we crisscross the country. ”
I stare at the beautiful child, and she reminds me of a dream I used to have. Back before Hayden broke my heart and my stepsister betrayed me. But that’s a scab I don’t want to pick at right now, so I pivot. “I only have an associate’s degree.”
“That’s one more degree than I have.”
Layla holds out her hand, and I grab it and smile at her.
“I was lucky I got this job. You usually need fancier degrees to be a librarian, but no one applied, so the city council agreed to consider candidates with my qualifications. The mayor’s line about me not being ‘the right fit’ probably means they found someone with a master’s degree.
Plus, she seems to think I should have better prepared the building for the storm.
What was I supposed to do? Wrap it in titanium? ”
“What an asshole.”
Chuckling, I glance at him. The way his green eyes sear into me reminds me of all the reasons I swore I’d never spend time with this man, but they manage to pull a confession from me. “What do I do if I’m not a librarian?”
“I feel you. What do I do if I fail at this band thing?”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “We could start a club for flunkies. We can’t be the only two people in town who suck at life.”
I mean it as a joke, but the words are barely out of my mouth before his shoulders slump. “Yeah, I’m in touch with that at the moment.”
I give him a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t think I’d be a good fit. I’m really not what you’re looking for.”
He looks down and nods slowly. “I’m sorry you lost your job. I’m sure you’ll find another librarian gig. Paige raves about how great your Saturday story hour is. Ella loves it.”
He gets up, straps his daughter in the car seat, and heads for the door. “What about you? What are you going to do?” I call out.
When he gets to the door, he sighs. “What I should’ve done a few days ago. Call my bandmates and tell them I can’t go on tour.”
Questions zip through my mind while I stare at the closed door.
What if I can’t find another librarian job? Will I have to move back home?
Will Jace’s music career really be over if he bails on this tour?
How will I afford another apartment if I have no income?
Will I find somewhere to live before I get evicted in two weeks?
But the thought that sets me into motion is the expression on Jace’s face when I called us flunkies. Something about those words hit too close to home, and I feel like a jerk for saying that.
Hoping I’m not too late, I fling open the door and race down the hall and out into the parking lot. When I spot his truck, I wave at him like a broken windmill, arms flailing.
Only my legs get tangled in my robe, and I go down with a scream because my fluffy house slippers have no traction.
Son of a mountain goat!
I’m lying on the pavement when I hear a door shut. “Shit, Rory. That looks like it hurt.”
“Yeah. It did,” I grunt. “Just leave me alone. I need to unearth my pride. It’s here somewhere. Maybe beneath your tire.”
He helps me sit up and dusts me off. Squatting in front of me, he hangs his arms on his thighs. As he studies me, I try not to squirm when he gives me one of those crooked grins. “You have a nice way with words. They’re poetic.”
That’s not what I expected him to say. “I read a lot,” I explain like a giant nerd as I fix my glasses. “I like books.” There’s nothing like stating the obvious.
He chuckles and sighs. “What do ya say, bookworm? Wanna blow this popsicle stand and go on tour with me? Maybe I can keep you from taking another tumble, and you can keep me and my kid out of trouble. I’ll make sure you’re always fed, and I’ll pay you as much as I can to keep you happy.”
I sniff. “I’m not always clumsy.”
His crooked smile tugs up higher. “Noted.”
“How… how long is the tour?” I’m almost afraid of his answer.
“Through the summer.” He clears his throat. “A little less than four months, starting in two weeks.”
Four months trapped on a bus with Jace Walker?
Dear God, what am I getting myself into?