Micah
This was a setup.
Letting herself into the house, groaned as she dropped her things on the bench by the front door. With one hand on the wall, she peeled off her pumps and let them fall where they may. Stepping onto the shag carpet, she released a sigh of relief and curled her toes into the soft surface. She thought that working a job that allowed her to sit for hours wouldn’t be so tiring, but apparently there was a limit to how long you could sit without feeling pain. That coupled with the stress of the sessions was a lot for any one person to handle. But she’d survived another long day of one-on-one sessions with her adolescent clients and then an hour of reading with Mrs. Hershey.
She carefully ran a hand through her curly hair and inhaled deeply, mostly to center herself, when the scents of tomato sauce and meat greeted her. Then sounds came into focus—Emery’s laughter alongside a much deeper male voice. When she’d bought the house, had liked that there were two entrances—one at the upper level from the street and the one she came through with a driveway. Given that she used the main entrance most of the time, she wouldn’t have known that they had a guest.
Frowning, she grabbed her phone, pushed her feet into her fluffy narwhal slippers and hurried to the kitchen, only to freeze at the sight of the broad shouldered form with a high ponytail. Emery’s head was tipped back as she laughed, her blonde ponytail bouncing with the movement. Swallowing hard, she took a step back and out of sight as she attempted to process the fact that Fletcher Kelley was in her kitchen and cooking up a storm.
He probably thinks you’re a terrible mother, letting your kid cook for herself while you work .
Forcing away the thought, she shook her head. No. Fletcher wasn’t going to react like Geoffrey, or like her parents did when she first got this job. He would be understanding. Or so she hoped. She held onto enough guilt when she worked long hours, she didn’t need anybody else making her feel like shit as well. Her job was demanding and on some days, it felt harder than others. And because she knew how difficult speech impediments could be if not treated properly, she worked twice as hard on a daily basis. never wanted kids to struggle and suffer the way she did. She never wanted them to be bullied like she had been.
After the divorce, when went back to school and then worked her clinical hours, her parents had a lot to say. She understood that they were looking at it from the point of view of a two parent home, where one was there for the kids and the other earned money. But she was a single parent and had to provide everything for Emery, even if Geoffrey was paying child support and alimony. They’d guilted her for a while, always in some subtle way or the other. They made her feel like a terrible mother for not being there with Emery all the time.
But even when she was studying and earning her hours, made sure that she was there when Emery woke up every morning and before she went to bed at night. In the last few years, her schedule had gotten better. But there were always going to be nights like this one. This was partly why didn’t date, because how could she justify staying out late every night when her daughter was home alone. Even if Mrs. Cannon—their neighbor and Emery’s favorite babysitter—was okay keeping her until late at night, she didn’t like bothering the widow. She was already so good to the George women, taking advantage of her further was unfair.
Now even Fletcher was supervising her teenager while worked to help other kids and an older woman learn how to read. It was a lot .
“You’re a fantastic mother, nobody can take that away from you,” she whispered to herself and smoothed her hands down the front of her pink dress. Pushing her shoulders back, she repeated the words and then returned to the kitchen.
“Welcome home!” Emery greeted her with a broad grin and all of ’s worries faded away instantly. Her daughter was the light of her life, the best thing she’d ever done and her entire soul.
Before she could respond, Emery was hugging her. Her daughter never initiated hugs and certainly not when there was company. But wouldn’t question it, instead, she hugged her daughter back and kissed the side of her head as she released her.
“Sorry, I commandeered your kitchen and put your kid to work,” Fletcher said, his hair still up in a ponytail and foggy glasses edging to the tip of his nose. He used the back of his hand to push the glasses up and smiled, making her knees wobble.
Fucking glasses .
“You’re forgiven, because that smells good.” She moved around the counter, needing something to do so she wouldn’t stare at his exposed arms. The tattoos were calling to her, she wanted to explore and understand them. But that meant getting close and knew that if she got anywhere near him, she’d do exactly what her best friends suggested—fuck Fletcher.
Maybe I’ll lick him first. Sniff him too.
“Fletch made pasta sauce from scratch and it tastes amazing,” Emery said, excitement still lingering in her voice. Is he letting everyone call him Fletch now?
“It’s almost ready, if you’re hungry,” he added.
nodded and worked to calm her fucking heart down. “Yup, sure.”
Emery grinned and bounced, rushing around to set the table. forced her feet to move and she pulled out two stemless wine glasses from a cabinet—she was too jittery and accident prone for stemmed ones that evening—and a bottle of red wine she knew would go well with the pasta and handed it to Emery. She was trying not to stare at the man in her kitchen, but also trying not to have palpitations about the man being in her kitchen.
“Hope it’s okay that I’m using these dishes,” Fletcher said, his voice breaking through the noise in her head. “Emery said that you’d be fine with it.”
glanced at the bowl in front of Fletcher and nodded. That was her usual pasta bowl, the difference was she filled it to the top and ate right out of it when she was alone. He never needed to know that.
“I told you she’d be fine with it.” Emery bounced back into the kitchen—this bouncing thing needed to stop or be explained, or both—and took the big bowl of pasta once it was filled. When she was gone, Fletcher pulled a salad bowl out of the fridge with freshly chopped vegetables and ’s eyes widened.
“You found all that in my kitchen?”
“Your neighbor gave me the lettuce, apparently she’s been trying to get Emery to eat more greens?”
She laughed at the mention of Mrs. Cannon and nodded. “Ever since we moved here, she’s been trying to sneak the greenest veggies into Emery’s food. She fell for it initially, but now my kid is too smart to be tricked into it.”
“I was like that as a teenager. Greens were too gross for my refined palate of chicken nuggets and French fries.”
Chuckling, followed Fletcher to the table and frowned when she saw that it was only set for two. Emery was already loading up her plate with pasta, smiling sheepishly when cleared her throat.
“Nico’s free tonight, so we’re going to storm the castle together,” her daughter explained, looking at her with puppy dog eyes. “Besides, I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
“Third…what?” Fletcher looked between them and rolled her eyes at his genuine confusion.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Emery was meddling, because after that first meeting at Big Waves, she’d been not so subtly asking questions about their history. She didn’t think it was important for Emery to know anything, because there was nothing to know. Except, her daughter was smarter than she gave her credit for. wondered how she tricked Fletcher into this, because her plan had been flawless. Shaking her head as Emery batted her gorgeous long lashes, sighed. It didn’t matter anyway, she was going to have to eventually be alone with Fletcher, so in the comfort of her own home while she was wearing fluffy slippers seemed like as good a time as any.
“Have fun!” Emery called out, vanishing out of sight in less than ten seconds.
Fletcher watched her go, then turned to with a puzzled expression. “This was a setup.”
“Took you this long to figure it out,” she replied with a chuckle and settled at the table. At least Emery hadn’t lit candles or lowered the light in the room, because that would have been too much.
“I can go if this is…”
Shaking her head, she stretched one leg to push the other chair out. “It’s not whatever you’re going to say. And you did cook dinner, might as well eat it.”
He hesitated before sitting down and she smiled, because even confused and stiff, he was really something to look at. To most people, Fletcher might not be handsome, but every angle of his face was appealing to her. When he started to serve her, tore her eyes away from his face and poured out the wine. Their gazes met once or twice as he filled their plates, but then both of them focused on their food. The sauce, freshly made and perfectly seasoned made moan, eyes slipping shut as she took her time chewing and swallowing the food.
When she opened them, Fletcher was staring at her with a pleased smile. He’d taken off his glasses and untied his hair, tucking it behind his ears. Why is that so fucking hot, though?
“Good, huh?”
She nodded, focusing on scooping up more food so she wouldn’t stare at his face. “Where did you learn how to cook like this?”
He twirled the spaghetti around his fork as he spoke. “I’ve been really lucky to meet tons of great people while on tour. There was this chef in New York who said he’d feed me for free if I could get his buddies into a sold out show. I asked him for cooking lessons instead.”
“Incredible,” she mumbled and shoved another forkful of pasta into her mouth, resisting the urge to moan again. Her tastebuds caught every flavor and she felt lightheaded with the pleasure of eating amazing food.
She wasn’t a bad cook and could follow a recipe, but didn’t have skills like this. She used sauce from a bottle or a can, her pasta wasn’t always this soft and well-seasoned. And she definitely didn’t put this much effort into something so simple.
“What kind of work do you do that keeps you out so late?”
The question caught her off guard, especially since she was so busy enjoying her dinner, so she set down her fork and leaned back to look at Fletcher. He was busy stuffing his face, but when his eyes met hers, he froze. While she knew he was only asking , was instantly on the defensive.
“Is that judgment in your tone or curiosity?”
“Why am I judging you?”
“For not being at home when my kid is here.”
He frowned, setting his fork down and leaning back as well. “Did someone make you feel that way?”
“Answer the question, Fletch.”
“First of all, this is your family and I have no room to make judgments or have opinions on what you should be doing. Secondly, your kid? She’s practically an adult and from everything I’ve seen of Emery, you raised an independent and pretty badass kid.”
nodded slowly, watching him as she tried to process his words. Not what she expected him to say, but she appreciated that that’s how he was handling the whole situation. Reaching for her wine, she let that distract her for a moment. Except, he was still watching her like he wanted answers.
“Who made you feel that way, Mick?”
“My ex was a bit of an asshole,” she said, stilted laughter spilling from her. “Our relationship was a mess and he used that to his advantage.”
Through his beard, she saw Fletcher’s jaw flex and added it to her little mental library of things she liked about this man. He looked like he had something disparaging to say about Geoffrey, but her ex wasn’t worth his time.
“I work as a speech therapist,” she started, rolling spaghetti around her fork as she spoke. “Some sessions run long because my clients need extra time to complete their exercises. However, I’ve started working with an elderly woman who is part of a book club and they…” she trailed off and scrunched up her nose, realizing that she almost told Fletcher all of the details about Mrs. Hershey.
“Doctor patient confidentiality, I get it,” he said, smiling across the table at her.
“I sometimes tell Emery or my best friends about my clients, I forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”
“We’re friends, right? Maybe not best friends, but friends.”
set her glass down and leaned forward. “Is that what you want us to be?”
“Don’t…” He blew out a frustrated breath and laughed. “It’s weird to say that being around you is hard, because we don’t really know each other anymore. But it is hard.”
“I don’t think it should be hard to be around your friends, right?”
“I should have known you’d still be trouble after all these years.”
“Somethings will never change.” She licked her lips, biting down on the bottom one when his eyes lowered at the action.
“Eat your dinner, Mick.”
“Bossy.” Laughing softly, she twirled the spaghetti around her fork and put the food in her mouth, eyes fixed on his face. He’d been so polite that night in this hotel room, please and may I and can we . Something about the way he commanded her right then made her wonder if he’d sound like that in bed now. Even as the thought entered her mind, tried to wish it away. There was no point in having those kinds of thoughts about Fletcher. She couldn’t afford to let herself think that way.
Instead she focused on simpler stuff. “So what’s it like being a former rockstar? And what do you do with all your time?”
He watched her for a long moment and then blinked. “I uh…I live off my hard earned money, run Hank’s store and now I apparently teach unruly teenagers to play instruments.”
“Why did you retire?”
“It’s a long sabbatical,” he corrected and then smirked when he added, “Have you been keeping tabs on me, Mick?”
Even though he knew what her official name was, was glad that he still called her Mick . She snorted and took a sip of her wine. “When your favorite band decides that they’re taking a break after almost fifteen years of making music, you want to know what happened.”
“ Favorite band, really?”
“Did you think that I followed you guys on tour for shits and giggles?”
“I thought it was because you wanted to get railed by a rockstar.”
She smiled against the rim of her wine glass. “I did get railed by a rockstar. But also because I was a fan.”
“I walked into that.” He shook his head, but smiled as he settled back in his chair. “All jokes aside, Brandy wanted to start a family and being on the road didn’t make sense for that. Jack was finally clean and touring was a lot of temptation. And Soren wanted to travel without having a strict schedule.”
“And you?”
He shrugged and dragged a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. “I could have continued making music, but it didn’t make sense to do it without the band.”
“So you retired and moved to Sirena Beach, of all the places in the world. Why not go home?”
“My family and I have nothing to do with each other,” he started, eyes dropping to the food. “Uncle Hank has always been family , so when he called, I showed up.”
“ Uncle Hank?”
“Dad’s brother, they never got along.”
In her minimal research about him, she had never uncovered anything about his past or his family life. She didn’t know if he’d been married and had kids since they last saw each other. And given that he wasn’t sharing much with her right then, she was extra curious.
“What?” he asked, eyebrows dipping.
“What?” she echoed.
“You had this weird look on your face.”
“That’s my face, Fletch.”
“ Mick .”
She blew out a breath that fluttered her lips. “If we’re going to be friends, we should be a little more open and honest with each other, no?”
“Does that include telling me about the sperm donor for that rebellious teenager?”
“Really?” When he nodded, she sighed dramatically. “I met him a year after I was railed by a rockstar. He was punk rock, charming and selectively funny. The sex was eh.” She made a see-saw action with her hand and continued, “But he did knock me up and then thought that the right thing to do was to marry me. Apparently his Catholic guilt insisted that he make an honest woman out of me or whatever bullshit he spewed. So we got married, I had Em and then we lived in not so perfect harmony for a few years until I filed for divorce and kicked him out.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted someone who wanted to be with me and vice versa. I didn’t want to be in this sham of a marriage for my kid. Besides, Geoffrey didn’t really bond with Emery or care about her enough, so when I filed for divorce, he didn’t fight me for custody.”
Fletcher’s mouth turned down. “He’s missing out on an incredible kid.”
“His loss. A few years after the divorce, Emery and I had a fight and she ran to find him, thinking he would help her. He stared at her in confusion and called me to come get ‘your kid’.” had been so angry that day, she almost wrung Geoffrey’s neck when Emery ran into her arms, crying. It was one thing to not want the kid, but to say it in front of her? “So there you have it. My biggest mistake gave me the greatest gift and I’d do it all over again if it meant I got to raise Emery.”
“You’re amazing.”
She lifted her chin and dusted off her shoulder. “I know.”
Then got to her feet, gathering their plates and carrying them to the kitchen. She heard Fletcher come up beside her and without any discussion, they worked to put away the leftovers, wash the dishes and wipe down the kitchen. Every so often, he’d make a wiseass remark about her cleaning technique and then show her how he’d do it instead. When Emery came down, pillow marks on her face and hair a mess, Fletcher took that as his cue to leave.
“Thanks for a fun evening, ladies,” he said, backing out of the kitchen with a silly smile.
Emery yawned and waved. “See you tomorrow, Fletch.”
“I’ll walk you out,” said, smoothing down her dress and heading to the front door, but found Fletcher standing at the stairs. “What are you doing?”
“Emery brought me in this way.”
“Of course she did.” She waved for him to go up as she grabbed her keys and then followed him up the stairs—at a respectable distance, but still ogled his ass—and opened the door as he pulled on his sneakers.
Fletcher stepped outside and paused as she stepped outside with him. He turned, putting them closer than she realized. “Go out with me.”
“As friends?”
“Fuck no,” he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I have never wanted to be friends with you.”
“Jeez, Fletch, don’t hold back.”
He rolled his eyes and took another step towards her, bringing him close enough for her to inhale his cinnamon and leather scent mixed with pasta sauce. “You know what I mean. Go out with me.”
“Okay, fine. My god, you don’t have to beg .”
“If I remember correctly, you liked it when I begged.”
I really fucking did . Smirking, she said, “I’m free on Friday.”
“I’ll be here at one. Dress comfortably.”
“Naked or minimal clothing?”
Fletcher shot her a glare and shook his head, walking to his truck. She smiled as she drank in his strong legs and dark hair, the confident stride that got him from her front door to his vehicle. He glanced back at her once more before hopping into his truck and driving away. Slumping back against the door, she chuckled. A date, with a rockstar. Who would have thought.