Chapter 9
Tate
The scene at the nursing home spiraled out of my control.
I picked up the guitar because it’s what I do, and the next thing I knew, the residents were making requests.
It was fun to play songs I grew up listening to, and the residents were great, singing along and clapping like it was a real performance.
The fact that Summer’s mom recognized me added a level of intimacy I hadn’t anticipated, and it was genuinely fun to hang out with her for a few minutes talking music.
It was obvious Summer was emotional, and I hope I didn’t overstep any boundaries by taking up her mother’s rare moment of cognition.
It’s kind of sweet, the way her mom is so excited to meet me. She can barely remember who she is or what year it is but she recognizes a musician from a band that’s only been around about a year.
Summer seems a little emotional too, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s happy to see her mother so happy or something else.
“When is the next album coming out?” Tricia asks me.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “We’ll probably go in the studio next year, but we’re leaving for Europe in September so we’ll see how the songwriting goes.”
“Are you taking Summer with you?”
“Mom, I can’t leave my job,” Summer says quickly. “Or you.”
“Don’t worry about me!” Tricia waves her hand. “That’s why I live here now, right? So there are people to take care of me. You have to go live your life.”
“Stop hogging Tate,” an older man says, coming over to join us. “Can I get a picture, Tate? My grandson will get a kick out of it.”
That starts a snowball effect and all the other residents want pictures too, so by the time we do and then Summer helps her mother go lie down, it’s another hour before we can escape.
Everyone is effusive in their thanks and makes me promise to come back, so I’m feeling both good and bad as we’re heading out to the parking lot.
“I’m sorry,” I say as soon as we’re in the Mustang. “I had no idea they’d recognize me. I just picked up the guitar and started playing oldies. I didn’t think—”
“Oh, don’t apologize,” she says, waving a hand. “It was amazing. And my Mom—she hasn’t been that aware of her surroundings in months. I’m flabbergasted that she knows who you are.”
I grin. “Yeah, me too. I didn’t think our music was popular in the nursing home circuit. Maybe that’ll be our next tour.”
We chuckle.
“Well, I guess we’re going back to the grocery store because while I’m sure the eggs and butter are fine, the milk is definitely no good after ninety minutes in this heat.”
I grimace. “Sorry about that—I forgot I promised to come out and turn on the car.”
“You were busy.”
“I hope I didn’t embarrass you,” I say after a moment.
“Why would you embarrass me?” she asks in confusion. “You’re handsome, talented, and were incredibly sweet and patient with my mom and everyone else. What’s embarrassing about that?”
“I dunno.” I’m quiet for a beat. “The tattoos and long hair… it’s a turn-off for a lot of people.” Like my parents.
I haven’t told her about them though.
“It’s not a turn-off for me.” She leans across the seat and presses her lips to my cheek. “And you were incredible with my mom. I should be thanking you.”
Our eyes meet and the magnetism between us ratches up a notch.
How can I want her this badly after how much sex we had yesterday? And early this morning. Her box of condoms is almost empty.
“I just hope I didn’t steal precious time with your mom away from you,” I say after a moment.
“She probably wouldn’t have been as lucid as she was if it weren’t for your music,” she responds.
“Music is one thing that tends to bring her out of her fog, though it’s usually much more short-lived.
And I love that she got to meet someone whose music she adores.
When I was in high school, we went to see Nickelback and she was so frustrated that she couldn’t get backstage. ”
“I hate hearing that, but looking at it from my perspective, imagine the chaos if everyone who wanted to meet us managed to get backstage after every show… we’d never have time to breathe.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She looks thoughtful. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Look, I’m incredibly grateful to be where I am professionally, but sometimes it’s a lot.
Groupies, the press, other bands—sometimes it feels like everyone wants a piece of us.
And as much as I love what I do, there are nights where I’m just tired.
Overwhelmed. Fighting off a cold. You know?
We’re still human beings. I do my best not to let it show when I’m frustrated but it happens more than you think. ”
“I never thought about that either,” she admits. “But I appreciate hearing your perspective.” She pulls up in front of the grocery store. “I’m going to run in and get more milk. I’ll be right back.”
She jumps out before I can protest or offer her money, hurrying into the store.
Damn, she’s cute.
I’m starting to like her more and more every minute we spend together.
And I really wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow.
* * *
Baking is serious business with Summer.
It’s clear she has the routine down pat because she starts by making the crusts. Then she mixes the filling for one set while warming the oven and starts on the next pies when the first group is baking. There’s sugar, flour, and butter everywhere and I’m a little mesmerized as I watch her work.
“Can I help?” I ask for the tenth time. “I hate sitting here watching you do it all.”
She smiles. “When the timer goes off, you can take the two pies out of the oven and put those two—” She motions with her head. “—in.”
“Okay.” I watch as she carefully creates the lattice-top for the strawberry-rhubarb pies she’s working on. It’s fascinating how easily she does it. I’d make a mess if it were me.
The timer goes off so I take out the two pecan pies and replace them with the two key lime pies that were waiting to go in.
I turn just as Summer reaches for something and I accidentally bump her arm.
The bag of flour in her hand goes flying and I snake out a hand to catch it, even as the top comes open, showering us with white powder.
I stare at her for a second and she stares back.
Then we burst out laughing.
“Sorry about that,” I say, putting the flour on the counter and dusting myself off as best as I can in the sink.
“If you wanted to take a shower, you could have just said so,” she says.
“I definitely want to take a shower, but it looks like we’ll be baking for the rest of the evening.”
“On and off.” Her eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Yeah? You planning on taking a break soon?”
“Once I have all the pies made, it’s just a matter of waiting for them to bake.” She moves closer to me. “And then we’ll be able to…play.”
“Yeah?” I dip my head and capture her lips with mine. She kisses me back for a full minute before reluctantly pulling away.
“I work tomorrow from three until close—I have to get these done today,” she whispers.
“No worries. Your not-very-helpful helper is here to…do whatever I can to make it go faster.”
“How about you order us dinner?” she suggests. “There is no way I’ll be able to cook tonight, even though I’d like to.”
“Ordering is something I’m very good at,” I say, pulling out my phone.
We decide on Italian, I order veal parmesan and penne a la vodka that we can both share, along with garlic bread and salad, and by then it’s time to take out two more pies.
The house smells delicious, and I’m a little bummed I won’t be able to taste them. Luckily, she gave me a huge slice of the chocolate peanut butter pie in her fridge, and I’m hardcore addicted. It’s the best pie I’ve ever tasted in my life. I wish I could bring some back for the guys.
“If I wasn’t flying tomorrow,” I tell her, “I’d buy all these pies off of you and bring them for the band and the crew. They would go nuts.”
“Oh, I wish I could send them with you!”
“I don’t think I can take pies on the plane.” I pause. “Can I?”
“I think you could take one or two. I mean, you’d have to hold them or they’ll be destroyed, but you’re allowed to travel with food. No different than picking up lunch or whatever.”
“Could I buy one or two off of you?”
“Sure.” She nods. “Dolly won’t be happy but she’ll get over it.”
I lean in, kissing her again, and this time she winds her arms around my neck. “Is it break time yet?”
“No.” She giggles against my mouth.
“What if I just bent you over the counter and ate your pussy while you keep working on the pies?”
Her eyes darken and heat floods her cheeks.
“I don’t think I’ll get much baking done if…you do that.”
“Want to find out?”