CHAPTER 11 #2
Across the patio, Kevin spotted Cary and hollered, “Hey, man!”
“Kevin!” Cary greeted the server with a wave, winking at Tyler.
“How was the show?” Kevin asked, approaching them. “I would’ve gone. But it sold out so fast.”
“I’ve got a guest list,” Cary said three hours too late.
“Ah, man,” Kevin groaned. “What’ll it be? Penfolds Grange?”
Cary answered, “Yes, please.”
“Any food?”
“I’m always hungry after a show. Can you throw a few appetizers together? Not the entire menu, though.” He pushed the beanie away from his eyes. “And truffle popcorn for Tyler.”
Good memory.
“It’s too expensive,” she whispered.
“What is? Truffle popcorn?” he joked, but she didn’t laugh.
Tyler frowned. “The wine.”
“I sold out the stadium,” he whispered back. “I think I’ll be all right.”
“May I please pay for the food?”
He reached for a carafe of water on the table. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tyler.”
“I have money.” She didn’t have Penfolds Grange kind of money, but she had enough for truffle popcorn. “I can afford the food.”
Cary’s eyes softened and he placed her hands between his. “Please promise me you won’t bring it up again?”
“No.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
Anything you want, Cary Kingston.
“So, did you like the show?” he asked.
“I loved it, and I’m not just saying that. You play every concert like it’s your last.”
“Well, people pay their hard-earned money to see me, and just knowing it’s someone’s first concert makes me want to give them a great experience.”
“Why don’t you have an opening act?”
Cary leaned back, clasping his hands behind his beanie. “Good question. I just haven’t heard anything I like.” He leaned forward, took a sip of water, and added, “Maybe I’m too old to know what the kids are into.”
Tyler shook her head. “There are plenty of good bands out there.”
“That’s the problem. They’re good, not great.”
“Arkells are pretty great.”
He laughed. “I had no idea they were so popular. You were right. Banger after banger.”
“Would you ever consider changing your position?”
He shrugged. “Sure, if they’re great.”
“Don’t look now,” Tyler said, leaning in. “But the people behind us are wearing your merch.”
Cary tugged his beanie lower, smirking like he’d just been caught doing something mildly illegal. She tried to picture her own face plastered on a stranger’s chest and immediately broke out in secondhand embarrassment.
After Kevin brought over the wine—with a decanter this time—Cary raised his glass.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers.” Tyler took a slow sip, closed her eyes, and let the wine linger. It was even better than she remembered—and, miraculously, not a headache in a glass.
Her phone vibrated.
“Anyone we know?” Cary asked casually.
She read the message. “It’s Tommy,” she told him. “They’re at the casino.”
“Fucking Tommy.” Cary rolled his eyes. “I don’t like the way he was talking to you.”
“He talks to everyone that way.”
“Not me, he doesn’t. I’m afraid I’ve been too easy on him because he helped me when I was starting out.”
Tyler texted back and dropped her phone in her bag. “I told them to meet us here.”
Cary’s eyes bulged. “You what?”
She burst out laughing. “Relax—I’m kidding.”
He blew out a breath, relieved. “I’m not used to people messing with me, but I kind of like it.”
“Shh,” she whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. “Listen.”
Behind them, a woman gushed, “Best one yet. He just keeps getting better.”
They stayed quiet, eavesdropping for a moment, until he couldn’t resist. He half-turned around. “How did you like the show?”
Tyler nudged his arm. “Stop it.”
“Ow!” he joked, smiling at her with a flirtatious glance.
The woman with frosted highlights spoke first. “Like the show?” she asked. “We loved it!”
“We’ve been going to his concerts for twenty years,” the other woman bragged. “Since we were in college, in fact.” She tugged proudly at her Cary Kingston hoodie. “Did you guys have tickets?” she asked, oblivious.
Tyler shook her head. “No, we didn’t.”
“Well, it sold out early,” Bragging Woman told them. “Better luck next time.”
A little while later Kevin came by their table and hovered. “Another bottle?” he asked as if it were water or something.
“Yes, please,” Cary said, emptying the decanter.
“Cary . . .” Tyler crossed her arms and dipped her chin, disapproval etched across her face. She prided herself on being financially responsible—and the wine he’d ordered was downright extravagant.
“What?” He shrugged. “It isn’t a school night.”
“Why don’t we have a glass instead?” she suggested.
“You can’t order it by the glass,” Kevin informed them.
Cary gave her a saucy grin. “We don’t have to drink it all.”
She shook the container of truffle popcorn, trying to empty the last piece. “It’s your call, but I need to tell you something.”
“So you’re keeping secrets from me?”
“It’s not exactly a secret, but I thought you should know.”
Cary’s eyes flashed a look of worry. “What is it?”
“It’s about Vegas . . .”
“Vegas?”
She nodded. “Sebastien isn’t paying his per diem. That’s the industry standard.”
Without hesitation he said, “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks. Vegas isn’t one to cause trouble,” she said, adjusting in her seat.
“So, back on the road tomorrow?” The question didn’t need an answer—she already knew.
She’d memorized his schedule, not that she was proud of it.
Having that kind of access to his every move probably wasn’t the healthiest habit.
“I am, yeah. Seen anything good lately?” he asked. “Any documentaries you can recommend?”
“I only watch music docs,” she told him. “I’m sure you’ve seen the good ones. I haven’t seen anything new—wait. I stand corrected. The Beastie Boys Story was amazing. Adam Yauch . . .” She lowered her eyes. “What a tragedy.”
“The Beatles documentary is the only one I’ve seen in years,” he confessed. “MCA was a great rapper and an even nicer human.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve seen the Metallica one, right?”
“Nope.”
“Cary!” She grabbed his arm. “You have to see it. It’s my favorite movie.”
“Of all time?”
“Pretty much. The History of the Eagles and Tom Petty’s is good, too, and Rush’s Beyond the Lighted Stage is my second favorite.”
“Okay, okay!” He laughed. “I didn’t think girls liked Rush?”
“They don’t.” She placed her hand over her heart. “But I love them. Why do you think the alarm code to the office is 2-1-1-2?”
“Rush’s album! I didn’t put it together.”
She glanced at her watch and adjusted the band.
“Curfew?” he asked.
“No, it’s Rory. He’s home alone.”
“So”—Cary winked—“he’s my competition?”
There wasn’t a close second.
“I’ve got to warn you, he’s very competitive,” she joked.
“It’s nothing a few cookies can’t solve. I’ve seen him in action.” He leaned forward and held her hand. “I’d like to see you again, if that’s all right?”
“It’s all right. Just complicated.”
“More complicated than deciphering emojis?”
She laughed. “No. Your life . . . Sebastien.”
Cary sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Please don’t.” She unfolded her napkin and set it on the table. “If there’s something to tell, we’ll tell him.” If Sebastien found out, she’d have to enter a witness protection program.
Tyler and Cary lingered over a glass of wine until last call, the conversation flowing easily.
Despite the seven-year age gap, they had plenty in common—mutual admiration for Bruno Mars, Shawn Mendes, and Olivia Rodrigo, and mutual confusion about Ed Sheeran’s popularity. Plus his fans were called “Sheerios.”
Cary stood from the table and zipped up his jacket. “Come, walk me home.”
“What about the wine?”
He grabbed the bottle and turned toward the people behind them, who were busy arguing about which Cary Kingston song had opened the show.
He winked at Tyler. “I think I can help settle this.”
You’re ridiculous.
Cary passed them the bottle. “She’s right.” He pointed to Frosted Highlights. “I opened with that song.”
Shrieks of “No! It can’t be!” and “Oh my god!” ensued for several minutes, disrupting everyone on the patio and the residential high-rise buildings in the area.
Bragging Woman eyed Tyler up and down. “You’re a lucky lady,” she said, kind of snotty.
Cary grabbed her hand. “I’m the lucky one.”
Moments later, the bar emptied onto the patio, and camera flashes popped like runway lights. Being famous looked utterly exhausting—but he made it look effortless.
Tyler rolled her eyes and stepped out of the spotlight while he smiled for selfies and signed every last autograph.
When he was done being Cary Kingston, rock star, they crossed the street toward his building.
Is he going to invite me in?
There was only one way to find out.
“It’s so weird that your biggest fans didn’t recognize you,” she said. “Especially the bragging woman wearing your shirt.” Then again, she hadn’t recognized him when he’d shown up at the office wearing a beanie and glasses.
He smirked. “It happens all the time. People say I sort of look like Cary Kingston.”
“People aren’t very smart.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
Cary paused at the front door of his building, cupping her face in his hands.
His fingertips were rough, callused, but she didn’t mind.
The guitar demanded sacrifice. He leaned in, kissing her slowly, deliberately, their tongues entwining.
No one was there to interrupt, so she arched her back, pressing against him.
He deepened the kiss, pulling her under like a riptide.
After they made out like teenagers he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and the warmth of his body cocooned her. The metamorphosis of falling in love was happening, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d float away like a butterfly.
“Have breakfast with me,” he whispered into her neck.
Is it too soon to sleep with him? Her head and her heart had an argument.
She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, I have to get home to Rory—”
“No!” He took a step backward and pulled down his beanie. “I meant in the morning. Come back and have breakfast with me in the morning.”
Tyler exhaled, relieved he wasn’t trying to sleep with her—though a small, pathetic part of her wished he were. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like that.
A taxi pulled into the driveway, presumably for her. “Did you call this?” she asked.
He smiled proudly. “I downloaded the app.”
“Look at you. Such a man of the people.” She tried to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation with humor. “I’d love to have breakfast. What time?”
“Come by after nine.”
“Are you cooking?” She raised her brow in suspicion. “Or ordering in?”
“I’m not completely useless,” he said, not answering the question. “Bring Rory. I’m up for a little friendly competition.”
“I’ll ask him if he’s available. He’s Insta-famous, you know.”
“He got more likes than anything I’ve posted.”
“You’re just as cute.”
“Funny.” He kissed her cheek. “Text when you get home, okay?”
She nodded. “I promise, no emojis.”