Chapter Four
We greet the new day with a smoke alarm screeching and the scent of burned food filling the house.
Nash is opening the windows wider and waving a kitchen towel around to dispel the acrid air.
Meanwhile, Grandma sits at the table watching the brouhaha with a serene expression.
Her short gray hair is neatly styled and she’s wearing a yellow linen sundress.
“You were right, Audrey,” he yells over the alarm. “The pan was too hot for scrambled eggs. Starting with cereal would have been safer. Maybe work my way up to toast. Take this cooking thing one step at a time.”
Thankfully the smoke alarm stops. The way the sudden silence rings in my ears.
I was brushing my teeth and tying my dark hair back into a low-slung ponytail when it started.
Wandering out in my pajamas is right out with a rockstar in the house.
He may have spent part of the other night asleep beside me, but it would feel too weird to me now.
Just showing up as my usual morning mess.
So it’s jeans and a navy tank top for me.
And not even the alarm can dim his masculine beauty.
The hard lines of his face in the morning light are a sight to see.
It’s therapeutic to remember the video of him on various red carpets I watched the night before.
He’s as unobtainable as can be. Ordinary people such as myself can only stare at him from afar. Say, the length of the kitchen table.
I give Grandma a kiss on the cheek, and she says softly, “Don’t eat anything he tries to give you.”
“Got it.”
Grandma’s home is usually an oasis of calm under her complete control.
Nash, however, is like a hand grenade lobbed into the middle of her domestic bliss.
The funny thing is—she doesn’t seem to care.
The woman has zero fucks to give about him turning her usually bright and airy kitchen into the sight of an egg-burning, toxic-meltdown chemical disaster.
I am starting to see how she worked for a rockstar all those years. She is simply unflappable.
Nash examines the frying pan and the sludge of his burned breakfast.
I smile and say, “Maybe scrape the solids into the trash.”
He gives the pan a dubious glance. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just throw it away?”
“Most certainly not,” says Grandma. “It’s Le Creuset. Give it to me.”
I, meanwhile, start dealing with the empty coffee pot situation. Someone needs to talk a certain rockstar into buying a proper coffee machine for the house. Talk about increasing the morning happiness ratio around here.
I spent the rest of the day working when we returned from the coffee shop and clothes shopping yesterday.
And he went for a drive last night to clear his head while Grandma and I watched a movie.
There was a vague vibe that he was giving us some space.
Probably a smart move when it comes to Grandma. I enjoyed having bonding time with her.
But her footsteps were definitely heard in the hallway at around midnight.
She has a lighter step than Nash’s. And she paused outside each of our rooms, as if she was checking we weren’t together.
It made me feel sixteen again, when parents at sleepovers would keep a keen eye on us in case we were getting into trouble.
The only reason I heard her was I had trouble getting to sleep.
I definitely wasn’t lying awake beating myself up about past mistakes and also thinking about a certain rockstar.
There’s really no need for her to worry.
Just because he’s rich, hot, famous, funny, and gives me feelings in the chest and pants regions, doesn’t mean I’m going to make bad choices.
I respect her health and happiness, and Nash respects the stick.
Today is a bright new day. My focus is on moving forward with my life. Figuring out where I went wrong in the past and learning from it. Owning my shit. Because I am single and happy and staying that way for the foreseeable future.
“I just can’t get used to you without all the hair,” she says. “There were only ever glimpses of your face. But now I can actually see the whole thing.”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?” He grins.
“I’m sure I’ll drop dead at any moment. Be a dear and say something nice at my funeral.”
Nash laughs. “At long last, I’ll be able to tell the world how you were the inspiration for ‘Lady Caroline’.”
“That song has nothing to do with me, and you know it.” Grandma joins him at the sink. “I don’t suppose you’ve given any more thought to talking to Angus?”
He just shakes his head. I haven’t been stalking him online because that would be weird and invasive. Though I did do some light research when he first arrived, and he apparently has a brother with this name. Seems they’re not on talking terms.
“Where did you end up last night?” I ask.
“Dive bar about a couple of hours away. I wanted to see if my new look held up, and it did. Played some pool and ate a burger, and nobody was the wiser.”
“Sounds like an enjoyable evening,” says Grandma. “Why don’t you take June out for breakfast?”
He nods and steps back from the sink. “What a great idea.”
Guess she’s okay with us spending time together so long as it’s not horizontally. Good to know.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Are you expecting company?” asks Nash.
“No.” She heads for the door, leaving the pan sitting in the sink.
“Did you win at pool?” I ask.
“Lost twenty bucks to a couple of local boys.”
“June, Nash, someone is here to see you,” says Grandma, over by the door. The house has an open living area, with the kitchen, dining, and living room together. Noise carries just fine over the polished wood floor.
It’s the lady from the coffee shop yesterday, with the great toned ass. Only now, instead of yoga gear, she’s dressed in upmarket office wear. Nicely draped trousers and a blouse with a bow. And the smile she gives us is both warm and professional. “We missed you at morning meditation, Nash.”
“I was busy cooking breakfast,” he says. “But I should be there tomorrow.”
“Great,” she says. “And this must be June.”
I raise my hand in greeting.
“Molly is our town mayor,” says Grandma.
“She’s also a psychic counselor,” adds Nash. “Isn’t that cool? Said we’d think about coming in for couple’s counseling sometime.”
“That’s an idea.” And not a good one.
Molly keeps right on smiling. “I had a cancelation this morning and you two have been on my mind, so I thought why not just pop around. And because your story moved me, the first session is free.”
“Oh,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.
Nash nods and blinks. “That is so kind.”
“Psychic counseling. What a wonderful opportunity.” Grandma smiles beatifically. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Or would you prefer I make myself scarce?”
“It’s not necessary,” I say. “What is psychic counseling, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Molly nods. “So, I use psychic impressions to help guide you both through whatever life is throwing your way. Why don’t we sit down?” Molly makes a beeline for an armchair. “You two hop on the sofa there.”
“You really want to do this right now?” I am not panicking. It just sounds like it. “Um.”
Nash frowns in contemplation, and then pushes me oh so gently forward with a hand to the small of my back. “Come, my heart.”
“Didn’t you have that thing you had to do?” I ask. “That urgent thing?”
He hesitates.
“Nothing could be as urgent as your love for each other,” says Grandma, who is actually kind of evil when you get right down to it.
And she doesn’t believe in psychic anything.
I know she wasn’t happy about me providing Nash with a cover story.
She told me of her many misgivings at length last night, after the movie.
She doesn’t like to see me lying to everyone in town, which is fair enough.
Though her supporting this couple’s counseling farce seems extreme.
“I just think it would be better if we had time to prepare.” I don’t want to sound like I’m digging in my heels, but I’m close.
This is a test we have in no way studied for.
We need to carefully construct our full backstory.
I’m thinking a PowerPoint presentation with a pie graph or two.
“How about we meet at your office tomorrow?”
“Sessions are typically held in the client’s home,” says Molly. “And unfortunately, I’m booked out for the rest of the week. This gap in my calendar was like a gift from the universe just for you two.”
“Such a gift,” says Nash.
Grandma pours herself a glass of orange juice. “There’s no time like the present.”
It’s been years since I’ve been on the receiving end of what I call Grandma’s teach-you-a-lesson face. And it’s not as if we spent a huge amount of time together when I was growing up.
However, I distinctly remember when I insisted on wearing my shoes on the wrong feet.
I may have briefly thought I knew everything when I was six.
The shoes rubbed and I got a blister and she made the same face at me.
I had no idea I’d been carrying this childhood trauma around all these years, but here we are. Her expression is giving me flashbacks.
Molly happy-sighs and digs a quartz point out of her purse. “This is a safe space for open hearts and minds. Come and join me.”
Nash and I sit on the sofa together. Both of us wearing forced smiles. I have such a bad feeling about this.
“By the way,” says Molly. “Don’t worry about the cost of ongoing counseling. I have payment plans to suit every budget.”
Nash nods. “What a relief.”
“Why don’t we start by clearing the air?” the therapist proposes. “I know you had a robust discussion in the bar the other night. But revisiting where you each feel things went astray can help pave the way forward. Nash, you have some murky dark red in your aura, would you like to start?”
“What does that mean?” he asks. “Murky dark red?”
“It often indicates frustration, stifled feelings, and stress.”
His brows rise. “Huh.”