Chapter Eight
“The guys and I are bonded for life,” Phillip tells me.
“Like brothers,” Aspen adds in agreement.
Beside them, Leon nods and pulls Jake into a one-armed hug, as he proudly announces, “We couldn’t be closer.
” Grinning, Jake slings his arm around Leon in return, though he does send a rueful look toward their shared tour bus to lament, “We really couldn’t. ”
—“A Day on the Road with US,” written by entertainment reporter Emma Cardiff
Outside The Tiny Tiger, I gave Jake a once-over, taking in his dark sunglasses and baseball cap. Approving his disguise, I pushed open the door to the café, and was greeted by soft music and the rich smell of our coffee-scented jungle.
I took a deep breath like I always did when I first walked in, then waved to Amber, who was behind the counter. “Hi. Is Mom here?”
“Yeah, she dropped in a few minutes ago.” Amber’s eyes slid over to Jake, processing his outfit and the way he leaned forward to peer at everything closely. “You okay over there? I can turn the lights down a little, if you want.”
Jake cocked his head, confused by the off-the-wall question. “What?”
“You just got your eyes dilated, right?” Amber asked, gesturing to his sunglasses and the way his baseball cap was pulled so low it shadowed half his face. “I had my eye exam in the spring and walked around like that all day. The lights in here about killed me. Had to dim ’em.”
Jake turned to look at me. I couldn’t see his eyes through his dark shades but I assumed they were not amused, and I smirked back.
“He’ll be fine, Amber,” I told her. “Thanks.”
“Oh, he’s with you?” Amber asked, scrutinizing Jake. “Who is he?” She squinted. “You look sort of familiar, actually.”
“That’s because he’s a wanted criminal,” I answered.
Amber was going to find out the truth sooner or later, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t tease Jake first. “You’ve probably seen his mugshot.
He stole a Monet to pay off his outstanding NASCAR bets.
” I sent him a look over my shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Sylvester? ”
“Mmm.” Unflustered by his new backstory, Jake turned his back to Amber, took off his glasses, and inspected the café. “I never should have based all my racing knowledge on Mario Kart.”
“Well, you live and you learn, right?”
Amber leaned over the counter, propping herself up on her elbows. “I know that’s a lie. You know how I know?”
“Not because of our carefully constructed backstory?”
“No, because if Sylvester here was really a wanted criminal, he’d be tied up to a bike rack right now. You’d have sold him out for reward money without thinking twice.”
“Oh, that’s true.”
Jake placed his hand over his heart. “Ouch. Did our old friendship mean nothing to you?”
Did it mean anything to you?
“Wait.” Amber made a motion between us. “You two are friends?”
Jake watched me carefully, like he was waiting for me to say something. I stared back, daring him to answer first.
“Used to be friends,” Jake said.
“Mmm,” I hummed, tilting my head. “More like acquaintances.”
“She was a classmate,” Jake offered.
“He was a customer,” I countered.
We held each other’s gaze like two duelers at sword-point, our blades crossed and eyes locked, not wanting to back down first. Whatever easy rhythm we’d fallen into at the thrift shop had gone, and the tension returned, noticeably taut and twice as strong.
We both could’ve stuck with friends, but the word seemed too simple to cover the history between us and how close we once were.
But it also seemed too far from where we stood right now, after four years of not speaking.
“Oh.” Amber deflated a bit, disappointed. “I thought maybe you were on a date. You haven’t brought a guy around since Ryan. I was kind of hoping you met up with that cute guy who came in here and gave you his number last week. You seemed to hit it off.”
Not really. I’d just tried my hardest to sell him a croissant because I was freaking out about whether we’d have enough money for our next cat supply order.
But Amber’s comment caught Jake’s attention for some reason.
“What cute guy?” he demanded. “You didn’t—”
He stopped abruptly.
I arched a brow. “What? Did you really think that—”
A melody caught my attention.
Oh. I grimaced. That’s why Jake got distracted mid-sentence.
While we’d been arguing, the song playing in the café had faded out and another all too familiar one had begun in its place.
Slow grin, quick wit. Sharp and silver tongued.
Wild laugh, soft touch. Met you, fell in love.
And now all I can think is, you’re lovely, aren’t ya?
Oh, you’re lovely, aren’t ya?
And now all I can dream is, you’re lovely, aren’t ya?
Oh, you’re lovely, aren’t ya?
Oh, I could build a home in your heartbeat.
Knew it from the moment you kissed me.
“Not this song, not right now,” I sighed, rubbing my temples.
The soundtrack for this scene absolutely wasn’t helping things.
Jake narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong with ‘Lovely, Aren’t Ya’?”
“Nothing. It’s a great song.” Jake’s suspicious stare didn’t waver, so I racked my brain for something to say other than the whole truth.
“It’s just that it plays five times a day in the café and at the supermarket and even in the background of that video where that Sphinx cat is best friends with an alpaca and then gets an alpaca-wool sweater from his buddy so they match. ”
“I love that video.”
“Everyone loves that video.”
Amber chose that moment to announce, “I think Lucy just hates the song because she has a beef with Jake Moody.”
Fantastic. Thank you, Amber.
Jake blinked owlishly at me. “You what?”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to Amber. “I do not have a beef with Jake Moody. Please stop.”
“Please keep talking,” Jake countered. Amber’s eyes widened slightly as her gaze bounced between the two of us. “Why do you think our girl here has a beef with Jake?”
Amber looked at me. I made a long slashing motion across my throat. At the same time, Jake pulled his hat down low to approach the counter and stick a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar.
Apparently, loyalty could be bought.
“Well, first there’s the way Lucy reacts to ‘Lovely, Aren’t Ya,’” Amber began, as I suppressed a groan. “She hates that song specifically and with a passion. And Jake wrote this song, you know.”
“I do know that, yes.”
“Secondly, she says bad boys are stupid.”
“I’ll own that one,” I said, not backing down. “Bad boys are stupid.” I met Jake’s gaze evenly. “What else would you call someone who ditches their own bandmates at press conferences and who trashes their dressing room so badly it makes the news?”
Jake opened his mouth, then closed it. He swallowed, then started, “That was actually—”
Except he didn’t finish and shut his mouth abruptly instead.
“Really dramatic?” I completed for him, since he went silent. “Completely unnecessary? But I guess Jake does have a history with people close to him and ghosting, doesn’t he?”
Jake gave me a long look, blew out a breath, then said, “He does.”
Suddenly, it was my turn to be thrown. I never thought he’d admit to it out loud, like a criminal confessing in court.
But besides that, Jake looked . . . sad. Really sad. There was something else about his gaze too—a sort of heaviness that settled in his eyes as he looked at me.
Was that regret?
“I should’ve guessed you being against bad boys in real life would automatically make you dislike Jake, Lucy,” Amber admitted. “Like, no matter how many times that new tough guy at school asked you out last year, you always turned him down. You went to the football game with Thomas instead.”
“Thomas?” Jake asked, something I couldn’t put my finger on in his voice. “Thomas—wait, Tommy Fields? Him?”
“Yes, him.” I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. Why would Jake care?
“He’s like the fourth guy I’ve heard mentioned since I got here.”
“You’re keeping count?”
“I just don’t understand what’s so special about Tommy.”
Amber glanced between us, as if sensing something but not understanding it. “What’s going on?”
I wish I knew.
Before Jake or I could answer, Mom appeared in the doorway behind the counter.
“Oh!” She did a double take, staring at the boy next to me. “Ja— Sylvester?”
Curiously enough, Jake corrected his posture like he was in line for inspection. “Uh, hi, Ms. Melrose, ma’am.”
A faint hint of his old Southern accent caught my attention, winking out from between the consonants. It distracted me, filling me with wistfulness, like a song I hadn’t heard in years.
What had Jake told me at breakfast? That his accent only came out when he was really excited or nervous and not watching how he phrased things?
Why would seeing my mom make him nervous?
Mom moved, hobbling out from behind the counter slightly to lean against the edge, bringing her crutches into view. Jake’s eyes widened in surprise before narrowing for a moment. He looked over at me, as if to silently ask, Why didn’t you say anything?
I don’t know, why didn’t you for four years?
“What a surprise, Sylvester,” Mom said, an amused smile on her face as she used his nickname. “But you know I’ve told you to call me Diana.”
He nodded seriously. “I do.”
“Hmm. You still have those Southern manners, I see. Glad to know LA didn’t breed those out of you completely.”
“Key word being completely,” I muttered under my breath, because since when did Southern manners include trespassing into fountains? Jake side-eyed me.
Amber squinted at the two of us. “How long have you two known each other? Have I seen pictures of you guys together on the adoption board or something? Because, Sylvester, you look really fa—”
“He’s on the board,” I interrupted. It wasn’t a lie.
Besides his somewhat blurred background appearances in several photos, one time Jake helped me matchmake a grumpy old tabby with a sweet little old lady and Mom took a photo of the four of us for her photo collage of successful adoptions.
“Besides, he’s just got one of those faces. ”