The Pop Star Next Door

by Aleah Barley

  She walked up to the holly, there was definitely a kite tangled near the top. It was red. She’d always wanted a red kite. She examined the tree carefully from every direction. The trunk was squat, crooked. Its branches bent low to the ground. If some teenage lothario could scale it, then Anna shouldn’t have any trouble.

  Reaching up, she grasped the tree’s two lowest branches and began to scramble up. Her feet slipped on the trunk. The bottoms of her ballet flats were slick, not exactly the best choice for climbing trees.

  The boy so many years earlier had made it look easy, but he’d been muscular and confident. He’d made most things look easy.

  He hadn’t been wearing a cotton candy sundress or carrying a hot pink purse that banged against his side every time he made a move.

  Anna dropped back down and dumped her bag on the ground. She untangled herself from the headphones hanging around her neck. The bangles that sang at her wrist were heavy, so she took them off, tucking them into her purse. There was nothing she could do about the designer sundress’s short skirt or pale fabric, but she twisted her honeyed curls up into a loose ponytail. She slipped off her creamy leather ballet flats, enjoying the feel of cool grass against her bare feet.

  She reached up a second time, grabbing tree branches and pulling hard. Muscles she’d built up to dance in music videos screamed. She was flexible, damn it, and she was strong. She might not know how to climb trees, but she could do a cartwheel. She could even do a back flip if she had an ambulance waiting offstage.

  Moving from branch to branch, she decided that climbing trees wasn’t so hard after all. It was all a matter of staying on her toes and always moving upwards, just like show business. Anna was almost there. She just needed to move onto one last, thin branch. Then she’d be able to untangle the kite and climb back to the ground. Maybe the kid would give her a turn flying the kite.

  That could be fun.

  Flushed with the possibility of success, she glanced down.

  Mistake.

  Never look down.

  That was the mantra she’d learned when she was still singing in the bathtub.

  Never look down, and never look back.

  No matter what happened she should always look onward, upward. It didn’t matter what she’d done. It only mattered what she was going to do next.

  The ground was really far away.

  Anna’s knees started to shake. Damn, she’d never realized how high the tree was before, but she’d always been looking up instead of looking down.

  One more branch.

  She reached out, grabbing for the kite’s string.

  “What the hell?” A man demanded.

  Anna hadn’t known anyone was watching her except for the bright-eyed kid. Fear of failure audience gripped her, the same fear she always felt on the opening night of a new tour or whenever she tried a new song in front of an audience.

  She took a step backward, running away from her fears.

  A step back into nothingness.

  Tumbling out of the tree, Anna had just enough time for her to close her eyes and remember that the force of gravity was thirty-two feet per second squared.

  She’d learned that fun fact studying for her GED.

  Then she hit the ground, hard.

  Only, she didn’t hit the ground.

  She hit something softer than the ground. Something that was warm, solid, and swearing loudly.

  Her eyes flickered open slowly. She was a few inches off the ground, sprawled across a man’s body.

  “Sugar,” Anna swore.

  The man who’d broken her fall said something stronger. He swore a blue streak while he untangled himself from her, dumping her unceremoniously to the ground, and pushed himself up onto his feet.

  Anna checked quickly for damage. None of her arms seemed to be broken, but her dress had a brown smear down the front that wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon.

  The dress was a one of a kind designer original, and the designer in question had warned her not to even sweat while wearing it. There was a matching smear on her finger. She tasted it. Sweet barbecue sauce with a red-hot kick.

  Okay, so the man who’d broken her fall had good taste in food.

  Not that Anna ate barbecue.

  Not after the last time someone had taken a picture of her with sauce all over her face and posted it on the Internet.

  No thank you. Never again.

  She stood up, forcing herself to turn and look at the man who’d rescued her. Her white knight.

  He was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders that narrowed into a flat stomach and slim hips. His shirt was covered by a red apron that said ‘Kiss the Cook’ on it in balloon letters and coated in BBQ sauce. His ragged jeans conformed to muscular legs, the worn fabric exposing his knees. He had great knees.

  Her gaze moved upwards, taking in everything she saw on the way to his face.

  The same sun that had turned his skin a deep gold had caused the dark freckles on his cheeks and the deep lines around his hot chocolate eyes. He wasn’t traditionally handsome—not with his strong nose and curved lips—but that didn’t stop her heart from doing the Macarena in her rib cage.

  “Sugar,” she swore.

  Chapter Two

  The woman perched casually in the tree next door had to be a hallucination, Nick had thought.

  She was a fairy.

  That would explain the masses of white blonde hair, the golden skin, and the big blue eyes.

  He’d been wrong. She was a real person. Standing in the sunlight, he could still feel the heat of her lithe body. All that tight muscle made her heavier than she looked. She’d hit him with a surprising amount of force, throwing him off balance and sending them both to the ground.

  “Have a nice trip,” he said, “see you next fall.”

  Even on the ground, she kind of looked like a fairy with full pink lips that made his breath catch in his throat. In college, his roommate had spent a lot of time describing the perfect woman. He’d wanted ‘lips that could suck start a Chevy.’

  Nick had always wondered what that meant.

  Now he knew.

  Thinking about the things she could do with that mouth had his blood burning and his jeans tightening.

  His gaze moved slowly downwards to inspect a body and he forgot all about her lips. Slender and strong, the pink dress stretched over full breasts before closing around her narrow waist and riding up muscular thighs that had been designed by nature to clench around a man’s waist, riding him slowly into oblivion.

  She was a cross between Tinkerbelle and a Playboy centerfold.

  Every man’s fantasy.

  Regardless, that didn’t make her any better at climbing trees.

  Nick had a few general rules to live by. Never trust a lineman with the party planning, and never use a branch smaller than your wrist for support. The first rule he’d learned from experience. The second rule he’d learned on the playground from an older boy.

  Everyone knew the second rule.

  Everyone except her.

  “Sugar.” The woman pulled grass out of her hair before smoothing her dress. She winced as fabric tore audibly. “Super sugar.”

  Nick bit back a grin. She was cute and clumsy, but not very articulate. Did she think that she was really swearing? Or had falling out of the tree given her some kind of brain damage. “What are you doing here?”

  He leaned forward, taking in a deep breath.

  Wearing a pink dress and no shoes, the scent of flowers clinging to her silky skin. No bra either. That fact became clear when she wiggled first in one direction then the other, making herself comfortable. But eliciting a powerful physical response in Nick. His only saving grace was that the apron he’d thrown on to make dinner hid his erection—and that his trouble making six-year-old seemed to have gone missing for the moment.

  Adam was a good kid, but he was way too young to see his father getting all hot and bothered over a woman.

  “Trying to
get the kite. The kid—” She glanced around anxiously, looking for some confirmation of her story. “I swear. There was a kid here just a minute ago.”

  “Right,” Nick’s curiosity and arousal were quickly being overcome by more familiar emotions like frustration and confusion. The natural reactions that came from dealing with a six-year-old boy who was too smart for his own good.

  “Adam Maddox!” He called out, glancing around expectantly until a nearby shrub shook and dislodged his fair-haired son. “I told you I’d get the kite after dinner.”

  He shook his head before extending a hand to the strange woman. “We just got the kite this afternoon and Adam’s really excited. It’s pretty cool, right?”

  “Sure.” She shook his hand awkwardly. Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a small woman, and her manicured fingers were calloused.

  Nick’s easy grin turned into a frown when the connection only lasted for a few seconds. He didn’t generally like women who held his hand for too long, clinging to some imagined connection, but there was something about her. Something electric.

  She licked her lips. “It’s red.”

  Her lipstick looked more raspberry than pure red to him, but that wasn’t what they were talking about. Overhead, the kite’s tails whipped in the breeze. He glanced up. Right. “Scarlet Sunrise, at least that’s what the box said.”

  He gave her a long once over, starting at her bare feet and moving his gaze up her body, taking in every glorious inch of her. Absolutely gorgeous, in a slightly kooky way. Not the type to stick around long term, but he wouldn’t say no to one wild night in her bed.

  “I’m Nick Maddox.”

  “Nick Maddox. I’m—” Her voice shook. “I’m—”

  Definitely a kook.

  Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. The motion was self-effacing and—somehow—familiar. It took a moment for him to place the gesture, and the woman it belonged to.

  “You’re Anna,” He prompted, a hard edge in his voice. “Anna Howard.”

  As a teenager, Anna Howard had been cute—knock-kneed and freckled—desperate to burn off some of the wild energy burning inside her. At first it had been stolen kisses under the high school bleachers and hands drifting into dangerous places while they were swimming together down by the ravine. Before long, he’d been sneaking into her room at night for long make out sessions.

  As an adult, she was devastating.

  For ten years, Anna had been gone. Missing. Vanished without a trace. Reappearing only in her grandfather’s smiles and tall tales about her life in California.

  Nick had felt sure she’d show up for Bill’s funeral, twenty pounds heavier, lines around her eyes, with a harried husband in tow.

  Maybe she’d have a kid of her own.

  Maybe not.

  It didn’t matter, as long as she was there. Standing beside the casket at Blinder’s Funeral Home, greeting her grandfather’s friends and giving him one last fond goodbye.

  Sitting on the funeral home’s hard seats all the anger he’d felt ten years earlier had come rushing back. How dare Anna abandon the people she loved? How dare she leave the people who loved her?

  The last place he’d expected to find her was climbing the gnarled holly in search of his son’s kite.

  “Yeah, I’m Anna—” There was a hitch in her voice, “Anna Howard.”

  Nick reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was meant to be friendly and reassuring. It wasn’t supposed to make her jump. She flinched away from him for a second before relaxing into his touch, ignoring the barbecue sauce smeared across her bodice.

  The little pink sundress was already a lost cause.

  Her chest moved up and down with every heartbeat. The heat of a Mill City summer, undiminished by the darkness already gathering overhead, meant that her skin was sticky against his. When she tilted her head upward, he could see bright sapphire eyes.

  Their lips were only an inch apart.

  If he bent forward, they’d be kissing, picking up right where they’d left off ten years earlier.

  “You should invite us to your house for lemonade,” a boy interrupted.

  Nick jumped in surprise. It had all been just one long moment of insanity, driven by too many years without a woman in his arms, but somehow he’d forgotten that they weren’t alone. There was someone else standing on his neighbor’s front lawn.

  The brat who’d started all the trouble because he couldn’t wait to retrieve his kite until after dinner.

  Now he wanted lemonade?

  Anna was shaking her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Lemonade,” the kid repeated, “You should give me lemonade. Women always give me lemonade when they’re throwing themselves at my dad.”

  “Adam,” Nick issued a one-word warning to his son.

  Adam snorted and stuck his hands in his pockets. “It’s true.”

  Nick ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. He grinned. “I’m sorry, he’s young. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  That was a lie. Adam knew exactly what he was saying, he just didn’t care. The six-year-old was smart, sassy, and strong-willed.

  Just like Nick had been as a child.

  Nick’s hands reached behind his back, fumbling to remove his apron. “Would you like some lemonade?”

  “Lemonade?” Anna snorted. “What is this sudden obsession with sour drinks?”

  “You don’t like lemonade?” It was the drink of choice in Mill City’s kitchens and backyards, ten years earlier she’d been happy to drink lemonade all summer long. Apparently, things had changed. Not that Nick would turn down a beer.

  “Come on,” Nick cajoled. “It’ll be fun. I promise to duct tape my son’s mouth shut.”

  Two minutes later he was already regretting his decision. Inviting Anna Howard into his house for lemonade had been a mistake. One that Nick hadn’t even realized he was making until the words were already out. But, it was too late to change his mind now. Anna was heading for his back door, her hips swaying like Edgar Allen Poe’s eponymous pendulum, Adam trailing after her like a puppy dog.

  The boy was only six years old, too young to know what that sway meant, but it didn’t matter.

  He was in love.

  Not Nick.

  Not anymore.

  “Hurry up, Dad.” Adam raced ahead to open the door for Anna.

  Nick’s nostrils flared. He bent down, grabbing Anna’s discarded shoes. Creamy flats made out of soft, buttery leather.

  Expensive. The kind of shoes that his ex-wife had worn, not caring if the cost meant they were behind on their rent. After two years of marriage, Julie had left him, returning to the city, a high-powered job, and a man who bought a new Mercedes every year.

  These days Nick was an upstanding member of the community, a landscape designer with a thriving business. His firm planned and planted private gardens and public parks all over the state. His bank account was flush, and every hostess in town was desperate to receive his RSVP.

  That didn’t mean he went around buying women designer shoes.

  He stretched his legs, walking across the yards onto his back porch. The house he’d grown up in was smaller than Bill Howard’s, but it was in better condition. The walls were painted a creamy yellow; the porch’s floor was covered in an ever-changing mural.

  Sometimes the floor had flowers, sometimes monsters. At the moment, it was deformed, mutant dinosaurs with red teeth. Adam must have been hard at work when he remembered the kite.

  Inside the house, he could hear Adam talking to Anna. The active six-year-old was having fun playing host, showing off everything in the kitchen, talking a mile a minute. Then there was a long pause.

  “What do you do for a living?” Adam asked after a moment.

  Nick grinned. His son might not be reading as smoothly as some of the other kids in his first-grade class, but his social skills were unparalleled. Asking questions in a conversation was advanced stuff, especially f
or a first grader who was more concerned with what he was having for lunch than anyone else’s life.

  “I’m a singer,” Anna answered quietly.

  “Huh,” the boy said, “What’s your name?”

  “Anna—“ A pause. “Anna Howard.”

  “I’ve never heard of you,” Adam announced. “Are you famous?”

  Okay, maybe the kid wasn’t going to win an etiquette prize anytime soon, but he was only six years old. Nick pushed his way into the kitchen before his son could stick his foot further into his mouth.

  “Hello, everybody.” Between one thing and another, he hadn’t had a chance to clean the kitchen in a few weeks. The floor needed to be swept and the refrigerator door was covered in smudge marks.

  Still, the dishes in the sink were clean. The flowers on the table had a few more days to go before they needed to be replaced.

  It was a comfortable room, usually light and airy. Anna was a petite woman, buxom, but small, just the right size to fit in the nook of his arm. There was no way she could fill the room—making it seem small and crowded instead of light and airy—but she did.

  Nick walked over to the refrigerator, opened it, and pulled out the lemonade. Standing outside under the holly, Anna had made him feel like he was seventeen all over again. Staring down at her, he’d thought that she was going to kiss him… and he wouldn’t have been able to push her away if she had.

  Having her in his house was dangerous. It reminded him of things he’d wanted when he was younger. Things he couldn’t have. Not if he wanted to set a good example for his son.

  He turned around to hand out the lemonade and laughed when he saw Anna trying to wipe barbecue sauce off her dress.

  “Give up, it’s Dragon Bone Sauce,” he explained. “Spicy as hell, and stains that are impossible to get out. It says so on the bottle.”

  Her lips twisted into a frown. The dress was short, frail. Not the solid obvious quality of her shoes, but something she cared about.

  “You can send me the bill for a new one if you want.”