The Pop Star Next Door

by Aleah Barley

“Sugar,” Anna yelped. “I cut myself.”

  Sugar. Nick bit back a laugh. There it was again, a half-hearted oath that she managed to fill with all the anger and rage that some lesser four letter swear would never be able to convey. “You going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know—” A startled gasp. “It hurts.”

  Hell. Here he’d been smiling while she was seriously hurt. Nick grabbed the plaid dishcloth from where it hung off the oven door, reaching out to stop the bleeding.

  “Let me see.” He grabbed her hand, uncurling fingers that had closed reflexively to protect her damaged hand.

  The cut was small. Tiny. A quarter inch mar on her otherwise perfect skin. As he watched, a single perfectly round blood drop forced its way out of pulsing veins to run slowly across her palm.

  “You’re going to be fine.” There was a first aid kit in the cabinet over the sink, but Nick didn’t bother retrieving it. A cut that small didn’t need a bandage. Raising her hand, he brushed the trace of blood away with his thumb.

  She’d done more damage to her hand then to the mushrooms, tearing them awkwardly instead of slicing them into neat pieces. Saying that she knew nothing about cooking, hadn’t been inaccurate or self-deprecating, it had been the god’s honest truth.

  “Here.” He stepped around the butcher block, moving to cover her body with his. Hand over hand, he took the knife and helped her cut into the mushrooms.

  After a moment, Anna relaxed against him. There were only two thin layers of cotton separating their still damp forms. Every time she moved, it rippled through his body, each breath, each heartbeat. He couldn’t get enough of her. His arousal was palpable. He took a deep breath—sucking air in through his mouth to cool his rising spirits—and the scent of her shampoo hit him like a sledgehammer. He’d never be able to take a shower again without thinking about her naked body rubbing against his.

  “What are we making?” Anna asked. If she could feel his palpable arousal, she wasn’t saying anything.

  “Grown up macaroni and cheese.” He concentrated on moving air in and out of his lungs. “Lots of vegetables, plenty of zing.”

  “Zing’s good.”

  Zing wasn’t just good. Zing was great. If she wanted zing then he’d give it to her in spades. Sour lemonade, tangy macaroni, and a lifetime full of surprises.

  The air crackled between them. Every breath he took seemed to bring them closer together. “How are the renovations going?” He needed to keep talking, to concentrate on anything other than the way her body fit against his. “Got any idea about what you’re going to do with the house?”

  “My interior designer’s coming out. She knows what’s current—”

  “Forget what’s current. What do you want?”

  “White walls.” A moment’s intent thought. “White walls and unpainted wood. I want to keep most of it the same. It’s a great old house, but the wallpaper has to come down. I bought a painting last year in Milan—an impulse purchase—it’s a ravine, the banks lush and green around clear fresh water. It would look good in the living room.”

  “What about the kitchen?”

  “New counters. New appliances.”

  There was only so long that Nick could help Anna. At a certain point, every person needed to find out whether they could sink or swim all by themselves. He dropped her hands, keeping a careful eye on the sharp knife and the mushrooms falling into neat slices under her fingers.

  “Good work,” he said, but he didn’t step backward from her. He couldn’t move away from her if he wanted to.

  “It’s not as hard as it looks.” The knife flashed, destroying the final mushroom. Anna dropped the blade, letting it clatter to the counter top. She shifted slightly, turning around in the tight space between Nick’s body and the hard wooden butcher block.

  Staring up at him, her eyes gleamed happily. Pleasure at a job well done made her face glow. “What’s next?”

  “Dad!” The door to the house opened with a savage bang.

  A room away, Nick winced. He didn’t need to be standing in the front hall to know that his son had slammed the door handle into the wall, fresh plaster flaking away to reveal an indentation that he could never quite fix. “Hold that thought.”

  “Sugar,” Anna squirmed out around him, retreating to stand back beside the radio. “Sugar, sugar, sugar.” She tugged at the hem of her borrowed t-shirt, but no force in the world could make the worn cotton cover any more of her muscular legs. “I thought he was at a friend’s until after dinner.”

  “So did I.” Nick leaned forward. Resting his hands on the butcher block. Struggling to regain control of a body taken hostage by lust. This was not how he wanted his son to find them.

  “Wait just one second!” he called.

  It was too late. The door to the kitchen burst open, Adam plowing in full speed again. Superhero backpack swinging on his narrow shoulders.

  A frazzled Jemima Pierce was less than a step behind him, looking exhausted after less than six hours with the pair of six-year-olds. A lesser man would have felt sorry for her, not Nick. Not after she’d stuck him with both kids for a week while she drove down to North Carolina to rescue an abused Rottweiler.

  Nick had never been to North Carolina, but he was willing to bet that they had their own animal shelters.

  “I’m sorry, Nick.” Jemmie’s shoulders were slumped forward. “It just wasn’t working.” It took her a second to realize that he wasn’t alone in the kitchen. “I didn’t realize you had company.” Her eyes wide, she didn’t bother trying to hide the fact that she was staring at Anna. “How’s Leroy doing?”

  “He’s around here somewhere.” A grin. “Probably sleeping on the couch.”

  “He’s here!” Adam’s head bobbed up and down excitedly. He turned and went hunting for an animal who wouldn’t even notice he was there.

  “How do you know Nick again?” Jemmie asked.

  Anna’s face twisted into a false smile with glittering teeth. “We’re old friends. My grandfather lived next door.”

  “Right. Because you look like Anna Montera.” An unsteady laugh. “I mean—I saw the name on your application. You’re Anna Howard. But, damn. You look just like her.” An awkward pause. “I bet you get that a lot.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “I mean, because that would be insane,” Jemmie continued. “Anna Montera’s a big star. What the heck would she be doing in Mill City? What would you be doing in Mill City?” Her eyes were locked on Anna’s face.

  “Holy hell! You’re Anna Montera. I had Anna Montera in my shelter, and I didn’t even notice. You’re huge… and… and like…” Nick’s normally unflappable friend was falling apart in front of his eyes. “You were married to Trevor Bliss back before he was Trevor Bliss.”

  Anna laughed. “I’ll tell him you said that, as far as Trevor’s concerned, he’s always been Trevor Bliss. It just took a while for people to pay attention.”

  Jemmie’s mouth was slack, her eyes the size of saucers. Her hands shaking wildly. “I played ‘Baby, Be Mine’ for the first dance at my wedding.”

  Hell, Nick bit back an oath. He might be a fan of Anna’s music, but he knew the woman. Better than he’d ever thought possible. A fawning fan was the last thing she’d be interested in. He held his breath, waiting to hear Anna tear into Jemima; to tell her that she didn’t do it for the fame, the fortune, or the open adoration; to rip her into shreds for asking such a personal question.

  It was going to be brutal.

  “Thank you so much,” Anna said calmly. “That’s an honor.”

  “Why aren’t you wearing any pants?” Jemmie flushed. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Can I have your autograph?”

  “Of course.” A pleasant chuckle.

  Nick blinked in amazement, then settled back to watch the surprising interaction taking place in front of him. Anna was a complete professional, answering all of Jemmie’s questions with an inner grace that made him almost forget her false smile an
d the way she’d looked every time she told him about her career. The skin around her eyes crinkling, her lips twisting like she’d just tasted something rotten.

  When Jemmie finally left, she had a Grand Canyon sized smile on her face and a scribbled autograph clutched happily in one hand.

  “You’re really good at that,” Nick said.

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.” Anna’s smile fell away. “Most of my audience is younger than Jemmie. I want to transition now—to reach more adult women like her—I’ve got some new songs that I’ve been working on, but my record company thinks they’ll alienate my base. It probably won’t happen.” Her head cocked slightly. “What do you think?”

  Nick’s heart thumped double time. He grinned, pleased that she’d asked his opinion. “You’re the artist. Do what you want.”

  A headshake. “It’s not quite that easy.”

  “Sure it is. The next time you’re on stage, you just sing some new music. I’m sure your fans will love it.”

  “It’s not—” A deep breath. “I’ll think about it.”

  That settled, Nick moved around the kitchen, starting water and pouring in noodles. Then he was grating the cheese, and they were talking about paint colors and flooring materials. White versus off white. Hardwood. Linoleum. Tile. Granite.

  Twenty minutes later, the ‘grown up macaroni and cheese’ was on the table, and Nick had even managed to convince his son to have a plate.

  Telling him that the horseradish dressing was only for grown-ups had done it. Nick was dreading the day when Adam got old enough to recognize the absurd tricks that made up reverse psychology. At least it hadn’t happened yet.

  “What happened at the Pierce’s?” He asked as Adam dug into the food.

  Adam’s cheeks went red, so did his ears. “Nothing.”

  “Adam.” Nick’s glowered. His son was a smart, active boy. There were a lot of things that he’d put up with, lying wasn’t one of them. Especially not when Adam was so bad at it. “What happened?”

  “We got in a fight.”

  “A fight?” Anna glanced up from where she’d been picking at her food, separating her noodles from the vegetables and sneaking pasta down to where Leroy was sitting by her knee. “What kind of a fight?”

  “Anne likes chocolate ice cream, and I like strawberry!”

  Anna stopped short, her body held completely still. One hand floated in the air a few inches above Leroy’s head.

  “Really?” Anne blinked in amazement. “You were fighting over ice cream flavors.”

  “What if she never talks to me again? What if we stop being friends? Anne says that anyone who doesn’t like chocolate ice cream is stupid!” Adam wailed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I love strawberry!”

  Okay, it was officially a crisis. Nick mentally cursed Jemmie Pierce for dropping the boy off without any kind of warning.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, trying to think of something reassuring to say. “Everything’s going to be okay. You and Annie are great together. You’re not going to stop being best friends just because you don’t like the same ice cream flavor.”

  The sound of his son crying was painful to hear. Adam was so damn young. How was Nick supposed to explain that the fight didn’t matter? If Anne Pierce was really Adam’s best friend then nothing would tear them apart, and if she was willing to give him up because of ice cream preference, then she was never really his friend to begin with.

  Crying over a girl like that was pointless.

  “Girls are weird.” Anna dropped the piece of macaroni in her hand. Clearly thinking that Nick wouldn’t notice she was proving her own point by feeding all her pasta to the dog. “Sometimes they say things, or do things, and they don’t really mean it.”

  Adam wiped tears from his eyes, clearly confused. “Why?”

  “Because they’re stubborn and nervous, and sometimes—” Anna wriggled nervously in her seat, “Sometimes girls do things because they’re afraid.”

  “Why would Anne be afraid of me?”

  “She’s not afraid of you.” A soft smile. “You’re a great kid.” Her hair fell down across her face. “It might be she’s afraid that you don’t want to be her friend anymore. You guys go out for ice cream a lot?”

  He nodded. The two kids had been joined at the hip since the first day of preschool when Anne had cold-cocked Adam with a wooden block. “It’s our favorite thing to do. After playing superheroes.”

  “Then Anne probably knows you like strawberry ice cream. She probably just wanted you to agree with her, to prove that you care more about your friendship than ice cream.”

  “I didn’t know that!” Adam started crying again. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  Nick held up a hand to stop Anna from offering any more helpful relationship advice. Later on, he’d probably give her words some more thought, but for the moment the only thing he cared about was drying his son’s tears.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” He vowed, knowing that he’d do anything to make his words come true. Whether that meant talking things over with Jemmie or buying Anne a metric ton of chocolate ice cream.

  “I promise.” He bent slightly, opening his eyes wide. “How about a hug?” Then his son was in his arms, shaking, sobbing.

  “Easy,” Nick murmured. “Easy.” He rubbed his son’s back until Adam quieted, his small head resting easily on Nick’s shoulder. “Do you want some dessert?” He asked, not above bribing his son into a better mood. “I think we’ve got some popsicles. How about cherry?”

  “Apple.” Adam sniffed. “Anna can have cherry.”

  The popsicles were delicious, made out of one hundred percent real juice. They took them outside to eat under the stars, throwing sticks for Leroy in the backyard until the dog collapsed at the foot of the stairs and refused to get up.

  Afterward, Anna came upstairs to help with bedtime—a normally fraught activity that had Adam bouncing off the walls and Nick pulling out his hair. This time everything went smoothly. With brushed teeth and clean pajamas, they tucked Adam under the covers. All three of them squishing together on Adam’s twin bed.

  Two quick stories and lights out. That was the ritual. Halfway through the second story, Adam interrupted, demanding that Anna sing. Nick held his breath—sure that a command performance was out of the question—but for Anna there was no question.

  Crisp and clear, her voice filled the small bedroom with a soulful rendition of ‘Rock a Bye Baby’ followed by ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.’ She clearly didn’t know many children’s songs, because then she quickly moved on to Frank Sinatra. Breathing life into old standards, her voice soared and dipped, hitting every note. Adam fell asleep midway through ‘My Way,’ his eyes fluttering closed, his breath coming slower, shallower.

  This was it. The family that Nick had always wanted, all piled together into bed. He reached up, stretching across Adam’s prone body to flip the lights off. A moment later Anna was asleep too, her back to the wall, one arm curled protectively around Adam.

  A truly beautiful sight to behold.

  And if he had his way, it was a sight he’d be seeing it over and over again.

  Maybe even for the rest of his life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adopting a dog that weighed more than her probably hadn’t been such a great idea. For the third time in twenty minutes, Anna tried to lift Leroy’s impressive bulk into the bathtub and failed.

  It was probably something that she should have thought about before investing in two giant sacks of kibble, but it was too late now.

  She was stuck with him, a giant, hungry, narcoleptic dog.

  Now in a new and improved electric blue color after leaning up against the freshly painted front door.

  “Come on.” She clambered into the tub, trying to show Leroy that there was nothing to be afraid of. “It’s either a bath now or a shave later.”

  There was no way that a dog could look incredulous, but that didn’t make Anna feel like a
ny less foolish.

  It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar feeling.

  In the two weeks since she’d started renovating Papa Billy’s house, she’d had a thousand new experiences. Making up vats of lemonade. Cooking entire meals that came in boxes with instructions printed on the side. Even, making a new friend in Jemmie Pierce, who seemed to have recovered from her initial shock of finding the notorious Anna Montera playing house in some place as pastoral as Mill City.

  Some of the new experiences had been more successful than others. The barbecue that she’d thrown the previous Saturday, grilling meat over flickering coals with Nick while the kids splashed in a plastic pool¸ sharing a case of beers with the workers who’d come to fix up her house, and dancing barefoot on the grass.

  That had all been good.

  Driving lessons with Nick, baseball practice with Adam, and one wild afternoon shopping in a nearby strip mall.

  Those activities hadn’t been so great.

  The car’s engine had started smoking twenty minutes into the lesson, Adam had beaned her on the forehead with a fastball, and none of the stores had carried her usual brands.

  She’d finally given up and allowed Darryl to send her a care package full of clothing and beauty supplies.

  Sunday morning, Adam and Nick had finally taken her out to breakfast. Maggie’s Diner. The central nervous system of Mill City. Anna had worn her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, a baseball cap pulled low over her face, dark sunglasses pushed up onto the bridge of her nose.

  Everyone had recognized her.

  “Bill Howard’s little girl!” Maggie had come out from behind the diner’s cracked linoleum counter to give her a hug. “Oh, we missed you.”

  Smelling like grease and burnt sugar, Maggie had rummaged behind the counter for twenty minutes before finally getting one of the waitresses to work the new sound system. Soon, ‘Baby, Be Mine’ had blared through hidden speakers.

  It had been years since Anna had heard the song that launched her career. Years since she’d had the time to sit back and listen to the words she’d scribbled on the back of a receipt for lip gloss. She’d been so damn young. So desperate for acceptance.