“So. Chewy got out at 2:30, and I had to stop her from terrorizing my new neighbor. And this is the crazy part—” I stared at her intently, holding out a hand, “—you’re not going to believe this. I don’t know how or why the fuck he is there, but Adam Fara is my new neighbor. Isn’t that fucking wild?”
Her smile fell, and she started back at me blankly for a few moments. “Who’s that?” she said.
I furrowed my brow, realization hitting me. “Are you kidding me? 5*Star? Adam Fara? They were like the biggest boy band from like, I don’t know, 1998 to 2004.”
“Grey, I was… born in 1999.”
“Oh… oh good God,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “That’s it. We’re done here.”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, “Quit acting like you’re so old. Just drink your coffee and help me make some waffle cones. They say repetitive, mindless action is good when you’re stressed. It’s like meditation.”
“If mindless action is meditation, then I guess I’ve been meditating my whole life.”
I quickly poured myself a black coffee and sipped while it was still steaming hot, letting it warm me from the inside. I watched as she started mixing up the batter for the waffle cones, in disbelief that someone who was a legal adult could be born in the year nineteen ninety-nine.
Of course, Audrey could never really know how I felt. She probably never would.
Because although she was nice, and we got along well enough as a manager and employee, Audrey was nothing like me.
It made sense that a cute 18-year-old girl would be working a summer job in an ice cream shop. But me? I was fucking 26. I had no excuse. I still lived in the town that I was born in, when all my peers had long since left. And I was working a dead-end job that was usually reserved for high school students.
In all honesty, Freezy Sweet wasn’t a bad job. I only had it because the owner was a friend of my mother’s and I’d taken swift advantage of the opening when it came up. I needed the money. And while Freezy Sweet just barely kept me able to pay my rent and mom’s bills, it was a job, one of the few still left in Fox Hollow. And I clung to it despite the inescapable lectures from optimistic 18-year-olds.
Fox Hollow had been the same for my whole life. Tiny, middle of nowhere, nothing to do. Which is why it made absolutely no sense to me why Adam Fucking Fara, who was a very famous person, was now here.
Why the hell was someone from 5*Star living in the piece of shit house next to mine?
I thought the guy was a millionaire. I mean, even his dad was a millionaire—I remembered hearing about him back in the day when 5*Star was still around. And sure, they’d been out of the spotlight for a long time, but I would have thought a celebrity like him wouldn’t come anywhere near this town.
If you could even still call him a celebrity.
But I’d recognized him right away. There was no way I could ever forget his face, the face of the first openly gay pop star I’d been aware of at age 13. I hadn’t thought about him in years, but after last night he was the only thing I could think about.
Because Jesus, the man had aged well. Some people got older and just looked old, but for others, the years made them more distinguished, handsome, refining their features into something that was even better than it had been before.
That was what happened to Adam Fara. He was tall as hell—had to be at least 6’4”—and had a well-muscled bulk to him. But his presence was strangely gentle, calm and steady like he’d always seemed on TV. The type of person you feel like you can tell all your secrets to immediately after meeting them. He felt at once completely mysterious and also completely trustworthy.
…Which is exactly why I’d bolted from the yard.
Because nothing good happens at 2:30 a.m. on a night where loneliness had won out over sleep. It was like Adam Fara had been looking right into me, and I knew if I’d stayed any longer he would have seen there was nothing there.
I promised myself I’d take home an ice cream cake for him, one of the ones that didn’t sell but was still plenty good to eat. I would apologize again for Chewy getting out, maybe make some small talk about Fox Hollow, and then leave him alone.
It was better that way.
Because it was already weird enough that a gorgeous celebrity was living next door to me, and the last thing I wanted was for him to ask me more details about my shitty life.
Eight hours later, my legs were beat but my shift was finally over. I hauled two small ice cream cakes with me, in a Styrofoam container lined in ice packs, onto the bus. The trip home was much quicker than the one to work had been in the morning, and I made it back to my block in under ten minutes. Instead of heading to my apartment right away I traveled 5 houses further up the block, because I had to check on mom.
If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have lived on the same street as my mother. But Curtis had given me a deal on rent I couldn’t refuse, and my mom had owned her small house up the block for years, so it had sort of just worked out that way.
It was better than still living with her, I told myself.
I dug my keys out of my pocket with one hand while balancing the container of cakes in the other, and pried open the front door, wet from the rain.
“Ma,” I shouted into the house, kicking the door closed behind me. I got no response, but was greeted immediately by the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke and the blare of some news network on TV. I sighed and continued to the kitchen, sliding one of the ice cream cakes into her freezer, and then looped around into the living room.
“Oh, you’re here, good,” Mom shouted over the TV, sitting on the couch and stubbing out a cigarette as soon as she saw me.
“Turn it down,” I said loudly, gesturing at the TV.
She fumbled for the remote and finally muted the incessant news banter.
“God, much better. And seriously? Smoking? You told me you wouldn’t anymore.”
“I told you I’m cutting back, and I am,” she said. She got up slowly from the couch, leaning heavily on the armrest to support her weight, and coughing as if on cue.
“Cutting back’s not good enough. God, you gotta open a window in here at least, ma.” I crossed over to one of the side windows and hiked it open.
She gripped against her walker. Mom was only 68, but already relied on the little walker to get around—it “just made things easier,” she said, and honestly I was a little grateful for it. She couldn’t afford to replace her hip, and I’d rather her use a walker than fall and break a bone.
“Did you hear about the accident on the highway?” she said, shooting me a piercing blue glance and furrowing her brow before making her way slowly to the kitchen. “Oh, it was bad. Three lanes down. Makes me glad you don’t have that death trap of a car anymore, honey.”
“I loved the Integra, but yeah, it had to go.”
I followed her back to the kitchen and watched as she opened the freezer, rifling around. She was in her signature long grey cardigan, grey hair pulled back into a loose bun, head tilted forward and glasses halfway down her nose as she peered into the freezer.
Being in the kitchen itself immediately pulled up a to-do list in my mind: I saw the leaky faucet I needed to fix, the cabinet door that had lost its knob, one of the plants she kept in there that was long since dead and needed to be discarded. I always helped mom with these things, but lately I hadn’t had many days off, and when I did I just wanted to lie still on my bed and recuperate from exhaustion by watching a film or reading a book.
Maybe next time, I’d tell myself, looking at all the things that needed fixing at my mom’s, and the list kept piling up.
“So what did you bring for me?” she said, finding the cake in the freezer and slipping it out, inspecting it. “Oh this is the good one, isn’t it,” she said.
“That’s the one you loved last time. Chocolate with the espresso walnut whipped cream. You want a slice of it now?”
“No, no, I will later. I couldn’t spoil my dinner, I made hamb
one soup. You have to take some home.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter. “Listen, ma—I paid the electric yesterday, and I’ll get the gas bill next week. Nothing else right now, right?”
She shoved the cake back into the freezer and let the door shut, pushing over to me on the walker. “I think that’s it for now. How are you doing, though, Grey-bird?” The question was innocent enough, but I knew coming from her, it held more weight. She stared into me, waiting for an answer.
“How are you doing” from my mom didn’t really mean How are you doing. It could mean many things, depending on her mood and current appraisal of my life: Howcome you aren’t doing better? Why don’t you have a girlfriend? Have you made progress with your life?
It just so happened that the true answer, right now, was one she wouldn’t like. Because the only new thing in my life was that a gorgeous, famous man had moved in next door to me and I kind of couldn’t wait to go back and see him.
And I wasn’t gonna tell her that.
“Doing fine,” I said, “The shop was busy today even though it rained. Going to the shelter for 4 hours tomorrow. Same old, same old.”
“You do so much good work for them, honey. I did something right raising you,” she said with a short laugh.
My volunteering at the animal shelter wasn’t some saintly mission. People tended to look at it that way, because I worked there for no pay, but in reality I just liked animals. It was simple and selfish and made me feel better to help out. Still, the days I volunteered were sometimes the best part of my week.
She went back over to the counter, asked me for help getting a plastic container, and then started ladling out hambone soup for me to take home. She relayed to me the latest news she’d heard on TV, the town gossip from her next door neighbor, and then gave me a rundown of the groceries she’d need me to bring over later in the week. Somehow the list seemed to involve three different types of yogurt.
I leaned in to hug her a couple minutes later, wanting badly to just get home. “Ma, I’ve got this other cake that’s gonna melt soon if I don’t get back.”
“Another one? Who’s that for?” she asked, giving me a side-eyed look.
“New neighbor,” I said, taking a step toward the door.
“You’ve got a new neighbor? Curtis finally rented that place out? Oh, who is it? Tell me it’s a nice young woman—”
“Ma, stop,” I said quickly. Her voice had risen high when she’d started talking about the new neighbor, like it was the hottest piece of town gossip in years. “It’s just some guy. I thought I’d welcome him to the neighborhood.”
“Oh,” she said, her face visibly crestfallen when she found out it wasn’t a single woman who’d inevitably end up my perfect wife. “How are you gonna meet someone, honey? You know, you really should look into the online dating. All kinds of women do it now. A lot of people are married by 26 and—”
“I’ve gotta go home,” I said as I turned from her, heading toward the door. “I’ll see you later this week. Promise me no more cigarettes.”
“Bye now,” she said, waving me off. “Heat that on the stove, not the microwave!” she called as I was walking out the front door. She was very particular about how I should heat up her famous hambone soup.
I raced down the street as fast as my feet could take me, nearly slipping on the wet concrete, actually worried now that the ice cream cake would be melting. I was going to head straight to Adam’s, drop off the cake, and leave, but I stopped short when I saw that a note was placed on my own front door. I quickly turned and hurried up my steps, grabbing the post it note.
Chewy got out again. I’ve got her at my house. Tried knocking here but no one answered. –Adam
I got a rush when I saw his name on the paper.
His phone number was scrawled at the bottom. Adam Fara’s phone number, holy shit, fucking wow. So I quickly pulled out my phone, typed in the digits, and saved the contact, getting another little thrill at putting his name in my phone. I quickly went inside and put the ham soup in my fridge.
Then I was out the door again, crossing the wet lawn, then up the three rickety steps to his house. I knocked on the door. It was amazing how similar the exterior of his house was to mine: small, paint chipping, with old screens on the windows. Certainly nowhere near dilapidated, just old, weathered by time and humidity.
There was no answer at first and I heard music coming from inside, so I knocked even harder a second time. My heart was racing, and I peeked inside the Styrofoam container just to make sure the cake hadn’t melted into a puddle of cream, but it seemed fine.
The music stopped and a moment later the door swung open.
“Grey,” Adam said, a smile spreading over his face as he saw me. Immediately he gestured for me to come inside. “I’ve got her here. She’s been such a good dog.” He was in casual clothes, a tight-fitting white shirt and dark jeans that fit him perfectly.
I stepped into the warmth of the house and immediately Chewy bounded forward and leapt up onto my legs, wagging and whimpering.
“Hi Chew-Chew,” I said, bending to give her a quick scratch before standing again and facing Adam. “Um… this is for you,” I said, handing over the box and suddenly feeling a little bashful. “Don’t know if you like this kind of thing, but… it’s an ice cream cake. One layer of coffee ice cream, some chocolate crunchy stuff in the middle, and then vanilla.”
He opened the box and peeked in. “You brought me a cake?”
My cheeks got a little hot. “Yeah, I mean I got it from work, it’s not a big deal, it’s just… I wanted to say sorry for Chewy bothering you last night so late.”
“Grey, this is incredible. It looks so… I don’t know... fancy. You work in a cake shop?”
“It’s just an ice cream place. Freezy Sweet, over in Tarringville. The rich folk need their nice, bougie ice-cream cakes.”
“Tarringville?”
“Oh. Yeah, it’s just the next town over,” I clarified. “Just about the only town in the area that has any money.”
“I love it. Thank you so much.” He looked to me again, his eyes practically twinkling. I brushed aside the hair that was clinging wetly to my forehead, realizing that I probably looked like shit after being out in the rain.
“Thanks for keeping Chewy over here—I’m so sorry, again—”
“Don’t even try to apologize,” Adam said, with a warm smile. “She’s the best. She made my afternoon. I was just playing guitar for her, actually.”
“That was you playing that music?” I asked. “Shit dude, you’re not bad. I thought you had the radio on.”
He just shrugged, putting the lid back on the Styrofoam cake box. “Yeah, playing calms me down. I gotta get this into the freezer. Come on, you should come in,” he said, waving me forward toward the kitchen.
On the outside, our houses had been essentially identical. On the inside, I couldn’t believe that they were even in the same universe. The inside of the house looked like it had been covered in an explosion of artwork—usually, I might say that it was too much, but it was so tastefully done that it just looked inviting and cozy and somehow perfect for Adam. There were a couple large tapestries hung on the walls, artwork, old black and white photos, and at least two different strings of glowy lantern lights. A huge bean bag chair sat in the corner, velvety and inviting, and even though I hadn’t seen a bean bag chair since the nineties I wanted to sink onto it right away.
“You’ve only been here a few days now? You’ve done so much with the place,” I said, still gawking at everything. “My walls are going to seem so bare in comparison when I go home.”
“Yeah, this is all just stuff I’ve carried with me, and a bunch of friends’ artwork,” he said, as I followed him into the kitchen. “I travel light, but I can’t bring myself to part with things my friends give me. They’re too special.” He gingerly took the cake out of the box and slid it into his freezer.
“Hang on a sec,” he said and then disap
peared into the small hallway that connected to the bathroom. He emerged a second later with a hand towel. “Here. Hope you didn’t have to walk far in the rain,” he said as he pressed the towel into my hands.
“Oh,” I said, genuinely surprised by his thoughtfulness. Usually in this area it was just expected that you’d sometimes get drenched. “Thank you.” I ruffled the towel through my hair and across the back of my neck.
“Let me get you a beer,” he said, opening up the fridge and rooting around inside.
I almost instinctively was about to say no. I had fully intended on stopping by quickly and then immediately going home—but it seemed like Adam was ready to chat for a while. I typically went straight home after work, exhausted, and took care of Chewy.
But Chewy was right at our feet, here and happy at Adam’s house which was a miracle in itself, and I realized I’d hate myself if I declined sharing a drink with Adam Fara.
People did that all the time. Shared a beer with their neighbors. There was no reason for me to say no.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll take one,” I said, and he extracted two beer bottles from inside.
He crossed over to the kitchen table, plucking up a bottle opener that was laid there and cracking open the beers. I still hadn’t come close to getting over how he looked. Watching him move was a pleasure in itself—he had just the right amount of muscle on his large frame so that he looked strong but nothing like a gym rat. His hair was dark and well-kept—back in the 5*Star days people had always compared him to James Dean, and now he just looked like a slightly older, distinguished James Dean.
It was fucking wild.
And it gave me pause, just watching him perform a simple action like opening a beer, his tanned forearm flexing for just a fleeting second—this was a man who had traveled the world many times over, been fawned over by women and men alike, and probably seen things I couldn’t dream of.
He was special. And achingly sexy. And I was just… me, a guy who’d never left my hometown for longer than a week.
He handed me a cold bottle and then clinked his to mine. “Cheers,” he said, taking a sip while I did the same, trying to put myself in the moment instead of freaking out just from being in his presence.
Wild Star: Under the Stars Book 3 Page 3
