“Believe it or not, Huck, I’m pretty good at keeping my crazy under wraps.”
“Really?” He looks at me disbelievingly. Ouch.
“Really.” I proudly say, “I dated Aiden Quinn for over a year and he never even knew I had anxiety.”
“You must not have liked him very much.”
“How can you say that? The man was going to ask me to marry him.”
“I didn’t say he didn’t like you. I said you must not have liked him.” He gives me a look that challenges disagreement.
“I liked him just fine,” I reply, full of indignation.
“You told me about your anxiety the first night we met.”
Lordy. I did, too. “I told you because I felt like I already knew you.” Before he can get all cocky and assume I’m talking about some kind of woo-woo spiritual connection, I add, “I know your music front to back, Huck.”
“Speaking of which,” he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a plastic bag with a chain store logo on it.
“What’s this?”
“Open it up and find out,” he tells me. So, I do. It’s a brand-new Untethered CD. “Lexi found the remains of your copy on the curb in front of her house.” Shoot, I totally forgot about going back to pick it up.
“I broke it on purpose,” I tell him.
“I figured as much. I bought you a new one, on purpose,” he emphasizes like he’s mocking me.
I take the bag cautiously like it’s full of black widow spiders. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Listen to it?” he asks with a pointed look. “Or you could just leave it in the wrapper and resell it on Ebay.”
I take it from him and shove it on my bookshelf. “When do you want Maggie to start her beading lessons?” I ask.
“Let’s wait a couple of days. I want her to give her some time to adjust to Lexi’s place.”
“Fine, how’s Wednesday at ten?”
“I’ll have her here.” Then he crosses over to the couch and sits down next to his daughter’s feet. He doesn’t make any move to wake her.
“You want a cup of tea or something?” I’m unsure how long he plans on staying, but making tea will give my hands something to do.
“That would be nice, thanks.” Then he pulls out his phone that just pinged. I’ve been dismissed.
I walk over to my little kitchen, which is only about ten steps from where I was standing. My main living space is open concept which makes it feel light and airy.
Once I’ve boiled the water, I arrange the teapot and two cups and carry them to Huck. I put the tray on the coffee table in front of him. “It has to steep for five minutes.”
“I like your place,” he says, looking around.
“Thank you. It’s small, but it’s home.” Beau tried to talk me into buying a big place like his, telling me it would be a better investment for my money, but there’s no way I could live in something so big by myself. I’m better off only having as much space as I need. It’s easier to keep all my ducks in a row that way.
“I noticed there was another apartment across the hall. Do you rent it out?” he asks.
“I used to, but after the last tenant left, I never bothered to fill it.”
“Why?”
“The last guy was loud, and I got tired of going over there to tell him to quiet down. I figure until I can find a nice old lady who wants to hike up and down seventeen stairs every time she comes and goes, I’ll keep it empty.” That’s a total lie, by the way. The truth is that I don’t feel comfortable having someone I don’t know living so close when we’re the only people in the building. My last tenant was nice enough, but I still installed two additional locks to my front door when he was renting.
“Old ladies are known for wanting to climb stairs all day,” Huck teases. “You should have a new neighbor in no time.” He pats his daughter’s leg. “How did Maggie do after I left?”
“She finished her bracelet,” I tell him. “Then she fell asleep as soon as we came up here.”
“She likes you. I was surprised she wanted me to leave. It normally takes her a lot longer to warm up to people.”
“Well, you know what they say. Birds of a feather …”
“I’m sure that’s part of it.” He stares off into space thoughtfully. “Maggie is a good judge of character. She’s knows a quality person when she meets one.” Before I can respond to his compliment one way or another, he looks at me and says, “It’s one of the reasons we moved to Pasadena. Less pressure.”
“How so?” I want to know.
“When we were in Beverly Hills, it seemed like every kid’s parents were somebody and they spent an inordinate amount of time bragging about who that was, like it was currency they traded for their own success. Those kids will never have a chance to find out who they are for themselves.”
“But you’re the ultimate somebody,” I say. “Wouldn’t that have secured Maggie’s social standing?”
“It would have if that stuff mattered to her. Last year she told me that she didn’t think people who were impressed by fame were people she wanted to be friends with.”
“That’s a pretty grown-up comment coming from someone so young,” I say.
“Kids don’t get to be kids in places where there’s extreme wealth. While they should be outside skateboarding and playing hopscotch, they’re more likely shopping with their nannies or sitting in Starbucks with their friends discussing their next ski vacation. They’re more mini-adults than children. Maggie’s anxiety is amplified by all of that.”
“That’s plain sad. I can see why she wouldn’t care for that kind of life.” Then I ask, “Is it better in Pasadena?”
“It is, but it’s not perfect. There’s less social pressure, but the academic load is greater.”
“Is she a good student?” I ask, thinking about my own mediocre accomplishments in school. It’s hard to focus on your lessons when you’re busy worrying that your mama is going to forget to lock the doors when she leaves the house.
“Math is tough for her, but other than that, she does really well.”
“I hated math, too,” I tell him. “It never made sense to me. Like why use x and y and not d and p? You know what I mean?”
“No. What’s wrong with x and y?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “It’s just I’d got so caught up in why they used certain letters or formulas that I couldn’t get on with the business of just accepting it.” Then a brilliant idea comes to me. “My old eighth grade math teacher works at my shop in the mornings, maybe she could tutor Maggie if she needs some extra help.”
“That’s a great idea,” he says. Then the atmosphere changes. Our easy rapport fades into something more intense. “Amelia, I’m not going to push you to go out with me, but I am going to go out of my way to see you. A lot.”
Chills of something that feels remarkably like excitement race up my spine and take root at the base my head, sending shock waves of anticipation throughout my nervous system. I don’t respond to his comment. I just sit there with the feeling that I’ve somehow fallen into another dimension. One where the biggest rock star in the world is sitting in my living room promising to see me as often as he can.
Chapter 25
So much for Huck seeing me as often as possible. Here it is Wednesday and there’s been no sign of him. I’ve spent days jumping like my toes got bit every time the bell over the shop door rang. By the time I locked up for the day, I was exhausted. Not to mention disappointed.
I know I said it would be stupid of me to consider dating the rock star being that he was going to leave in a couple of months, but truth be told, I haven’t been able to think of much else since Sunday when he declared his intentions. I even unwrapped the CD he gave me and almost played it. Almost.
I called Lexi on Monday, ostensibly to finalize the bridal shower plans we put together via email. We’ve opted for the couple’s shower which sounds excruciating since I’m on my own. But Lexi was sure Emmie wou
ld love it, so there you go, a couple’s shower it is.
Before hanging up, I asked, “How’s Maggie doing?” You like how I kept her daddy out of it?
“I’m not sure,” she said. “She and Huck have been out of town for a few days.”
“Really? Where did they go?”
“They didn’t say, but I overheard them talking about some woman. I got the feeling she was pretty important to them.”
Inexplicable anger and insecurity bubbled up inside of me like a volcano about to blow. “What did they say about her?”
“I didn’t hear much, but I think they were going to see her.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to visit Maggie’s mom. Icy fingers of dread curled around my heart and squeezed it like a vise.
I don’t have any right to be jealous of the woman that gave Maggie life, but I can’t help but wonder what she means to Huck. Clearly, he finds her attractive. He certainly did once, and being that they share a child, there’s no way she doesn’t mean anything to him. Maybe she’s one of the women he takes to his bed.
I got to wondering how Huck could go from telling me that he wanted to see more of me to not only leaving town for days on end without mentioning it, but possibly running off to be with another woman? I’ve been miffed about it all week.
Despite sorting beads with Mrs. P in the back of the store, my mind is busy orchestrating different scenarios to let the rock star know how unimpressed I am by his blatant lack of manners. Clearly, the man has no idea how to treat someone he claims to want to date.
“Honey, you’re wool-gathering something fierce. What’s up?” my old math teacher asks, bringing me back to the present.
“I’m just a little preoccupied.”
“What about? You got a man on your mind or somethin’?” Before I can answer, she says, “When Elijah and I first started dating, I could barely tie my own shoes I was so busy thinking about him.”
“Do you miss him a lot?” I ask.
“Honey, it’s like somebody cut off my right arm and tied my ankles together with it. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“How long were you married?”
“Fifty-seven years. I did all my growing up with that man.” She says, “I loved him to pieces but, boy howdy, could he be a pain in the keister. Do you know that in all those years, he never once took out the trash without being asked?”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not. He did yard work to beat the band, repaired every little leak and squeak in the house, but I swear he had a garbage allergy. I was so thrilled when the boys got old enough to take over, I can’t tell you.”
Mrs. P goes quiet as though she’s traveling through her past. She finally says, “There are certain guarantees in life, and one of those is that in a marriage one of you is going to go first. You plan for it by having life insurance and wills and such, but you never really let your brain settle on it. Then one day, you look at each other and you’re both old and you start to think about it, but you still can’t wrap your head around it.”
Poor Mrs. P. She’s truly grieving. I don’t know what to say to her make her feel better. So, I don’t say anything. I just listen. “Elijah was sick for a long time before he died. You’d think it would have prepared me, but it did no such thing. I spent most of my time caring for him, loving him, and just plain talking to him. So, when he finally went, I wound up feeling lonelier than ever.”
She seems to realize that I’m wondering if it’s all worth it, because she catches my eye and says, “We mourn to the same degree to which we’ve been blessed. I’m grateful that I hurt so much because it reminds me of how very much I’ve been loved.”
Tears pop into my eyes before I can take a shaky breath to try to stop them. “It seems unfair that it has to end.”
“End nothing,” she tells me. “That man pops in to see me all the time. He flickers my lights or knocks something off the counter. Some folks would say I’m being fanciful, but I know my husband. He’s letting me know he’s right there waiting for me. It’s the only thing that gives me the strength to get up each morning and make something of my day. It’s why I don’t want to waste whatever time I have left listening to a bunch of old coots bellyache about their ailments.”
“I’m glad you came to my beading class,” I tell her. “It’s nice to have a friend to talk to.”
Mrs. P reaches over and pats my hand, “Here’s another thing you learn as you get older—only your body ages. Up here”—she points to her head—“we’re all still twenty years old. I swear, I get up in the morning and look in the mirror and the first thing I think is, ‘who in the hell is that old bird staring back at me and what happened to her jawline?’”
I release a snort of laughter.
She gives me a wry look. “You think that’s funny, huh? Well, let me tell you, little missy, you grandma, your mama, and me, we’re just a bunch of gorgeous young gals wondering where our tiny waists went.”
For the first time all week, when the bell rings signaling a new customer, I don’t jump up to see who it is. I just keep organizing. Mrs. P gets up, though. She walks to the front of the store and declares as loud as day, “Wowza! How can I help you?”
Then I hear a girlish giggle and Maggie say, “I think you’ve got yourself another fan, Dad.”
Huck laughs. “We’re looking for Amelia. Is she around?”
I hear Mrs. P accurately say, “I think I know where that girl’s brain has been the last couple of days.” Then she hollers out, “Amelia, honey, you’ve got yourself a gentleman caller!”
Chapter 26
I hurry to stand up and straighten my cornflower-blue swing dress with the white Peter Pan collar. Then I bite my lips and pinch my cheeks to bring back the color that surely drained from my face the second Mrs. P announced Huck was looking for me.
I’m mad, excited, nervous, and have I mentioned infuriated? That’s a lot of emotion to experience all at once. I decide to be cool to the rock star and sweet to his daughter. That ought to send a message.
I walk out into the store and greet Maggie. “How are you, honey? I haven’t seen you in ages.” Then I briefly glare in her daddy’s direction.
She runs over to me and offers an unexpected hug. “I’ve missed you.”
“Where’ve y’all been?” I ask, unable to keep my curiosity at bay.
Huck hurries to answer, “We had a few things to take care of.”
I turn to give him my full attention. “Where?”
He shrugs. “Just around.”
It’s obvious to me that Huck Wiley has no women skills outside of the bedroom. Not that I know about his skills there, I’m just sayin’. I want to stomp my foot and yell at him, but even to me that seems like an extreme reaction. So, I turn back to Maggie and say, “I have a fun project for us today, but first I want you to meet my friend Mrs. Peabody. She’s the math teacher I was telling you about.”
Maggie rolls her eyes and says, “I hate math.” This isn’t quite the response I’d expected.
Mrs. P lets the comment roll by like water off a duck’s back and asks, “Who doesn’t like math? Honey, numbers are the only constant in life. They’re the only thing a body can count on.” She giggles at her own joke.
“They’re stupid,” Maggie answers petulantly.
Huck warns, “Maggie, I want you to apologize to Mrs. Peabody right now.”
“For what?” she demands, “hating math?”
“Margaret,” he says with intent. “When you’re introduced to someone you tell them that it’s nice to meet them.”
Maggie rolls her eyes again. Good lord, I’m seeing a brand-new side of Maggie Wiley. Huck’s daughter throws her hand into the air and offers, “I’m happy to meet you.” It’s like she’s selling ice cubes to Eskimos—no one’s buying it.
Huck gives her a stern look before reaching his own hand out to Mrs. P. “I’m Maggie’s dad, Huck. Amelia told me that you might be availab
le to tutor my daughter.” He explains, “She’s doing online school for a couple of months and I’m sure she would appreciate a little help.” He smiles down at Maggie. “Isn’t that so, Margaret?”
“No.” She looks as disgusted as if she’d just bitten into a live June bug.
My old teacher doesn’t seem to take offense. Instead, she says, “I would love nothing more than to explain it to you. I bet you’ll love it, when it makes more sense.”
Maggie sighs. “Whatever.”
I’m surprised she’s being so rude. I try to keep the conversation going. “Maggie is going to take beading classes on Wednesdays,” I tell Mrs. P. “Do you think you could start helping her after that? Maybe next week?” I make the suggestion while looking back and forth between Mrs. P and Huck, hoping they’ll take over the conversation and leave me out of the loop.
“I surely could. In fact, we can use the beads to help you understand what we’re doing. How does that sound?”
“Painful,” Maggie replies defeatedly.
Trying to do something to bring her back to the sweet girl I met, I commiserate, “I hated math, too, but I promise it won’t kill you.”
“Damned by faint praise!” Mrs. P declares. Then she says, “Maggie, why don’t you and I go in the back and get a cookie.” She winks at me as she walks by and whispers, “Go get ’em, tiger.”
Huck easily overhears and says, “Yeah, come get me, tiger.”
As soon as they walk away, I demand, “Where have you been?”
“Out of town.”
“I gathered,” I tell him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out of town?”
“Why would I? It’s not like we’re dating or anything.” Oh no, he didn’t.
I feel steam start to build in my head like a pressure cooker reaching its limit. “No, sir, we’re not. And in case you’re wondering, leaving town without a word is likely to ensure that we never will be dating.”
“The phone works both ways, Amelia.”
“You expected me to call you?” I demand.
“Why not? I told you how I feel. It seems to me the ball has been in your court. I’m not going to beg.”
The Plan: A Sweet and Sexy Rock Star Romantic Comedy (The Creek Water Series Book 3) Page 11
