“I know you claim you don’t date, Huck, but you have to put a little more effort into trying to woo a woman than that.”
“I don’t date as a rule, Amelia. You’d think that by my being willing to make an exception for you, you’d feel special by my attentions.”
“Why, you arrogant …” words briefly escape me as I look around the room for something to throw at him.
“How am I being arrogant?” he demands. “I opened myself up to you in ways I haven’t with other women, and you turned me down. So, what do I do? I open up even more and you still don’t call me. How do you suppose that makes me feel?”
“Girls don’t call boys!” I yell at him like I’m a reciting rule number seventy-two from the Mind Your Manners and Win a Man Guide to Getting Married.
“Maybe not in nineteen fifty they didn’t, but I understand the ban has been lifted and women are allowed to use the telephone now.”
Has he really been waiting to hear from me? I can’t even imagine such a thing. I mean, I’ve never initiated a phone call with a member of the opposite sex in my life, until it was understood that we were a couple. Either that or I was calling to get a school assignment.
“Well if you still think you want to date me,” I tell him, “you’d best get it into your head that I’m not like every other woman. There are things I do and things I don’t do.”
“Oh, I know all about the things you don’t do,” he says somewhat snidely.
“Is that why you left town? So you could find yourself a woman you do those things with?” I ask hotly.
“Do you honestly think I’d take my daughter with me to make a booty call?”
I think but don’t say, maybe you would, if it was a booty call to her mother. Either way, I don’t know how he thinks being rude to me is going to win me over. He’s in for a surprise if he thinks this is the way to go about it.
Before I can explain this to him though, the bell above the door rings again. This time it signals the arrival of my mama and Aunt Gracie. As if I couldn’t be anymore annoyed than I already am, the universe is primed to test my endurance.
Chapter 27
“Amelia,” Mama declares before rushing over to me. “You’ve got to get over to Myrah’s tonight for your fitting. She’s going to make your and Emmie’s bridesmaid dresses and she wants to get your measurements.”
“Hi, Mama, Aunt Gracie. How are y’all?” I ask.
“We’re fine,” Aunt Gracie says, “Just in a sure-fire hurry to get our to-do list taken care of.”
Mama smiles up at Huck and says, “How are you doin’ today?” Then I swear she makes an appreciative grunt in the back of her throat.
“Mama, you remember Huck from supper the other night?”
She gives him a slow peruse and orders, “You need to burn those clothes you wore to the club and dress like this all the time.” She waggles her pointer finger in front of him to emphasize her point. Huck is sporting his rocker jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket.
“I’ll take your suggestion under advisement, Mrs. Frothingham.” Then he smiles at Aunt Gracie and says, “You both look well, Mrs. Frothinghams.”
Aunt Gracie blushes prettily. “You, too. But you need to call us Gracie and Lee. We’re not old enough for you to call us Mrs.”
I think of what Mrs. P just said about us remaining twenty in our heads. That certainly seems to be true for Mama and Aunt Gracie. They’re appreciating the rock star in their midst like only a twenty-year-old could. Of course, they don’t know he’s a rock star.
Maggie walks out with her cookie. “Hi,” she says to my mama and aunt.
“Who’s this darlin’ creature?” Mama asks. “Is this your daughter, Huck?”
“She sure is,” he replies putting his arm around Maggie. “Sweetheart, this is Amelia’s mom and her aunt. You can call them both Mrs. Frothingham.” He shoots Aunt Gracie a wink to suggest that he will no longer be so formal with them. I swear she giggles in response.
Maggie smiles excitedly. “Pleased to meet you. Amelia told me that she’d introduce us, but I didn’t think it would happen so fast.” She’s as nice to them as she was cranky with Mrs. P.
If the brightness of her smile is any indication, Mama is enchanted by Huck’s daughter. “You’re the prettiest little thing this side of the river, aren’t you?”
Maggie appears to be wondering if this is a question she’s supposed to answer, when Aunt Gracie says, “Y’all should join us down at the club for tea. We’re heading over there right now.”
“I can’t,” I tell them. “I have a store to run.”
Mrs. P walks out and declares, “What am I, chopped liver?” She takes a moment to greet my mama and aunt before she adds, “I can hold down the fort for you, honey. You go on.”
“But what about your afternoon nap?” I ask.
Mrs. P waves her hand. “I’ll just go to bed early tonight. Go on and have some fun.” She eyes Huck like he’s a Sunday pie she wants to feast upon.
I look at Huck and Maggie and ask, “Would you like to go the club for tea? It would probably mean Maggie starting beading class tomorrow.”
“I’d love to go,” Maggie declares excitedly. “Dad and I were going to get lunch after beading. I’m starved.” She pauses, and then more cautiously asks, “You do get food with your tea, right?”
My aunt Gracie answers, “You sure do, sugar; you’re in for a real treat. Chef Jarvis serves the most darling little sandwiches and he dips strawberries in chocolate and makes the most scrumptious petit fours. We’ll fill you right up.”
Realizing Huck has been completely silent, I begrudgingly ask, “I don’t suppose you’d like to join us?” I’m sure my tone expresses how grumpy I am at being so unsure of where things stand between us.
“What and miss out on the most scrumptious petit fours?” he teases. His inflection indicates a desire for something other than petit fours. “I’d love to. I don’t suppose we can catch a ride with someone. We’re on foot today.”
Mama says, “You can drive over with us. Amelia, you’ll need to take your car. Mine only fits four.”
Huck tells his daughter, “Why don’t we drive with Amelia and keep her company?”
Maggie smiles up at him. “You go on. I’ll ride with her mom and aunt.” Her gaze darts between us like Huck isn’t the only one with ideas about something occurring between me and the rock star, and that can only mean more trouble.
Once we get to my car, I say, “You seem pretty comfortable letting Maggie ride with total strangers. Wouldn’t you feel better if you were with her?” Hint, hint.
“I’m not sure if you remember, but I met your mom and aunt the other night. It’s not like I just flagged them down at 7-11 and asked them to drive my kid to Vegas.”
He’s got a point. But even so, prickles of unease crawl across my skin as I think about my close call as a kid.
For my own sanity, I shift the direction of our conversation. “Why did you really come to Creek Water?” At the coffee shop on Sunday I overheard him and Maggie talking about some woman who lived here that they’d come to see. Which again leaves me wondering if that woman wasn’t the reason they’d just disappeared for days on end.
“I have some business in the area,” he says. “It seemed like as good a spot as any.”
“Business, what business? There’s nothing music related anywhere near here.” Not unless he’s got something cooking with Billy Ray Johnston down at Honkytonk Creek.
“Who says it’s music related?” he asks.
“Well, if it isn’t, what is it?”
Huck makes a tsking sound and shakes his head. “I don’t think I should tell you anything more about me until I learn more about you.”
“What more could you possibly want to know?”
“Did you go to college?”
“I went to junior college for a couple of years,” I tell him.
“Because you didn’t want to go away?”
“Yesssss,” I pr
actically hiss. “How about you?”
“UCLA, business major. You see, I actually have interests outside of music.”
“Why didn’t you go into business then?” I ask somewhat aggressively.
“I didn’t like the clothes,” he jokes.
“How did you get your start in music?” I ask, feeling some of my previous anger slip away.
“I used to play in a band in college. We were good and would hit some of the clubs on the Sunset Strip. I was discovered by a scout from my record label.”
“Just you, not the whole band?”
“Just me. The other guys weren’t interested in pursuing music as a career. For them it was just a hobby while we got through school.” Then he says, “Your turn. How many serious boyfriends have you had?”
“Two.” Please drop the subject, I silently pray.
Of course, he doesn’t. “I know about Aiden. Who was the other one?”
“Just some guy from junior college.”
“What happened?”
“He wanted to get married and move to Nashville,” I tell him.
“Ah, the dreaded move—the deal-breaker. Have you ever traveled?” he wants to know.
“Yes, I’ve traveled. I’ve been to St. Louis and Atlanta, and I’ve even been to Disney World,” I say the last like it’s a real accomplishment. And from my perspective it most definitely is. The only ride I went on was Pirates of the Caribbean, but as soon as the little boat went underground, I full-on lost my cool. I counted nonstop until it was over and then refused to go on any of the other rides.
“What about Paris and Rome? Don’t you want to see them someday? You know, walk down the Champs-Élysées sipping champagne while dodging flirtatious Frenchmen or maybe visit the Colosseum?”
“Maybe someday,” I tell him. Like, when I die and am reincarnated as an adventurous person without anxiety. “Do you like Paris?” I ask.
“I do, but I like the countryside even more. I bought a sixteenth century French castle last year near Cherbourg.”
“You big liar,” I snort.
He looks wounded. “I did. It’s got eighteen rooms and even has a drawbridge and a turret. Maggie and I are going to stay there this summer.”
“An honest-to-god castle?” I can’t imagine such a thing. “How’s Maggie going to get there if she doesn’t like to fly?”
“We’re looking into teleportation,” he deadpans. “Seriously though, she’s been doing some hypnosis meditations that have really helped. She told me that she made it the whole flight from LA to Missouri without having one attack.”
“Doesn’t the thought of flying over the ocean scare her?” I demand.
“The whole thing scares her.” He must deduce that I’m terrified of flying because he correctly guesses, “You’ve never been in an airplane before, have you?”
“So, what if I haven’t?” I say. “You don’t have to fly to be an interesting person.”
“Clearly, as you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Not even a little bit, Amelia. I meant that as a compliment.”
I don’t believe him. “Why in the world did you buy a French castle?”
“As an investment. I don’t plan on living there. I have a property manager that rents it out for movies and weddings. But it’s kind of fun to know that I can go there with Maggie and let her pretend to be a princess if she wants to.”
“We live on different planets, Huck Wiley,” I tell him. As if I didn’t know it before, I’m more convinced than ever that there’s no way we could possibly have a future together.
“We need to expand your understanding of Earth, Amelia. We both live on a gorgeous planet full of history and exciting adventure. The same planet.”
I ignore him and take the turn that leads to the club. I have no idea why Huck is in Creek Water and he doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to share that information with me. I suppose I’ll have to wait to find out, but what I need to know now is why this rock god is interested in a nobody small town girl like me. It doesn’t add up, especially if he’s running off to hook up with other women. I know he said he didn’t, but why in the world should I trust him?
Chapter 28
I formulate a plan as we drive the winding road leading up to the club. The only way for me to deal with the rock star is to treat him like a friendly acquaintance. I’ll spend time with him when I have to; I’ll be polite, even engaging, but I will not allow myself to think of him in a romantic sense. He’s a visitor in my life and nothing more.
I normally park in a spot near a cluster of large oak trees when I’m at the club. It’s a good distance from the front door, and the walk allows me time to get my head together. But not today. Today, I park as close to the entrance as I can. I don’t need the temptation of any more private moments with the man whose presence is wreaking such havoc with my mental stability.
I’m about to step up onto the sidewalk when Huck reaches out and grabs the hem of my coat, pulling it and me toward him.
I smack at his hand and demand, “What are you doing?”
“Slowing you down. You’re practically running.”
“It’s cold out here. I want get inside so I can warm up.”
He snakes his arm around me and pulls me up against him before purring, “I could warm you up.”
He’s already accomplished that. The feel of his arm around me sends scorching hot flames of desire coursing through my extremities totally against my will. If we weren’t in the middle of a public place, I’d be in jeopardy of throwing myself at him in the most blatant way. Even though he disappeared on me for days on end without so much as a call, my resolve to be nothing more than friends is slipping away. I imagine what it would feel like to be in his arms with considerably less clothing between us. The fantasy causes my knees to turn to Jell-O.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” he asks.
“They could run out of tea sandwiches while we’re dawdling out here,” I say, trying to avoid his real question.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m asking. What’s the worst thing that could happen if you let something happen between us?”
“You could leave,” I confess with excruciating honesty. I could fall for Huck Wiley as sure as falling off the Eads Bridge in St. Louis—a worry I have every time I look at it. I’m sure the weightlessness and excitement would be amazing, but then I’d land. If the contact with the icy water didn’t kill me dead, the current would probably drag my helpless body for miles before I finally drowned.
“Did you ever wonder why I don’t date?” he asks.
“I didn’t have to wonder, you already told me. You don’t want to take time away from Maggie,” I regurgitate his own words back at him.
“Yet, I’m willing to date you,” he says.
“What’s your point, Huck?”
“My point is that I don’t have a great track record with my relationships with the opposite sex. Most women are interested in me because I’m famous. That’s not something I want to subject my daughter to, so I compartmentalize those women for one thing only.” My insides churn in pure jealousy when I think what that one thing is and yet again, I wonder if he wasn’t engaging in that activity while he was away.
“What about the women you want more from? You know, an emotional bond?” I swallow the ball of uneasiness in my throat while I wait to hear his answer.
“So far there have been my mothers, and you know how that’s worked out. My birth mother gave me up, and my real mom was too busy to stick around to be a mother.” His voice aches with pain, a sound I’ve heard in many of his songs.
“What about Maggie’s mama?” I ask, daring to bring up the topic he’s already told me he doesn’t want to talk about, the one that’s in the forefront of my mind.
“She’s nobody’s business, but mine and my daughter’s,” he replies emotionlessly. Hmm, maybe he wasn’t just with her. The tho
ught both relieves me and worries me. If he didn’t go off to see her, who was he seeing?
I’m more curious than ever to find out what the story is there. “You can’t honestly tell me there wasn’t anyone in college you were interested in.”
He shrugs. “I dated but I never fell in love with anyone. When my first album topped the charts, I was only twenty-four. I’ve never really had an opportunity to fall for someone since. Not in any real sense.”
“Are you actually trying to make me feel sorry for you?” I demand.
“I’m trying to explain myself to you, Amelia. Once again, I’m trying to open up to you. If I don’t seem very good at it, it’s because I’m not.” Oh, my stars, this man pulls me in, then pushes me away, only to grab ahold and yank me back. It’s making me seasick.
“So, you’re telling me that you’re messed up about women …” I say oversimplifying his words.
“You’re telling me you’re messed up because of something that happened to you when you were a kid …” He lets the thought dangle between us before adding, “Maybe what two messed up people really need is each other.”
“Maybe we’d only make a bigger mess,” I challenge.
“Amelia,” Huck starts to say, but Mama pulls into the lot. She toots her horn in case we’ve gone temporarily blind and don’t see her. “This isn’t over,” he tells me. Then he grabs my hand and drags me toward the car his daughter is in. I can feel the calluses on his fingertips that have developed from his years of guitar playing and I start to imagine what they’d feel like on my bare skin. Lordy, I nearly crumble to the ground at the thought.
I try to pull out of his grasp. I don’t need him advertising his intentions in front of Mama. She might decide a struggling musician is the best catch I can hope for, and if she does, she’ll start a campaign. Mama is like General George S. Patton. She never engages in a battle she’s not certain she can win.
Maggie jumps out of the car and declares, “Your mom promised to teach me how to knit while I’m here.” She continues to chatter, “I’ve always wanted to learn, but Aunt Claire doesn’t know how. I tried to watch a YouTube video, but I just wound up with a tangled mess.”
The Plan: A Sweet and Sexy Rock Star Romantic Comedy (The Creek Water Series Book 3) Page 12
