Hideaway Heart: Chapter 6

WHEN I OPENED my eyes and checked my phone the next morning, it was just after eight. Sunlight streamed through the window above my head.

I smiled and stretched, realizing I could go back to sleep if I wanted, grab a book and read in bed, or take a cup of coffee outside and sit in the—

Shit! Coffee!

I flopped an arm over my head and groaned. I’d forgotten to pack coffee. Was there somewhere nearby I could grab a cup? Or should I just skip the lazy morning and go grocery shopping first thing? That way I could have my afternoon free, and it looked like it would be a gorgeous day.

Hauling myself out of bed, I threw on shorts and a tank top, pulled a hoodie on over it, and tugged on socks and sneakers. I loved my cherry red Lucchese boots more than anything, but since I was trying to go incognito for the next two weeks, I thought sneakers were a safer choice. I got recognized in those boots all the time.

Opening my bedroom door, I peeked toward the living room, but the couch wasn’t visible. Quickly, I darted across the hall into the bathroom. When I was presentable—hair in a neat ponytail, a little concealer and mascara—I ambled casually toward the living room, uncomfortable with the way my pulse had quickened at the thought of seeing him asleep on the couch. Would he be shirtless? Was his chest all inked up like his arms? Were we still mad at each other?

But he wasn’t there.

A black duffel bag was on the floor at one end of the couch, so I knew he had to be somewhere around here. I glanced toward the kitchen, but he wasn’t there either. Pushing open the front door, I found him sitting in the same rocking chair as yesterday, looking at his phone.

“Morning,” I said, my voice like sandpaper.

“Morning.” He looked up at me. “Sleep okay?”

His eyes were brown. A deep, dark chocolate brown, framed with thick black lashes.

“Uh, yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “I slept fine. You?”

“I’ve had better nights. But I’ve also had a lot worse.” He stifled a yawn. “I could use some coffee.”

“Me too. But I don’t have any here—I forgot to pack it.”

“Want to grab some in town?”

“Definitely,” I said, glad he didn’t seem to hold a grudge. “Let me get my purse.”

He rose to his feet. “Would it be all right if I used the bathroom to brush my teeth?”

“It’s fine.” I went into the house, and he followed me, grabbing a small pouch from the black bag on the floor. That’s when I blurted, “You could have used it last night, you know.”

He straightened up and shrugged. “You said yesterday I didn’t have bathroom privileges. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“Well, just use the bathroom from now on, instead of a tree like some caveman.”

He smirked. “Are you saying you didn’t enjoy the view?”

My mouth fell open and heat rushed my cheeks.

“Funny that you were the one worried about spying.” He gave my earlobe a little flick—a move straight out of the Older Brother’s Handbook—and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Snatching my purse off the kitchen counter, I stomped outside and shoved my oversized sunglasses on. Was it going to be like this for two weeks, him constantly antagonizing me? And then me trying to even the score?

Speaking of which.

I spotted my minivan parked there in the sunshine and got an idea.

A crazy, delightfully wicked idea that would drive Xander nuts.

Without stopping to think twice, I raced for my getaway car, started the engine, and peeled out, my tires spitting gravel. I wound my way at a faster speed than was advisable down the driveway to the main road and turned right, even though I had no fucking clue where I was going.

Didn’t matter—I’d ditched him! I’d won a battle!

I put all the windows down and cranked up the volume on the radio, taking it as a good sign that Shania Twain was on. With two hands on the wheel and my foot heavy on the gas, I sang along as loud as I could, bouncing up and down in the seat. When I reached the main highway, intuition told me to turn right again, and about half a mile up, I spotted a shopping plaza. On the off chance there might be a coffee shop among the stores, I pulled into the parking lot.

My spidey sense paid off when I spied the Starbucks mermaid. Gleeful with the joy of impending caffeine and having successfully evaded Xander, I parked my minivan and hopped out, strutting toward the coffee shop like a badass.

At the counter, I ordered a venti medium roast and paid for it with cash. “Thanks,” I said as the teenage barista handed it over.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Pixie Hart?”

“A few times,” I said with a wink.

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

I put my fingers to my lips and dropped a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. “Have a good one.”

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly.

With a smile on my face, I turned around to leave and ran smack into a cement wall—Xander. I looked up at the scowl peeking through the dark beard. “Hey! You’re lucky I didn’t spill my coffee!”

“You’re lucky I don’t dump it over your head right now,” he said through his teeth. He resembled a very large, very angry black bear—maybe my mom’s premonition was right. He did sort of look like he wanted to tear me apart and eat the pieces. “You can’t do that.”

“I didn’t do anything except go get a cup of coffee. And look!” Triumphant, I glanced around the busy shop. “Nothing happened!”

“Excuse me, Pixie?” The barista appeared at my side holding a napkin and a marker. “Could you sign this for me? My name’s Lila. I’m a total Hart Throb.”

“Sure.” I handed Xander my coffee cup. “Can you hold this please?”

He grimaced, but he wrapped his big paw around my fingers and took the cup from me. I ignored the zing that shot up my arm at his touch.

After I scribbled my name, dotting the i’s with hearts, I handed the napkin and marker back to her. “There you go, Lila.”

“And could we get a selfie?”

“No pictures,” Xander ordered.

Lila looked crushed.

“It’s fine,” I told him.

He inhaled through his nostrils, looking like an angry bull. “Your call, but I’d advise against it.”

Ignoring him, I posed for the photo and smiled at the girl. “Nice meeting you. Take care.” Turning to Xander, I reached for my coffee, but he held it up high, well out of my reach. I jumped a few times, attempting to get a hand around the cup. “Hey! Give that back!”

“No,” he said. “You’re going to wait for me.”

“You’re holding my coffee hostage?”

“Yes.” He ordered a venti dark roast and breakfast sandwich, and only when it was all in his hands did he return my caffeine.

“Rude,” I huffed, hugging my coffee close as we moved for the exit.

“You sneak off on me, putting yourself in jeopardy and my promise to your brother at risk of being broken, and I’m the bad guy?” Xander shook his head as he held the door open for me.

“I was just having some fun,” I said, stepping out onto the sidewalk. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that I can’t protect you if I’m not there.” Xander looked both ways and then gestured for me to cross the lot toward my van. “I thought I could trust you for two minutes. Guess I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just playing with you.”

“This isn’t a game, Kelly. We have to be able to trust each other. Or else the next two weeks are just going to be miserable for both of us. I can’t be worried you’re going to run off every time my back is turned.”

“And I don’t want to be told no every time I want to do something fun.”

“I understand that, but you have to let me do my job,” he said as we reached my van.

“How’d you find me anyway?”

“I fucking followed you.” He frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “And the fact that you didn’t notice makes me even more concerned.”

“I wasn’t looking,” I said defensively. “I was just enjoying the ride.”

“And when that Hart Throb posts her picture on social media and it’s obvious to anyone that she met you at work, how long do you think before photographers realize where you are and show up here looking for you? Do you enjoy being followed with cameras?”

He was right. I’d probably blown my cover. “There are a gazillion Starbucks,” I argued weakly.

“Kelly.”

“Okay, okay.” I gave him two thumps on the chest. Felt like granite under my hand. “Let’s stop fighting. I won’t take off again.”

“Thank you.” He opened the driver’s side door for me, and I slid in behind the wheel.

“I need to go grocery shopping,” I told him. “Should we do it now?”

“Yeah. Might be good to do it early—stores will be less crowded. But we need to talk about kitchen privileges.” He held up the bag containing his breakfast sandwich. “I can’t do this for every meal.”

I tapped my lips with one finger, taking much longer than necessary to consider the issue. “Fine. You can have kitchen privileges.”

“And I’ll eventually need to take a shower.”

Another deep drag of air and dramatic sigh. “Shower privileges too.”

“I’ll check for the nearest store on my phone and then I’ll text you the location and directions. Don’t leave without me.”

I saluted. “Yes, sir.”

He shut the van door and walked toward his SUV, parked across from me.

I watched him in the sideview mirror. “Xander Buckley, you totally ruined my plans,” I murmured, taking a sip of my coffee. “But I gotta admit, you have a nice butt.”

As he tucked his long, muscular body into the driver’s seat of his car, I found myself thinking about those shower privileges. About him naked in my bathroom. Hot and wet.

I didn’t hate the idea.

When we got back to the house after grocery shopping, I realized I’d forgotten the code for the front door. While Xander stood holding four grocery bags in his arms, I tried a few different number combinations I thought it might be, but nothing was right.

I turned to him sheepishly. “I forgot it.”

“So now what?”

“I have to check my email.” I dug through my purse for my phone and discovered it wasn’t in there. “Shoot. You know what? I was so excited to escape you this morning, I guess I ran out without it.”

Xander sighed heavily, setting down the grocery bags and reaching into his back pocket. “Can you log in on my phone?”

“Yes.” I took his phone, logged into my account through the app, and located the forwarded email from Jess. Once the door was open, I handed his phone back to him. “Success!”

He looked at the screen and frowned. “You didn’t log out.”

“Do I need to? Are you going to steal my identity or something?”

That earned me a scathing glare. “Any time you log in on someone else’s device, you should log out. Are you changing your passwords frequently enough?”

“Define ‘enough.’”

“Every three months.”

“Then no.”

Grumbling, he tucked his phone back into his pocket and picked up the bags again.

After we put the groceries away, I found a blender in one of the cupboards and made myself a smoothie. Feeling magnanimous, I even offered one to Xander, who was back in his front porch office, but he declined. I noticed he’d kept his groceries separate from mine—he had his own little section in the fridge and kept the other stuff in plastic bags at one end of the counter.

Ridiculous. Did he think I was going to steal his eggs? His protein bars? Maybe he was worried I’d get my hands on his salami.

That actually made me laugh.

Smoothie in hand, I packed a bag with some sunscreen, a floppy hat, a beach towel, my notebook full of lyrics, a pencil, and a paperback. Then I went out to one of the Adirondack chairs at the side of the house and stretched out the towel.

After spraying myself down with SPF 50, I spent the next several hours happily reading romance in the sunshine. I only looked up when a huge shadow fell across my face.

Xander stood between me and the sky. “Hey.”

“You’re blocking my sun,” I said, sliding my sunglasses to the top of my head.

“I’m going inside to make a sandwich.”

“Okay. Maybe while you’re eating your lunch, I’ll get my run in.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re not to take a run alone. I’ll go with you.”

“I can’t even jog alone? Nobody’s here! I didn’t see a single soul when I ran yesterday.” I gestured toward the woods.

Frowning, he scanned the perimeter. “This area isn’t secure. There’s no gate on the driveway. I have no idea where the fences are. Anyone could be lurking around here.”

“So you’re just going to trot along behind me? Lurking?”

“Yes.”

I lowered my shades over my eyes again. “This vacation sucks.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said. “You won’t even know I’m there.” A hint of a smirk. “Unless you want to race me.”

“Xander! I’m not racing you! Your legs are twice as long as mine!”

“Come on, I’ll give you a head start.”

“You sound like Kevin—who always lied about the head starts, by the way.”

“Well, I play fair.” The big oaf tapped my nose. “You know, you’re getting kinda pink out here.”

Swatting his hand away with my book, I touched my nose—it did feel tender and hot. “Dammit, I put sunscreen on.”

“Maybe you should re-apply. Or wear a hat.”

“Maybe you should stop acting like my mom and go make your lunch.” I watched him walk away, and only when he was inside the house did I set my book down and pull out my sunscreen. And the hat.

I re-applied my SPF, plopped the hat on my head, then took the notebook and pencil from the bag. After rereading what I’d written last night, I found I didn’t love it as much and turned to a fresh page. But instead of writing down new words, all I did was doodle.

Xander came back outside carrying a plate with a sandwich on it and an energy drink. He dropped into the chair opposite me. Since I was wearing dark sunglasses and the big hat, I pretended not to look at him while I surreptitiously let my eyes wander over his wide shoulders, broad chest, and big hands wrapped around the sandwich.

“Whatcha writing?” he asked. “New song?”

“Yeah. It’s called ‘My Vacation was Ruined by a Big Bossy Goon.’”

He laughed. “Sing it for me.”

All I’d scrawled was nonsense, including a suspicious number of X’s. Disconcerted, I flipped to the next page. “I’m still working on it.”

“So you write your own stuff?”

“Yes. Not that the label lets me record any of it.”

“Why not?”

I pressed my lips together and started scribbling again—spirals this time, not X’s. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

But words came tumbling out. “They have all these bullshit reasons, and some of them contradict each other—this song is too country, that one isn’t country enough, this one won’t get commercial acceptance, that one is too off brand. It’s so frustrating.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s like no one listens to me when I’m in the room,” I went on. “I’ve always known that to succeed, you have to dream big, but you also have to be willing to compromise. You have to listen to the people who know better than you do about what will sell records. You have to say yes to them. Sign their contracts. Sing their songs. Be easy to work with—especially if you’re a woman. A man makes demands, he’s a boss. A woman does the same, she’s a diva. Or worse.”

A big flock of birds flew overhead, squawking loudly. I watched them disappear over the treetops in a perfect V.

“What demands would you make?”

“For one, to record my own songs. For another, I’d like to choose my producers. I’d like more of a say in my cover art. My video shoots. My choreography. But I’m scared to stand up for myself,” I said, and suddenly I was admitting to this total stranger what I couldn’t even say to Wags. “I feel like I’ve become something I never intended to be and don’t particularly like. But if I say that, I’ll sound ungrateful.”

“It’s not ungrateful to want a say in your career.” Xander set his plate aside and folded his hands on his chest. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.

“I know, but they have all the power. They own me and all my music. My contract is up, and everyone is pressuring me to sign the new deal, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Sounds like you gotta tell them all to fuck off and sing what you want. That’s what I’d do.”

I shook my head. “You don’t understand what it’s like. I’m twenty-nine already. If I started pushing back, they can just move on to the next girl singing for a few bucks at the county fair. There’s a hundred of them in every small town. And they’re just as pretty, just as talented, and just as hungry as I was.”

His shoulders twitched. “Guess that’s a risk you’d have to be willing to take.”

“It’s not just myself I’d put at risk, but everyone who works for me too. I feel responsible for a lot of people.” As always, when I let myself think about this stuff, my stomach began to ache. “If I get dropped from the label, what happens to them?”

“It’s not like they’re your kids.”

“Many of them are like family, though. And they count on me. Abandoning people who need you is selfish and disloyal.”

He tilted his head. “Who told you that?”

My father, I thought. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “But I can’t just blow everything up.”

“Then it sounds like the price is giving up your own vision and doing what the label says.” He raised his arms, locking them behind his head. “But I could never do that.”

“You didn’t follow orders in the Navy?” I countered.

“I did, but that was different. I wanted to be an asset to my team.”

I grabbed the chair arms and sat up taller. “What do you think I’m saying? This isn’t just about me! And stop with the whole ‘price of fame’ stuff. I’m not asking for all the pros and none of the cons. I just want my songs to mean as much to me as they do someone listening. I want the jerks who say I don’t deserve to be where I am to eat their words. I want the producers and executives to stop saying no to all my ideas. I want a place at the table—I don’t want to be the meal.”

“You should be saying all this to them, not me.”

“Gee, thanks.” I shoved my things in my bag. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You don’t have to get mad about it,” he said, infuriatingly calm.

“I’m not mad!” Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stomped toward the house.