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With inked arms and soulful eyes, Ethan’s become a heartthrob, and he has the talent to back it up. His band has skyrocketed to stardom in the last few years. The woman by his side is the drummer for the band, and I’m pretty sure they’re a couple.
“Everything looks good,” he says to her. Tess, I think.
“Because you like it hot,” she teases, nudging his shoulder with hers.
“You know I do,” he says, then flashes warm eyes at me. “Hey there. Couldn’t resist checking out this shop when we heard about it on social.”
“Hi,” I say, a little breathy, eager to profess my adoration. “I love…welcome to Special Edition.”
And fangirling almost got the better of me. But he probably wants to just grab a drink like a normal guy.
Gage shoots me a curious look, maybe wondering what’s up. But now’s not the time for me to whisper there’s a rock star here. Two, actually.
Ethan surveys the menu with the chocolate offerings. “Apricot and chili pepper, enrobed in Aztec chocolate—sounds like my dreams.”
“Chef’s recommendation. You should try it,” I say.
“I’ll have that and the whole flight of chocolate,” he says, then turns to his girlfriend. “And you?”
“Make it a double. And let’s get one of each drink and we can do a taste test,” she says, and quickly, we serve them.
As the cool and beautiful couple take their trays and drinks to a corner table, every single phone in the house lifts and snaps.
Gage tilts his head, whispers out of the side of his mouth, “Who’s that?”
God, he’s cute, not knowing. “The front man for Outrageous Record, and the drummer,” I whisper surreptitiously.
His eyes widen then swing to the couple in leather and ink, then back to me. “Damn. Their songs are good.”
I set a hand on his strong chest, smiling. “I’m relieved you know their music at least.”
“Know them. Love them,” he says, and he’s a little starstruck. And that’s cute too.
I let go of my worries about my pop-up husband comment.
For now.
After we close, I check my phone and it’s lit up. As I wipe down tables, I read my texts, going to the group chat with the girls first.
Juliet: Why did you not get him to sing “Blown Away” in your shop?
Fable: Or better yet, write you a song! I can hear it now. “You Melt In My Mouth!” “You Make Me Moan!” “You Are My Truffle!”
Rachel: Ladies and gentlemen, Fable has a new career as a songwriter. Watch it, Taylor.
Fable: Please. We’re gonna duet “You Are My Truffle.”
Juliet: And you can debut it tomorrow night at the Outrageous Record concert in town.
Hazel: Wait, wait. What if we all go and beg him to write a song called “Pop-Up Love?”
I’m laughing as Gage cleans the glasses, asking, “What’s going on?”
“Apparently everyone posted that Ethan Adair was here with his girlfriend,” I say, bringing him my phone, showing him some of the pics of the rockers on social, then the texts from the girls.
He reads them quietly, and when he’s done, he says, “That’s cute. Your messages with your friends.”
Huh. I didn’t expect that warm reaction. I thought he was still irked about the pop-up husband comment for some reason. And you know what? If he is, I want to know. I set a hand on his forearm, covering his lotus ink with my palm. “Hey, are you annoyed about the pop-up joke?”
