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Never knew with musicians. They were all crazy. She should know.
Juliet dropped down on the second to the last stair. “Can we not go?”
“You have a death wish.”
She knew what she was going to walk into. She did not have the mental fortitude for it.
“C’mon.” West held out his hand.
“I don’t wanna.”
He wiggled his fingers. “Pretty much don’t care.”
She slapped her hand into his and let him haul her back to her feet.
“I’ll buy you a Starbucks.”
“You’re all heart.”
“I know.”
She retrieved her bag, but before she could shoulder it, West took it from her. “Gotta keep your strength up for Molly.”
“What a guy.”
“Tell me about it.”
She rolled her eyes and followed him through the vestibule out into the late afternoon sun. She gave one more look over her shoulder. She couldn’t really see the garden from where she was, but the memories followed her.
For once, she didn’t want to shake them off.
Chapter Ten
Tristan blotted his hands on the towel hanging from his front pocket. “Kendra, you have the kitchen.”
“Roger that, chef.” As if a light switch had been flicked, Kendra went from easygoing second-in-command to drill sergeant.
God, he loved his sous chef. And he knew The Hollow would be in good hands.
At least twice a week, he tried not to work fifteen hours straight. Tonight, he needed the break. His apartment had been strangely silent for the last few nights, and he’d slept for crap. He’d never had a roommate before Sparks—Rand.
Fuck.
Already, Randy’s name had cemented in his head as the bastardized nickname Jules had for him. Just one night to change everything, for fuck’s sake.
He wasn’t even sure if Sparks had come back to the apartment, but it felt empty. His buddy had never been a problem co-hab. In fact, that was one of the reasons Tristan had invited him to stay at his loft when Rand wasn’t on the road. Randy’s room wasn’t that big, but the guy traveled light. Like everything-in-a-rucksack light.
Easiest situation ever.
Except now, nothing was easy.
He’d gotten a text from Jules a few days ago, but it had been vague and basically just to let him know her information. This morning, however, he’d gotten another.
Tristan glanced down at his phone.
A picture. Her half grin that got him stirred up. Whether it was coming from a magazine candid, or the woman herself across the room. That fucking smile stopped him every damn time.
She’d texted a simple: Miss your face. That was it.
