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We make short work of the walk from the hotel to the coffee shop, it’s not even a block away. Since it’s hella early in the morning, the streets are still quiet, as quiet as they can be for NYC, which is nice. It means I won’t have to worry about signing autographs or taking pictures while I’m wearing a thin faded maroon hoodie and my favorite black skinny jeans.
I’m a simple girl when it comes to fashion. Usually I wear knee-length tight skirts or jeans with cute tops on stage. I’m a sucker for a good pair of dangly earrings though.
We enter the small shop, a lone teenager working behind the counter. Since we don’t have security with us, Eric stands closer than he normally does, as if he’d take a bullet for me. The guy probably would, too. I shudder at the thought.
“What can I get for you?” the teenager deadpans.
I bite my lip to stop from smiling. I remember the days of working at The Daily Scoop and hating when I had to work alone. Work was only fun when Liam was with me. My stomach clenches at the thought of him.
After seeing Ben last night, I’d be a liar if I said I haven’t thought of Liam more than once. A lot more than once. I hate that I still do. It has been ten years since we were friends, you’d think he’d be a distant memory. But Liam Miller is hard to forget.
A person's first unrequited love always stays with you. The number of songs I wrote about him on my first album is stupid and embarrassing. I often hate myself for it. My first ever #1 hit, “Desire Reigns,” is about him. I still think of him while I sing it sometimes. But most of the time I can lose myself in the crowd and my band.
Eric sees I’m lost in my own world, as I often am, and orders my favorite. “She’ll take a double dirty chai, half sweet, with soy milk. Make it iced. I’ll have an iced mocha with whip, and a chocolate chip scone. She’ll take one of your blueberry scones.” He hands over his company card and I nod my thanks.
“You’re going to get a stomachache eating all that sugar in the morning,” I tease.
He pats his abs. “I have a stomach of steel.”
“Don’t cry to me when you get an ulcer,” I snicker.
“So funny in the morning.”
Once we have our drinks and scones, I see we have some time till the bus loads. “Want to eat these in Times Square?” I ask him. Immediately I see the hesitancy in his eyes, but I gesture around us with my free hand. “We don’t even know if this creep is in New York. He could be in Argentina for all we know. Plus, it’s not even eight in the morning.”
“I don’t think stalkers care what time it is, Birdie.”
“I’m going to Times Square, so you can join me or go back to the hotel.” I don’t wait for his answer, strutting toward the neon lights up ahead. Eric soon falls in step next to me, his body rigid with annoyance.
“Like I would let you go alone. But for the record, I’m opposed to this adventure.”
I roll my eyes. “Noted.”
Once we’re in Times Square, we find a bench. There are some early morning tourists out already, and the city is starting to wake up. People in suits bustle around, talking on their phones and dodging homeless people. I pull out my scone and take a bite. The crystals of sugar melt on my tongue and I can’t help but moan. Food is so good. I love it and it makes me happy.
After years of yo-yo dieting in high school and college, I finally said fuck it. Now I don’t count calories or care what I eat, I just care that I feel good in my body. And I do. My body carries me through show after show, and my voice is my livelihood. I take care of it as best I can. Which is why I suffer through drinking soy milk instead of real milk.“Bad for the vocal cords,”my fancy voice coach always says.“Makes you phlegmy!”Which sadly is true.
I breathe in the muggy city air, then look up at the blue sky. It’s going to be a hot day. “I’m going to miss freedom.”
Eric pats my shoulder. “You’re still going to have freedom. You’re just going to have a shadow. Pretend you’re Peter Pan or something.”
“Why Eric, I didn’t realize you were a Disney Adult.”
“Disney is cool,” he chuffs.
“It is,” I agree. “Just teasing you.”
He throws his trash in a nearby bin, then looks at his watch. “We should get back. The bus leaves soon and I need to make sure everything is good to go.”
I put the rest of my scone in its bag and brush the crumbs off my jeans and hoodie. We stand and start off in the direction of the hotel. We get about two feet away from the bench when a guy approaches, blocking our path. He’s wearing jeans and a simple black shirt. He looks average, harmless, but I can’t read the expression on his face. Immediately the hairs on the back of my neck go up.
Relax, it’s just a fan. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Eric steps close to me, puffing his chest out as big as he can, which I admit is kind of scary. I wouldn’t screw with him.
“Excuse me,” he says to the guy. But he doesn’t move.
“Do you want an autograph?” I ask, my voice timid. Which I hate.
He pulls out some folded paper from his pocket, and Eric blocks it from reaching me.
