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“We have to face it,” Augie said. “You’re having a tough time writing this time around, but we can’t hide behind vague concepts. Fans aren’t going to connect with this.” He yanked the papers out of Lauren’s hands. “They’re going to hate it.”
They’re going to hate it.The words hit Lauren like a punch to the gut. She felt her face turn scarlet as she was put on the spot. Until then, no one had really addressed her writing struggles head-on.
“I’m not—”
“—Don’t bullshit us,” Augie said. “Yes. You are.”
Lauren’s eyes darted around the room, and all she saw was agreement and pity. It shredded her inside. Her face felt like it was on fire. “Screw you!” she shouted and stormed out, slamming the door in her wake.
Furious and self-conscious, Lauren went back to her apartment. Just after she arrived, a text from Danny told her that he was going to be late for dinner. It was almost a relief—she was still steamed, and this gave her a chance to calm down. It was nearly eight o’clock when Danny came through the door, looking haggard.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I hope you’re not pissed.”
“No. I had a shitty day at the studio. A little alone time was just what I needed. Hungry?” The aroma of meat sauce with basil, oregano, and garlic curled through the room, and she pulled salads out of the refrigerator.
“Starving. You make the sauce?”
She smiled. “I did. From scratch.”
Lauren’s maternal grandmother had been from Italy and had taught her granddaughters how to make sauce and handmade pasta. Lauren loved cooking her Nonna Sofia’s recipes but didn’t get the chance to do it nearly as often as she liked. She gave the pot a stir and adjusted the burner temperature. Then she grabbed a large saucepot, filled it with water, and put that on the stove, too.
Danny disappeared to change and wash up. While he was gone, Lauren put her iPod on shuffle mode and connected it to the wireless speaker. When Danny returned, Lauren was engrossed in her cooking. Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” came on, and without even thinking, Lauren started to move to the beat and sing along with the lyrics.
She felt Danny come up behind her. He planted a lingering kiss on her neck and shook his hips in time with hers.
“And what—exactly—are you doing?” She leaned back slightly and let out a sigh. This was the first time today she’d felt remotely relaxed.
“Helping?”
“Nice try,” she said. “Go slice up the bread. Otherwise, I’m going to overcook the pasta.”
He reluctantly let go and pulled the loaf of Italian bread out of its bag. He sliced about half the loaf before setting the table and uncorking a bottle of wine. While he poured two glasses, Lauren tested the pasta, deemed it sufficiently al dente, and dumped it in a colander.
“So, what was going on today that made you late? You looked like a wreck when you came in.”
Danny hesitated, a shadow passing across his face. “Murder case,” he finally said. “Not something I want to talk about. What about your day? Why so shitty?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Fight with Augie and Stevie. We made good progress to start, worked through some bass line ideas that Ox’s been wrangling. Then me, Augie, and Stevie got into it over one of my songs. I mean,reallygot into it.”
Lauren combined the pasta with her sauce and added it to two large bowls. She grated fresh Pecorino-Romano cheese over hers and raised her eyebrows at Danny. “Just a little for me,” he answered.
There wasn’t much conversation during dinner—Danny appeared famished and wolfed down his meal. He did, however, take a moment between mouthfuls to rave about the sauce. After he wiped up the last of the marinara with the bread, they cleared the table. Lauren put her half-finished bowl in the refrigerator while Danny poured them both a second glass of wine. They took the wine and sat on the sofa together.
“I liked watching you cook,” said Danny as he rubbed his hand up and down her leg. “You were definitely in the zone.”
“I was? Guess it’s just second nature to get into the music. I sang with Aerosmith once—on the Billboard Music Awards about, oh, six, seven years ago? It was amazing.”
“That must’ve been cool. I’m such an idiot for never seeing one of your concerts.”
“Yeah, you are, but I love you anyway…” The words slipped out before Lauren could stop them. She held her breath, wondering how he’d react.
For a second, he sat like a statue, but then he moved a little closer.
“I love you, too. Always have.” There was a gruff catch in his voice, and she searched his face, looking for any doubts, any regrets. She didn’t find them.
The kiss was soft, intimate, lingering—an invitation that promised so much more. When they pulled away, Lauren ran her fingers along Danny’s cheek. She smiled as he glanced toward the bedroom, tempted, but she shook her head no.
“Not yet.” She picked up her notebook. “Duty calls.”
