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“AndI’m done with this subject. Let’s move on.”
Her mouth flattened. “I still can’t understand why you won’t at least say hello to our new neighbor.”
My stomach flipped as the memory of Kaiser’s kiss once more bounded to the forefront of my mind. It had been doing that since I woke up. I’d repeatedly tried shoving the memory aside, tried distracting myself, tried thinking ofanythingbut him.
Yeah, it hadn’t worked so well.
“You’re both rock musicians, so I’m sure you have a lot in common,” Judy went on. “And let’s not pretend that you didn’t adoreKaiser Wolfewhen you were younger. You cried when hisband broke up, even though you knew he’d go solo. Remember that?”
“No.”
“Liar. If I’d ever had that kind of crush on a man and then had the chance to meet him, I wouldn’t have hesitated to introduce myself.”
“I’ve already met him.”
Judy’s eyes sharpened. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”
“I meet lots of artists. I rarely mention them unless there’s something worth sharing.” There was no way I was telling her about last night’s kiss. She’d never shut up about it, not to mention read too much into it.
It wasn’t like it would happen again. Yes, he’d taken two tastes instead of one, just as Izzy had pointed out. But that didn’t mean anything. And he hadn’t tried to take it further. He’d let me go and stalked off without so much as a goodbye.
Judy shot me a moody look. “I still think it’s unfair that you won’t let me do the neighborly thing and go take him some cookies.”
“Grams, do we really have to keep going over this? He wouldn’t appreciate anything neighborly. Nor cookies. I’d be incredibly surprised if he even answered the intercom. And if he did, he’d likely be rude.”
“I can handle rude.”
“But if he was mean to you, I’d have to ream his ass. Let’s not put any of us through that.”
She exhaled a long, suffering sigh. “Fine.”
I knocked back some more of my coffee and stood. “I gotta get back to those lyrics. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do, darlin’.”
I gave the dogs yet another stroke before strolling out of Judy’s wing, closing the door behind me. Considering her décor was very much floral and old-fashioned, stepping into my moremodernly decorated part of the mansion was like entering a different building.
The two-bedroomed house that I’d grown up in was a far cry from this place—not merely in terms of size and style, but in the sense that my childhood home had always been dull and dreary. That had had nothing to do with the furnishings or color scheme andeverythingto do with how miserable I’d been there.
Not simply miserable, but oppressed. It had been a cage. And there had been no room for laughter or peace or joy there.
But here, I’d found peace. Here, I felt safe and relaxed and perfectly at ease. No one could take any of that away from me. I treasured that much more than I can ever prize the luxury around me.
The brightly lit rooms, high ceilings, chandeliers, curved stairwells, and beautiful marble flooring served to remind me that not only was I out from under the man who’d fathered me, but that I’d achieved what he’d sworn I’dneverachieve. The tall, brick walls that bordered the exterior of the property felt like an extra shield to keep him out.
Not that he had ever come here. I doubted he ever would. Still, I liked having that extra bit of security.
Although I had a music room upstairs next door to my beloved library, it wasn’t where I usually went when I worked. I often found myself in the orangery at the rear of the mansion. I was at my most relaxed there, basking in the sun that beamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Right then, I headed straight to the orangery, where I settled on the plush sofa with my guitar, notepad, and pen. As a singer, songwriter, and music producer, my life was pretty busy at certain periods each year with touring, song writing, and album recordings. But I fortunately had enough downtime to keep me sane.
Once upon a time, I would tour from March up until November every year. But I’d found being on the road so long exhausting. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It involved long drives, hotels, venues, diners—wash, rinse, repeat. Also, I didn’t like leaving Judy for lengthy periods of time. Nowadays, I didn’t tour for more than eight consecutive weeks, and I only did it once per year. Some artists didn’t tour at all these days.
I did the occasional appearance at festivals and such. In a few months, I’d be headlining a three-day-long charity concert. I intended to perform a song from my upcoming, not-yet-fully-complete album—perhaps even the very song I was presently working on. I’d already come up with a melody the night before; already had a rhythm and beat. Now I just needed to finish the song I’d started.
I played. Tinkered. Jotted down notes. Scribbled down ideas for lyrics. Tinkered some more.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed—a good few hours, at least—when my phone rang. I snatched it from the coffee table and saw that it was Judy calling.
