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“This was my favorite place as a kid. Wrote my first terrible song at ten, sitting under the globe. Still one of my favorite thinking spots.” His voice was so fond I wanted to find him every cool sculpture in America. Hell, I’d gift him the planet itself if I could. “My name is on one of those bricks on the path to the globe. Fundraiser for the park the year I was five.”
“You wanted the world.” I squeezed his hand. This wasn’t the place to risk a kiss, yet I’d never felt closer to him. “And you got it.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” His expression was oddly thoughtful as we sat there, holding hands for several long moments until he groaned. “Okay, back to the GPS. Mom will have food waiting.”
He let the GPS send us down a network of streets with golf-inspired names in a newer neighborhood of large, stately homes set farther apart from each other, high fences and manicured hedges reminding me a little of my father’s Beverly Hills place before he moved out to an estate in Malibu. But where Beverly Hills had palm trees and paparazzi staking out the celebrities, this one had massive maple trees and the sounds of lawn mowers, not garden parties.
And the door was opened by two beaming senior citizens, not a housekeeper like at my parents’ various places. Ezra had said his parents had him in their forties, so I wasn’t surprised that they both seemed cut from an ad for active retiree living. I was, however, taken aback by how ordinary they appeared. His mom had on a pink sweater set under a red-and-white striped apron, and his dad was a balding guy with glasses and a bit of paunch in a polo shirt. If it wasn’t for how Ezra was hugging them tight, I never would have believed this duo capable of raising the rock god adored by millions.
“Mom, this is Duncan. My new security chief.” Ezra made introductions easily while we stowed our shoes on low wooden shelves designed for that purpose. The way he’d accurately labeled me as his bodyguard did strange things to my insides. Security chiefs didn’t hold hands and have meaningful moments, but at the same time, boyfriends didn’t work for their partners. Fuck. This was such a mess. And I’d never wanted to be a boyfriend, never wanted to invite that kind of potential pain into my life. So why was I craving holding Ezra’s hand, wondering how different this might feel under other, more honest circumstances?
“Welcome.” Ezra’s mom ushered us into a spacious living area that could best be described as an ode to tasteful golf course living—beige walls, tan furniture, paintings of well-known landscapes, and upscale touches like a metal golf club sculpture near the front picture window.
“This is a lovely home,” I said on our way to an open kitchen and seating area featuring more shades of brown and paintings of tweedy young men on Scottish golf courses.
“It was a gift from Ezra when we decided to move back to this area.” Ezra’s parents were soft-spoken, his mother even more so, and I had to strain to hear her.
Ezra threw an easy arm around her slim shoulders. “I let her decorate though. I claim no responsibility for the sea of neutrals.”
“It’s nice.” I smiled at his mother, enjoying the homey mood of the kitchen with its scent of bacon and breakfast. “And it smells fabulous in here.”
In truth, Ezra wasn’t wrong. The house did have a rather bland mood, but it seemed to suit this quiet couple who would have seemed wildly out of place in Ezra’s glass-and-chrome rental in LA. As it was, they didn’t seem to know quite what to make of Ezra, his mom straightening his T-shirt from a prior tour and his dad hovering around them as if some exotic bird had landed in the middle of their perfectly neutral decor.
“Dear, do you want to show Duncan to the gray guest room while I put the finishing touches on brunch?” Ezra’s mom asked him.
“Absolutely.” Ezra led me back through the kitchen and up a curving staircase. The upstairs was covered in acres of cream carpeting, but a window seat area surrounded by overflowing bookshelves softened the otherwise stark decor. Ezra showed me to a room at the end of the hall, a decent-sized guest suite with an attached bathroom and a large wood bed. I placed my bag on a chair in the corner while Ezra fiddled with the door handle.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making sure this door locks.” Apparently satisfied with the door, he sauntered over to me, a certain gleam in his eye, but I held up a hand.
“We are not doing anything under your parents’ roof.”
“Technically, it’s my roof.” Ignoring my hand, he grinned and tugged me closer. And naturally, my traitorous body immediately responded to his nearness.
