Starting from Zero (Starting from 1)

* * *

Gray

My cell buzzed in my pocket the second I stepped out of Aromatique. I glanced at the caller ID and sighed.

“Seb, you’re a pain in the ass. I told you I’d call you later. What do you want?”

Seb chuckled. “What do you think I want? Did you talk to him?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He said maybe.”

Seb groaned. “Maybe? I can’t work with maybe. I need an answer. I need a song. I need—”

“Don’t you have a movie to make and other people to hassle?” I griped.

“Always, but I’d like all the loose ends tied up on this one before I head back to Toronto. Xena signed her contract. If you can get Justin to at least agree to writing the song, I’ll worry about his contract later.”

“He may be willing, but it’s not gonna happen overnight,” I replied as I turned to stare into the café.

Justin had taken his instrument out of its case again. He straddled the chair with his head bent as he strummed his guitar with his eyes closed. My fingers itched to tuck the loose strands that had fallen across his face behind his ears so I could look at him while he played. Maybe he wasn’t a skilled musician, but his soulful voice and innate charisma set him apart. I’d never heard anyone make “Sweet Caroline” sound like a hot new single. I wanted nothing more than to slip inside the café and listen to him perform for the gathering lunchtime crowd.

“Why not? Don’t tell me he wants to think about it,” Seb huffed incredulously. “Did you tell him how much he’d make? For fuck’s sake, the guy is broke. What does he have to lose?”

“I think it’s more a matter of trying figure to out what he has to gain. And by the way, I have no idea what you’re offering him or his ex, and I don’t want to know.”

“Does he know who you are?”

“He does. And he doesn’t care.”

“Bullshit. He cares. Don’t let him play you and don’t—”

“Enough. I told you I’d ask him and I did.”

Seb sighed heavily into the phone. “How much time does he need?”

“We’re getting together this Thursday to see if we’re compatible cowriters. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please do,” he said sarcastically. “Is Charlie having dinner with you tonight?”

“Charlie is twenty-four, Seb. He doesn’t check in with me about his dinner plans. Why?”

“He’s acting funny. Funnier than usual,” he amended quickly. “I wonder if he’s mad I haven’t been around as much lately and…”

I headed down the street toward my car, listening with half an ear as Seb confessed his guilt-laden fears that he was the world’s worst dad. The familiar speech sometimes made me sad, and other times it made me want to smack him upside the head. I let him talk because he seemed to need to hear his own voice. But for the first time in a while, I wondered if he was jealous or staking a claim. Maybe he brought up his son to remind me of our past. To remind me that we were connected and we always would be…on the off chance I forgot who we once were to each other. I cast one last look at Aromatique before handing the valet my ticket. Why did everything feel so damn complicated?

5

Gray

The doorbell scared the hell out of me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone actually used it. I hurried to the door and opened it with a flourish.

“Hi, there. You made it,” I said lamely.

“We said Thursday at seven, right?” Justin replied. “Is it Thursday?”

“It is. Come on in.”

He stepped into the foyer and looked up at the high ceiling before setting his guitar case down and heading for the wide bank of windows beyond the contemporary wood-and-steel staircase. He was dressed in his ubiquitous jeans and leather jacket over a plain black T-shirt. And damn, he looked and smelled amazing.

“It must be awesome to have your own pool,” he said in a dreamy voice. “Do you use it a lot?”

I met him at the window and pushed my hands into my back pockets to keep from touching him. “When the weather is warmer. I spend more time on the roof of the pool house than in the pool lately, though.”

Justin chuckled. “You’re a weirdo. We talked about writing love songs on the roof at Skybar, didn’t we?”

Gray smiled. “We did. You said, and I quote, ‘Love and romance are bullshit.’ ”

“I still believe that, so how are we gonna do this?”

“Well…I was thinking we’d hang out in the studio, play around with some melodies and see if we can get the ideas flowing. Are you hungry? I can order a pizza or something,” I offered.

“Uh, yeah. That sounds good.”

“Okay.” I pulled my cell from my pocket. “Pepperoni?”

“Sure. And onion, olives, and anchovies too.”