“I want all the details later,” Ella called out with glee before heading out of the room.
* * *
Grey sat in his apartment, surrounded by warm cream-colored walls and soft brown and taupe furniture Rep had left behind. They had similar taste, and the place already felt like home, giving Grey the comfort and sense of peace he’d missed while being on the road. His gut told him the other part of home lay in reconnecting with Avery.
He’d begun the process through the end of Tangled Royal’s tour, sending her a steady stream of gifts corresponding to the things she mentioned on her blog, smartly named Avery’s Attitude. He wished he could take credit fo
r being so creatively brilliant, but it had been Lola’s idea, as a way to get back into Avery’s good graces.
The first gift and card he’d sent had contained his private cell, and he’d asked her to text him. She had. Which had started a stilted and hesitant back-and-forth dialogue between them. Lola had been right, the gifts were a good opening gambit, and he’d kept them up … until Milo had OD’d, and everything in the band’s life had screeched to a halt as they’d tried to help their friend.
The early days of rehab hadn’t been easy. Milo had threatened to leave more than once, Lola had cried, Grey had begged and done everything short of taking his best friend’s place himself to get him to stick it out. By then the band had fulfilled their concert commitments as well as announced that they were breaking up.
The timing made sense. Lola had cemented her relationship with Rep and decided to buy a place on secluded, private Star Island. Grey, in turn, had put in motion the process of buying out both Lola’s and Rep’s condo leases downtown. The board had finally approved his application, speeding things up because of his interest in the two apartments on the same floor. Lola’s side he intended to turn into a sound-proof studio.
All of which had occupied his time. Not to the exclusion of Avery. She’d never been far from his mind, but everything he did had been methodically planned out. He wanted to be settled before approaching her again. If they had any chance of seeing what could be in the future, she had to believe the life he desired now wasn’t the one he’d left her for once before. Or the one she’d seen backstage.
He picked up his cell, dialed her number, and listened as it rang and rang. All the while, he hoped he hadn’t blown his second chance with her before it ever began.
He prepared himself to leave a message on voice mail when suddenly she picked up. Relief swamped him, and Avery’s soft, dulcet tones settled something deep in his bones. “Hey, sugar,” he said, suddenly nervous about what to say.
“Grey, this is a surprise.” She sounded distant. Cool.
“I told you I’d call when I got to town.”
But she obviously hadn’t believed him, and now he knew just how much of an uphill road he had ahead of him. Good thing he wasn’t afraid of working for what he wanted.
She cleared her throat. “So when did you get back?”
He bent his knee and settled into the sofa. “I’ve been back for a little over a week. I wanted …” He trailed off, at a loss. Fuck. “I’d rather fill you in in person.”
She hesitated and then, “I’m really not sure it’s a good idea.”
He glanced heavenward, praying for opportunity. Something he could work with. “Give me a chance to just talk to you. If, after that, you don’t even want to be friends, I’ll back off.” He was lying through his teeth, but that was okay.
All he wanted, needed was for them to spend time together and both experience their old chemistry. He trusted in their long-ago connection. Thinking of her had gotten him through many lonely times. He refused to believe that bond was gone. He wanted to feel it again and needed for her to see that what they’d shared as teenagers could be even more solid as adults.
The silence on the other end of the phone nearly killed him, but he let it go on. Though it wasn’t his nature to let life dictate to him, he sensed she needed the illusion of control. He’d start by not pressuring her.
“Okay, we can get together,” she finally agreed.
He released a long breath. “I already made a reservation at Tino’s,” he said, knowing she’d recognize the restaurant. “Saturday night if you’re free.”
“Pretty sure of yourself,” she muttered.
“Pretty hopeful,” he corrected her. “Can you make it?”
She hesitated before answering. “Yes.”
He refrained from pumping his fist in the air.
“What time?” she asked.
“Eight.”
“That works. I’ll meet you there,” she said in an obvious attempt to keep things short and distant.
That wouldn’t work for him. “I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”