“Oh.”
“He’s a rockstar.”
“Like…” I thought for a minute. Who would she consider a rockstar? “Burl Ives?”
“No, not quite.” Her laughter was rich and ripe and made me feel like a fool with pregnancy brain.
“Or Corey Taylor?”
“Closer. He’s in Oblivion. You might have heard of them.”
“What? No.” I could’ve sworn Rhett had mumbled something about working with them when he pulled me into a dance earlier before claiming he had “calls to make” and disappearing.
Which had been convenient for me, since seeing my brother reminded me how spectacularly I’d failed with Cohen. I hadn’t been the one to decide he shouldn’t come here, but it felt like I’d screwed up by not finding the words to get him to the Cove.
Thinking about the “oh, fuck” factor of those tests in my cart was preferable to drowning my sorrows over Co in Rolos-covered Doritos.
Hmm, that was an idea.
“No, you haven’t heard of Oblivion?”
“Oh, no, I have. Of course. Everyone has. Which one is he? Hopefully, not the mouthy blond guitarist. He’s always starting shit.”
Laverne’s smile was beatific. “That’s the one.”
“Does this floor have a trap door? Maybe it could suck me down into the netherworld? If not, I know someone who could add on that feature for you.”
She positively giggled as her husband brought out a tray with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa piled with mounds of whipped cream and crushed candy canes and my croissant sandwich, neatly arranged on a bed of lettuce. I fully intended to eat that too.
A child needed a full serving of vegetables hourly, right?
Fred set down the cups with a flourish then presented my sandwich to me while I wondered if leaving him my Visa card would be tip enough.
“I have never seen anything so beautiful,” I told him sincerely. “Bless you.”
“You’re quite welcome. I hope you enjoy it.”
“Oh, I will. I’m going to enjoy it so hard this whole damn wedding party will know about it. Oh, shit. Dammit.” I stopped unfurling my napkin and cast a glance at the doorway of the general store. “I forgot my—Lucky.”
“He’s rather large to lose, dear.”
“Tell me about it. I’m the one possibly bearing his firstborn.” I wrinkled my nose. “I left my damn purse in there. I don’t have my phone.” I shot a glance at the guilty pleasures in my cart, pregnancy tests excluded. Those were testing for proof of previous other pleasures. “I don’t have any money.” I gazed forlornly at my sandwich. Parting was such sweet sorrow. “I’ll go get my purse and my—Lucky and be right back.”
Laverne pursed her lips against a smile as she lifted her gaze behind me. When it went up and up, my spine tingled.
Late again, Burns.
“Your Lucky wants you to keep this on you at all times.” He dangled my purse over my head and I snatched it with a sigh.
“I just forgot, okay? I didn’t go far, obviously. Hey, look at this sandwich.” I hoped I wasn’t drooling.
He didn’t look. Instead, he stroked his big hand over the top of my head and down my hair, and everything just…smoothed out inside me. Calmed right the fuck down as if I was a jumpy horse and he was my master.
I mean, fun game for later with those handcuffs, but not my usual scene.
“Thank you for finding her for me,” he said evenly. “She’s precious.”
Even as my neck went hot, I frowned at Laverne. “I thought you said the night clerk had a migraine.”