Famous in a Small Town

I slipped my hand into his and gave him my most beauteous grin. “Welcome to Wildwood, Gary.”

“You had a picture of me on your cell.” The handsome idiot took a big bite of his Angus beef and blue cheese burger.

I popped another onion ring into my mouth. It was a large one, but I was determined. Mostly, I was determined to not speak. But filling the belly with comfort food is also a noble cause.

“Not going to say anything?” he asked.

I waited till I’d finished chewing. “I choose not to dignify it with a response.”

We were huddled in a booth at the back of the bar. Safe from any prying eyes. Mostly. Not that many more people had come into the bar. Emma and Harry were taking Garrett’s situation seriously. Any newcomers were fed the cover story. And anyone who looked over once too often was subjected to a long and confusing conversation from Linda. I think she was claiming Gary as some long-lost nephew. That she had neither siblings nor any other family connections to possibly provide her with same would be kept on the down low.

Claude had been keen on feeding Garrett one of his burgers. And despite being damp, Garrett had agreed to stay. Maybe he was readier to return to life than he wanted to admit. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he was just hungry. Whatever the cause, our not-date was going ahead. Conversation was being made with great care. On my part at least.

I took a sip of water. “Though I will say it’s ungentlemanly of you to keep bringing up something that happened on Margarita Night.”

“They have a Margarita Night?”

“Last Friday of the month,” I confirmed. “Things have a habit of happening.”

“Things that should never be discussed again?”

“Exactly.”

A small, amused smile curled his lips, making my heart stutter. The man was a health hazard. “What does that look mean?” he asked.

I gazed at him, thought it over, and ate another onion ring. In that order. “Since you’re already teasing me about this alleged photo . . .”

“Hmm?”

“Wouldn’t the first rule of not-dating club have to be ‘don’t be attracted to your not-date’?”

“Actually,” he said, “it would be ‘don’t talk about not-dating club.’”

“To the media, et cetera.”

“That’s right.” He downed some of his beer. “I don’t see how the photo is a problem, in all honesty. You liked the idea of me. How I looked on a particular day when someone had fucked around with my hair and chosen my clothes for me, most likely. That’s not me. It’s a commodity packaged for sale.”

I said a whole lot of nothing.

He shrugged and took another bite of the burger, juice from the creation running down his chin. With a careless hand, he wiped it away with a napkin. “What?”

“I was bedazzled by the glamor and lights, huh?”

“Basically.”

“So I’m not actually really attracted to you. Okay,” I said with some relief. “Let’s roll with that.”

The little line appeared between his brows and the furrowed forehead was back. “On the other hand, maybe I don’t mind if you are attracted to me. It’s just not that big a deal.”

“Is that so?” I narrowed my eyes on him. “This is fascinating. Let me guess: you’re so used to people being attracted to you that it doesn’t even really register with you anymore.”

He gave another of those shrugs. So much nonchalance.

“Hubris is the word of the day.”

“The music industry is every bit as driven by looks as it is talent. More so, even. It sucks, but it’s true.” A hint of a smile appeared again. “It’s why I’m lead singer and not Smith.”

I snorted. “Oh, yeah. Because he so clearly fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

The furrows in his forehead made another appearance.

“What? Am I not allowed to look at your friend in an appreciative manner?”

“Do what you like,” he mumbled, and set to finishing the last of his food with much relish.

“How’s your burger?”

“It’s great,” he said, sounding more than a little surprised.

“Claude knows his stuff.” I smiled. “You’ll be able to tell Smith that you ate out and socialized.”

“Should get him off my back for a bit.” He carefully wiped his hands. “The other thing about being attracted to someone is, for it to mean anything deeper, you have to actually know them.”

“And I don’t know you?”

A hint of a smirk curled the edge of his lips. “Not because I’m complicated or anything. Just . . . we only met. You know my music and you’ve seen my picture. But it’s not the same thing.”

“Okay.”

He raised a brow. “You agree with me?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing,” he said. “You know, I’ve probably talked more with you tonight than I’ve talked in years.”

“How does it feel?”

He paused and pondered. “Okay, actually.”

“Good. I’m glad. I like this for you. This whole bravely-going-forth-and-interacting-with-the-world thing.”