Famous in a Small Town

He blinked. “I did?”

“Yeah.”

Nothing from him.

“It’s not a big deal,” I added. “It’s probably something you do with various females occasionally without thinking, right?”

The first sign that something was wrong was the little line appearing between his brows. Like there might be a problem here, but he wasn’t quite sure. This, however, was soon followed by an expression of shock. And holy heck, hadn’t we just been through all of this recently?

“A friendly thing, yeah?” I took a deep breath, flipped my hair back, and forged ahead. “I thought as much. I just hadn’t realized you did that and it caught me by surprise. But no big deal. We should go inside and get some ice on your hand. That would be the smart thing to do.”

The man didn’t move a muscle, and the look in his eyes could best be described as existential dread. As if he’d put his soul to the test and it had come back wanting. Not good.

“Garrett? It’s okay. Really.”

Shoulders slumped, he stared at some point past my shoulder. Gazing into his past, most likely. He was gone beyond where I could reach him, and it hurt. I should have kept my mouth shut. Ignored the endearment. But no. Because I was an idiot.

My eyes were itching and it was time to go. “I’m going to go inside and give you a minute.”

For someone who said she didn’t want to be in a relationship, I sure had a bad habit of getting myself into fixes with this man.

“I don’t call other women ‘babe,’” he said.

I stopped and turned on the first step. “Oh.”

“It’s not a nickname I give friends.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his thick throat. “And I didn’t call Grace that, either. I wasn’t mistaking you for her, so don’t think that.”

Then he looked at me, and I looked at him, and ugh. This situation. The amount of things between us. Both real and imagined and everything in between. But if one of us was going to make a move, it had to be him. Because he’d called kissing me a mistake, and I wasn’t wearing the blame if it happened again.

At long last, he took a step forward, then another and another. The last one delivered him to the bottom of the stairs, standing right in front of me. But still the inches felt like miles. We were the same height this way. I could look him straight in the eyes and see it all. While a hint of fear lingered, there were other emotions too. Things like lust and longing. And those I understood all too well.

I licked my lips. “Are you going to say something?”

“No, babe,” he said, and leaned in and kissed me.

Garrett opened the door to his house at eight o’clock the following night. He had offered to walk me over, but I could cover the distance from my house to my neighbor’s on my own in the dark. And Gene was out in the yard following the fence line, giving me doggy smiles the whole way. It was fine. The idea of actually going on a date with the rock star, however, was messing with my head.

He was wearing black jeans and a matching tee. No shoes. Honest to God, the man was giving me a foot fetish. And who didn’t prefer to be barefoot at home? Half of his dark hair was tied back in a man bun and the overall look was just one of casual, comfortable yum. The black eye he was sporting gave him an interesting edge of rough.

Meanwhile, I was wearing a strapless embroidered midi dress in pale blue with beige sandals and matching clutch, with my hair up in a crown of braids. Cézanne and I had discussed it all at great length this morning and it had seemed a fun outfit at the time. A little bit romantic and fancy, but fun. In comparison to him, however, it just seemed extreme.

And then there was the way his eyes went wide at the sight of me.

“I’m overdressed,” I said, taking a step back. “This is just a casual thing and I . . . Let me go change real quick. I’ll put on some jeans and be right back.”

“Please don’t.”

I hesitated.

“You look beautiful. I’ve never seen you in a dress before.” His smile was small, but very much present. “Stay. You’re fine. Fuck. You’re much more than fine.”

And still I hesitated. Dating was even more nerve-wracking than I remembered.

He held out his hand to me and I took it, and yeah. Okay. Much better. I don’t think we’d ever held hands properly before. But the warmth of his skin and the way his fingers wrapped me up made everything perfect. Maybe we could do this after all.

“Come on,” he said, leading the way.