“Well, let’s get through the afternoon, make an early exit, and then you can have all the couch time you want. And pie.” Ezra waggled his eyebrows at me. He looked damn edible in a maroon slim-fitting suit with a dark tie, hair moderately tamed with product. Sunglasses and silver accessories gave him even more of the superstar vibe that always seemed to follow him. If we were going to show up on the gossip pages, at least we would look good.
“I’ll take pie.” I managed a smile for him. “Anything other than wedding cake. Caterer probably has Dad’s standing order for some dry fondant-covered monstrosity.”
“Skip the cake wreck. I already ordered a key lime pie from that bakery I discovered. It’s in your fridge. Figured you’d be in a sour state after this outing.”
Outing was the right term. We’d spent the past two weeks mainly holed up at my place, a few cautious park runs and restaurant excursions, gradually working up to this very-public date. Vague rumors were already starting to swirl, and they would surely increase after all the flashbulbs here caught us together.
“You’re too good to me.” I touched his shoulder. He’d made filling my fridge a personal mission, exploring delivery options while I was at the office, planning dinner for when I came in, and calling his mom for advice for the nights we attempted cooking experiments instead of ordering in. “You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had.”
“Seriously?” Grinning, he gave a little wiggle, clearly pleased. “Even though I leave stuff around?”
“Even though you’re messy.” I laughed, but he totally was. He’d been living out of suitcases far too long and obviously never had to follow strict navy or dorm standards for cleanliness. But I secretly loved how lived-in my place was looking—Ezra’s favorite hoodie on the couch, running clothes drying in the bathroom, boxes of snacks randomly piled on the shelves in the pantry, books and various chargers on his side of the bed. But he had a side of the bed, and that alone was enough to get me beaming at him. “I’ll keep picking up after you if you keep staying.”
Eventually, Ezra would want his own place, I was sure, but until then, I didn’t mind one bit having an untidy guest to come home to. Harley being chilly toward me was enough incentive to head out early, but knowing Ezra was waiting at my condo put a lightness in my step and a song in my heart.
“Deal.” He took my hand as we strolled toward the nearest event tent. Simply holding hands felt like a glaring spotlight after all the secrecy, but I didn’t pull away, instead enjoying his bouncy energy. “I’m having fun playing house boy. I worked on another new song yesterday while you were at the office.”
“Not bored yet without a packed calendar?” I asked cautiously. I was trying to trust in him wanting to stay, in him being there at the end of the day, not jetting off to some party or more fun friends. He did see people during the days, musician friends and LA contacts, but somehow his nights continued to be mine, and I was intensely grateful for that.
“Nope. Not bored at all.” He gave me a heated look. “I do have an awards show performance in a couple of weeks though. I could use a date.”
“Guess I’ll owe you after this.” I shrugged, but he stopped short as we entered the tent and frowned at me.
“I’d rather you come because you want to than payback.”
Want was a strong word, but I knew what he meant. I’d seen enough relationships implode from endless arguments over who had done what and who owed whom a favor. Ezra deserved a date who was happy to be by his side.
“I’d love to cheer you on. I love seeing you perform. You know that.” I let my pride over his accomplishments filter into my tone. “I’ll go. Maybe the press will be tired of us by then.”
“Hopefully. Photos from today will likely perk the gossips up though.” Ezra gestured at the rather prominent media presence, several clumps of blue polo-shirted assistants for the country’s biggest celebrity magazine. The publication had been crowing about landing the exclusive all week and had supplied enough photographers, reporters, and videographers for a coronation. I had no doubt Ezra and I would feature prominently in the pictures of the event. We were news, like it or not, and news sold.
I harrumphed. “Leave it to Dad to sell the photos from his wedding, like he needs the cash.”
“Perhaps a planned thing is preferable to people scaling the hedges and ignoring security.” Ezra’s pragmatic tone said he’d been listening to enough of my conversations with Harley and others about event security for this thing. Like I’d told Ezra, a job was a job, and if my dad wanted to hire us, we were for damn sure going to do it right.