Page 45 of Almost Perfect
The little twinkle in her eye had me fighting a blush. “That makes it sound pretty contrived. Mostly, I’ve cooked for my family, and I like to eat well, so it works out.”
“Makes sense.”
I felt compelled to add, “Plus I have a lot of time since I scaled back at work. Trying new recipes has helped fill some of the time.”
Or, trying new recipes had kept me from slipping into an irretrievable slump. And now that I was climbing out, I had to admit that recipes had been a small step toward progress after stepping back at work, but it certainly hadn’t magically solved the problem.
We sat quietly, forks clinking against plates as we ate. I’d grown used to this during our weekday breakfasts. Calla didn’t talk nonstop, and I liked that. One particularly bad date with a woman named Anita had made me realize the value of silence between people. A lot could happen in that space, and without it, well, not much could.
Those moments between words were where the connection developed. In the quiet places, the evidence or lack thereof pointed to a future together.
I had to admit, we had plenty of chemistry between us. The time between conversation hadn’t felt awkward, even when it probably should’ve. I liked that someone known for making music, for generating sound and filling the world with her songs, could be so satisfyingly quiet.
Not that I didn’t want to hear her voice and learn more about her, but the fact that she didn’t need to dominate or talk about herself… well, it was one more thing I’d gotten wrong. I’d assumed she’d be like that, but I should’ve learned by now not to assume famous people did that. I’d known Jamie Morris all my life, and he wasn’t any more arrogant after fame than he had been before. He was just Jamie.
I wondered who knew Calla—who really knew her. I couldn’t fathom her ever beingjustCalla.
“Apparently, I’m going to lunch with a bunch of locals,” she said, that smooth, low tone pressing in like a hand to my chest.
That was the other reason the silences were helpful—when she spoke, it felt like her words licked my skin. Or maybe like I wanted to—see? This was a problem. Her voice made my brain bottom out.
“Are you?”
She nodded, a smile pulling at one side of her perfect mouth. “Warrick signed me up for some kind of ‘make new friends’ luncheon thing. He says I need to meet people if I’m staying longer.”
I blinked. “You’re staying longer?”
My heart rate ticked up.
She cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. I extended a couple weeks.”
She didn’t meet my eye, and I could’ve sworn her cheeks brightened. Did she feel embarrassed about staying? And didn’t she have life and work to return to?
Although no, she didn’t. Sure, maybe the work, but not the life. No person waited for her back in LA.
“That’s good. And that means he’s right. You should meet some people besides me and War.”
But not Aidan. Or John. I’d heard her mention she knew Julian Grenier, so it was too late there. Wilder wouldn’t be an issue. But not Chris. Or—
“I guess. I’m not sure a random lunch is right, but that’s fine. I’m not opposed to meeting new people—I’m pretty sure Warrick wouldn’t steer me wrong.” Her brow quirked like she might not be completely sure.
“That’s a fair bet. When’s the last time you didsomething new like that? Or maybe a more interesting question—when’s the last time you learned something new?”
She squinted, like she was reviewing the files that would give her the answer.
“Aside from dumping my life and responsibilities and running for the hills and learning to see the sky again?” She raised a cheeky brow, then continued. “The biggest thing was years ago, when I got my first recording deal. At that point, pretty much every experience was new, but I learned guitar and very basic drums. At first, it was the studio’s impetus because they wanted me to be the hot bad girl with the guitar or whatever. But once I got a taste, I wanted some of the überproduced sound to be mine. I never realized they wouldn’t actually let me record instruments. But I’d been naïve about everything, and I still got hammered for being an auto-tuned idiot.”
“Harsh.” She’d been barely twenty, if memory served, and hadn’t had a choice.
“But true.” Her thin smile grew soft when she continued. “I’ve always wanted to do an acoustic album with my own leads. I want to show that I’m not actually a musical screwup like everyone thinks now, nor am I only capable of hugely overproduced pop sounds like I used to do.”
“You should. That sounds awesome.” Her music wasn’t my cup of tea, but I’d listen to anything that featured her voice and less… well, just less.
“Maybe someday. And I need to say thanks. For the card.”
Her gaze held mine, and my heart sped up like thetick, tick, tickup the rise of a rollercoaster. Her thanks, her admiring the sunrise, her consistent vulnerability—each was another foot on the slope, and I could see the top looming. One glance from her and it’d tip over the edge and swoop down.
I exhaled sharply. “Of course. It’s a great store.”
