Page 28 of Rockstar Baby
“Before you consider trying to steal my wife from me, be advised that’s one of the few things she makes well. Most of her meals come charbroiled—and not on purpose.”
“I heard that,” Maggie called from the kitchen, making us both laugh. “Remember that when you tell me you want an early bedtime.”
“Who needs a bed?”
I would’ve responded in kind if I hadn’t already resumed eating—well, dunking now. Whether they counted as one of her few dishes or not, these scones were a gift from God.
“Maggie, you’re a goddess behind a stove,” I called.
Kellan snorted. “He wants more scones.”
I did not confirm nor deny, but I was quite pleased when Maggie brought in another plate of them after we’d sat at the console.
“Thank you, love. Much appreciated.”
“Look at the manners on this one. You could learn a thing or seventeen, Kel.”
“You adore me for my rough exterior.”
“You mean despite it.” She flounced out.
“It’s embarrassing how she fawns over me.” Kellan rummaged through a drawer for a pad and pencil, then set his latest model iPhone on a stand. Lyrics scrolled by on the screen. At least he’d come to play ball.
Me? I’d come to eat. Obviously.
“So, this is just a project to keep you busy while you’re away from the band.”
“No.”
“Then?”
I expected sarcasm in return but he dipped back his head. “Guess I want to see who I am outside of the group. If I still have anything worthwhile to say.”
Sadly, I took a bolstering sip of the rich brew and set aside the remaining scones. Then I took out my phone and found my recording app. “So, let’s see what we have.”
We put in a couple of hours—with Kellan on his guitar and some lyrics he’d been working on, and me at the board experimenting with different sounds and elements to complement what he’d come up with. We’d finally started getting somewhere when Maggie appeared in the doorway in her coat and scarf with her surprisingly quiet son in her arms. His cheeks were bright red. Unnaturally so.
“I have to take him to urgent care. He’s so hot, Kel.” The baby leaned his head on his mother’s shoulder. He looked so miserable that even my chest squeezed.
Kellan was on his feet in an instant. “I’m coming too.”
“No, no, you have work—”
“Work can wait.” Kellan set down his guitar and glanced at me. “I’m sorry, man. I know you came all this way and how in demand you are, but I have to be with my son and my wife.” He blew out a breath. “We were really sounding good though, and you actually gave me some ideas for where to go with this song. If you can’t extend your trip, I understand. And I appreciate all you’ve done for me so far.” He stuck out his hand.
I stared at it, shaking my head as I rose. “You must take me for a real tosser.”
Kellan drew back his hand. “Say what?”
“Your son is sick. Your woman needs you. All of this,” I gestured at the sweet mixing board I hadn’t gotten nearly enough time to play with, “can wait.”
“You’ll extend your trip?”
“I can’t do that.” Although it troubled me how much a part of me desperately wanted to. And probably not because of Kellan.
Maybe I was a tosser.
“Oh.” Kellan tried to keep his face expressionless, but he didn’t quite achieve it. “Understandable. You’re in hot demand.”
