Page 41 of Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door
You don’t have to be so crude about it, though.
When did honest observation become crude? It was what everyone did.
True love happened in romance novels. That was why I wrote romance. But I’d never dated with the expectation that the relationship would last. And my attitude had served me well. For me, dating was something fun to do with guys I didn’t mind not seeing again if I became too busy or distracted.
Obviously, Killian was of the same persuasion, so I shouldn’t be annoyed. As a matter of fact, I was certain I wasn’t annoyed. Probably just surprised he shared my philosophy.
I’d spent enough time thinking about him. It was time I threw myself back into finishing the manuscript, to give Molly and Ryan the kind of everlasting love they deserved.
Chapter Sixteen
Killian
When I showed up the next day, Emily had the same sign on the door she’d had from yesterday. It could be that she’d just forgotten to remove it. Or she could’ve left it there for a reason.
So I walked inside silently, trying not to disturb her, since she was working on her computer. I showered quietly too, then left my shirt on the back of a dining chair and made eggs Benedict.
Emily typed away on her laptop until I was finished cooking, then joined me at the table, but something felt a bit off. She didn’t say anything except “Good morning. This looks good.” She also didn’t hold my eyes.
Not that she was overtly avoiding eye contact. She was too smooth for that. But every time our eyes met, she’d turn her head just an inch further to focus on something beyond my shoulder. It was like she’d discovered her favorite candy taped to the wall behind me.
The back of my neck bristled unpleasantly. Mir also did something similar when she was upset with me for some reason, but didn’t want to say anything because she was hoping I’d broach it first.
For some bizarre female reason, Mir thought if she broached the topic, she was giving me some kind of advantage. But I couldn’t imagine Emily was doing this for the same reason. I went over what had happened yesterday, and… Nope. Couldn’t recall anything that would elicit this kind of reaction.
I took a bite of the food, thinking while I chewed. As I swallowed, it hit me. She was embarrassed about how she’d treated me because she’d finally realized who I was. She’d probably looked me up, just like I’d looked her up after reading her book for the first time. There was tons of information about me and the band all over the Internet.
But she shouldn’t let that bug her. She’d said she didn’t listen to music, in which case she probably hadn’t heard any of Axelrod’s songs. I wouldn’t hold that against her, any more than she would begrudge me not recognizing her pen name.
“How’s the food? As tasty as it looks?” I asked, trying to start a conversation to let her know I was fine, so she should let go of whatever weirdness she was harboring.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
“Thanks.” I beamed, pleased at the compliment. And she would’ve seen my smile if she’d just glanced up. I tried not to let my frustration show. I was trying to smooth things over, which isn’t easy when the other person won’t look at you. “It’s my first time making eggs Benedict, so I didn’t know how they’d turn out.”
She looked impressed, her gaze still on the damned eggs. “First time, huh?”
“My grandmother’s recipe,” I explained, pretending I hadn’t noticed her singular determination to stare at the eggs. Did she think there was an ant or something on the yolk? “I found it in the kitchen last night while I was rummaging around trying to find some dried pepper flakes. So I knew it’d be pretty good as long as I didn’t mess up.”
“How can you mess it up when you’re following a recipe?” she asked, finally giving me a glance.
Ah ha! My “act normal” plan was working! “Because it didn’t specify exactly how much to put in. Just, you know…a pinch of this, a dash of that, an appropriate amount of blah blah blah. Which is so much like Grandma.” I sighed with affection…and longing. I missed her terribly. “So I had to wing it a little.”
“Your grandmother would be proud.” Emily gave me a small smile.
“Thanks,” I said. “She was a fantastic cook.”
She cleared her throat. “I ran into her a few times. She seemed like a really nice lady.”
“Yeah, she was. She was a hoot. I wish she were still here.”
Emily gave me the small, comforting smile that people give when they want to console someone but aren’t sure how because they didn’t know the deceased very well. As friendly as my grandma had been, Emily was too much of a hermit.
We ate in silence. Emily polished off her food, then licked her fork clean and took a sip of her coffee.
“I listened to some of your music yesterday during my break, by the way,” she said. “You sing pretty well.”
“Thanks.” I acted like I was happy with her assessment, although part of me was disappointed her reaction was so ho-hum. “Pretty well” wasn’t much of a compliment, especially when spoken in the tone Emily had just used.
