Page 42 of Rock the Chardonnay

Declan is here? Actually here?

Not some figment of my imagination. No. Alex is with him. There’s no way I would have hallucinated him with his kid. I’ve pictured Declan by himself plenty of times over the last few weeks. Mostly shirtless because holy hell, the man is gorgeous shirtless.

Now, he wears a faded navy blue T-shirt that says be the solution, not the precipitate in chipped white letters. Damn it, he looks good. Masculine and lanky and sexy. His hair is disheveled and his cheeks scruffy, like maybe he’s been too depressed to shave.

Not unlike my legs. Why the fuck did I stop shaving my legs? It seems of the greatest importance at this exact moment.

Declan glances around nervously, but Alex rescues him. “Woohoo!” Alex stands up on his chair and starts applauding. “Go, Daughtry! Sing ‘Counterfeit’!”

That amazing kid. I startle back into myself and let the grin slide across my face. “We’ve got fans here tonight, folks! All right, we’ve gotta listen to the children, right?”

I break into “Counterfeit,” then slide seamlessly into “God of Sheep'' and “Blue Flannel.” This is so much easier than my set in Chicago. I’m vibing better with this crowd, too.

I can’t believe they’re here. No one has ever gone out of their way to reconnect with me, especially once I ghosted them. I’ve been sitting backstage, staring at my phone, trying to conjure the words to say to him, but he’s right here.

It’s thrilling and wonderful and my skin feels like it’s glowing.

Louise is standing backstage, and if she notices anything about my composure, she doesn’t say anything. Good.

Earlier today I called my mom and told her she was cut off. She was pissed—surprise, surprise— but I clearly delineated my boundaries and told her that if she wasn’t going to follow them, I wasn’t going to answer any more. I started tonight feeling like I was drowning, but now Declan is here and I’ve resurfaced.

I pretend I’m one hundred percent fine for the whole of my thirty-minute set. I pretend I haven’t felt my heart pound for the first time in weeks. I pretend the man I’ve been dreaming of, day in and day out, isn’t sitting ten feet from the stage, staring up at me. Like he missed me, too. Like he hasn’t forgotten what he said that night in the tasting room.

Like we have a second chance.

After the applause to my penultimate song, “Kitty Cat Rocks Back,” dies down, I find his gaze and hold it. I can’t see the color of his eyes with the spotlight on me, but I picture the reassuring cool cyan. This is my chance. I’m about to prove that I’m nothing at all like my mother. I choose to live a different life.

“People say love is all about chemistry,” I say into the microphone. Someone in the back of the room groans. “Hey, I would have felt the same, if I hadn’t had a good tutor in high school. I was lucky. I had Declan. He taught me everything. All about bonds and reactions and activations. Maybe love is chemistry, but I say that love is like pancakes on a cold winter’s day. This song is for Declan Foster. We met when I was eighteen, but it wasn’t the right time for us back then. It is, now. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. But falling in love with him isn’t one of them. Falling in love with Declan is…it’s like…” It feels right, correct, to say these words to him. My mom falls in lust, in need, in desperation, but never in love.

The entire club is silent, rapt. There’s a table of three women near the front, and each of them has tears glistening on their cheeks.

I swallow, the sound reverberating in the mic. “Falling in love is terrifying. I ran away from those feelings because I was scared.”

“Whew, feel that, girl!” Someone calls from the back of the club. Maybe the same person with tepid feelings toward chemistry.

The audience titters, but I still gaze at Declan and Alex. “But I’m not scared. Because I have you. I have people now. People I care about. People I want to change for, to be better for. Falling in love with Declan isn’t a destination. It’s a journey. It’s the feeling you get when you finally go back to the one place that feels like home.”

Alex punches Declan in the arm. He startles for a moment, and then he stands, hands in the pocket of his jeans. “I’m in if you are, Daughtry.” His voice is low, gruff, and it sends shivers of liquid pleasure swirling in my core.

“I have to finish my set first,” I say, the weight of my guitar heavy in my hands.

“Kiss her!” Someone else calls from the side of the club. This is joined by more and more people, all chanting “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

With sure steps, Declan leaps onstage. He looks like heaven in his punny T-shirt and those jeans that cling to his ass and thighs like they’ve been sculpted onto him.

I step into his waiting arms. He slides one hand around my waist, and the other along my jaw. Settling my face against his palm, I purr. I’m home. Finally.

Declan’s eyes are dark blue again, a shade of ultramarine and gray that promises me all sorts of naughty things. “I’ve never been onstage before,” he says.

“I’ll walk you through it.” I lean into him and kiss him, long and deep. When the audience cheers, Declan dips me into a backbend, my knee coming up to rest on his thigh.

I would have stayed there forever, but Louise clears her throat behind us. “I’m happy for you, but can you finish your set now?”

Right. Declan pops me back onto both feet. He looks as flushed and thrilled as I feel.

“We’ll be right there, little rockstar,” he says, pointing to the table where Alex sits with two glasses filled only with ice. Once again, Alex looks unimpressed.

I adore that kid.

---