Page 100 of Rumor Has It

“Choose both. I don’t care.” He sets his mug on the table and wraps his arms around me. “I have enough money for two houses, though I think you know what you want better than anyone I’ve met, and put pressure on yourself because you don’t want to disappoint yourself or anyone else.”

“Is that a criticism or a vote of confidence? I can’t tell.”

“Cass, how did you feel when the roadies went wild for your signature muffins?”

Isaiah knows how good it felt. I wasn’t the girlfriend tagging along for the ride who happened to know her way around the kitchen. I proved I was a legitimate chef.

Ever since, my grocery delivery orders are through the roof. I’ve been baking up a small-batch storm. The talent manager at one arena got me access to their specialty catering area and commercial kitchen. It was like working at the banquet hall. I had everything I needed to cook brunch for seventy people. Monty and Steve donned pot holders alongside the drivers and electricians who served. Vespa enforced the seating arrangements because, of course she did. Isaiah sat in a corner and let Aria bounce on his lap, teaching her to blow me kisses.

“We’re in this together, chou. I’ll support whatever you want to do on one condition; I’m not touring without my personal chef ever again.”

“So, I’m free as a bird until your stomach gets the better of you?”

“Something like that. But we’ve got everything we need to make going on the road easy, like a family vacation. And I won’t leave you home next time with the kids.”

“Kids? We have one kid, remember?”

“I’m marrying you and we’re making more… Remember?” He winks.

Since Nashville, Isaiah daydreams a lot. He gets ahead of himself, talking about new houses and how many bedrooms we’ll need. He has an overkill swing set saved on his cell. That’s not all. Visiting at Gatlin’s, he saw the custom play fort Cadence built for Chesney. Apparently, Aria needs one, too.

Meanwhile, I’m focused on Aria’s first birthday next week. We still have the outdoor summer concerts and the last leg of the tour to finish. For as much as the idea of marrying him excites me, he hasn’t asked. So, I keep my feet rooted in reality, my thoughts in the present, and enjoy what we have.

?????

Vespa is a magician, coordinating the buffet lunch Isaiah requested without reappearing. When he returns from the theater, Aria and I are outside in our swimsuits, entertaining Gatlin, Bellamy, and Rhiannon, who tagged along as my uncle’s plus one.

Jake declined his invitation to the CMN awards show and, as a music industry wife, my Aunt Daveigh has a limit to the hob-nobbing that she can take. Oftentimes, she’s sent her sons in her stead, or Gatlin, when he was a young boy.

Uncle Cris gives me a big hug from my mama and daddy when he stops in to eat. He has a meeting scheduled this afternoon with a producer.

We indulge in a selection of vegan and steak burgers along with spicy barbecued pulled pork sandwiches topped with juicy dill pickles and Palmetto cheese. The sides include fresh fruit, shoe-string fries, and coleslaw—which Steve and Monty assure me doesn’t hold a candle to mine. Glad for the vote of confidence on today of all days, I accept the compliment and file their fondness for it in my mental recipe box.

“C’mere.” Standing in hip-deep water, holding Aria, Isaiah beckons me.

I sit on the coping and dip my legs in the four-foot deep, glass-encased pool. It’s surrounded by potted palms and overlooks the skyline.

“What’s up?” I ask, handing Aria another French fry to munch on.

This girl and her affinity for potatoes. I should make her a mashed potato smash cake for her first birthday instead of the one I’ve got planned.

“Write a cookbook. Put the coleslaw recipe in it.”

“What? No. That’s Benita’s recipe.” Using her ideas feels wrong.

“You can do this, chou. What’s more, you want to do it. You wouldn’t spend so much time fussing over those note cards if you didn’t have an idea for what to do with them when you’re done.”

I roll my lips. He’s right. I have ideas. A lot of them. But finding a direction to go in is daunting. I wasn’t talented enough, old enough, or experienced enough, to run the banquet hall. Having that goal taken away, when I was so close to making it a reality, holds me back. It’s not like I don’t eat the food I prepare. I have culinary skills. I want to believe in myself. But small is my default. Small ensures I’m not disappointed until I have faith in myself to take the next step and the discouragement of others won’t affect me the way it used to.

“Oops, the baby dropped a fry in the pool.” Dillon interrupts my thoughts. “The plate is empty. Let me get her a refill.”

“Thank you,” Isaiah and I say in unison.

Isaiah plucks the soggy shoestring out of the water and places it on the edge. Aria fusses, tracking Dillon at the long table where he’s scooping fries onto the plate. She settles as he meanders back beside me, bending at the knees and offering her more. She happily accepts the single one he offers, plunging it into her mouth and gnawing. It disappears, and she immediately holds her chubby hand out for another.

Dillon obliges.

As the three of us chuckle at her appetite, Aria rests her head on Isaiah’s chest, snuggling in. Isaiah and I want her tuckered out for when we leave, so she doesn’t give Monty any trouble.

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