Page 107 of Rumor Has It

Steve holds the elevator doors open and glances around. “The coast is clear. If you don’t mind, I’m riding back down. Monty asked me to bring him a coffee before I hit the hay.”

“No problem.”

There aren’t any corners for anyone to hide in and I can see our door from here. The smaller suite on this floor is where Vespa and the guys are staying.

Stepping out on our floor, Cassidy pulls away. Even without the awards presentation, our evening was overwhelming. We’ve never been away from Aria this long. She’s eager to check on the baby.

I tug off my suit jacket and hang it over my back by a thumb. She stretches her arm out. Our fingers interlock. I continue musing over our relationship as she guides me through the hallway, like a fantasy woman looking over her shoulder and leading me down the path to paradise.

No one will ever understand what Kylie put me through when she died. Cassidy didn’t try to pretend she did. Her initial reluctance to take me back was never not understandable to me. I lied. Or rather, I hid the truth and also hurt her feelings on New Year’s. Once I gave her the space she needed, Cassidy didn’t fix me. She accepted me. My life. And the world of problems that came along with it.

These past months, and the love we share, make it easier to shrug off the negative. No matter what anyone says, Cassidy and I are in it for the long haul.

The producers who contacted Will have a pulse on everyday America. They like Cinderella stories. But, regardless of the healing I’d done in my therapist’s office, I think I landed on my ass at Kingsbrier and it was Cassidy who picked me up and swept me off my feet.

I had to silence Will’s incoming texts. By the time we snuck out of the after-party, he’d hooked a big five editor, who placed dibs on the cookbook.

Screw that. Cassidy can retain more control and make a larger profit publishing independently. She’s got Rhiannon to photograph the food. She hasn’t touched the trust fund she inherited from her grandparents the way her cousins had, either going to college, building homes, or starting a business. And if she doesn’t want to put a dime of her own money toward it, I will finance whatever she wants. That’s how much I believe in her dreams.

I’m so freakin’ proud of her and, what I don’t think anyone will ever recognize is, I’m proud a woman like Cassidy Cavanaugh chose me. When you take away my guitar and the stage lights dim, I’m just Isaiah: an ordinary guy, who right about now thinks his little brother is smart for his age. Ezra? All he wants is normal, and that makes perfect sense.

While I have to admit to myself that I’ll never stop performing—I was disciplined early to relish the roar of the crowd and I get a thrill out of hearing them sing lyrics back to me when I hold out the mic—when you’ve been denied the ordinary, there’s something extraordinary about it.

Maybe singing to a small crowd is what I need. A few fans who I get to tuck in at night, shut off the light, and say “Daddy loves you.”

Carrying the top video collaboration trophy I share with Piper, Cassidy pauses a few paces from our suite. “You’ve been quiet since we left the gala, but you have a silly grin. What are you thinking about?”

“When this tour is over, we’re spending a few years at home. And, uh,” I clear my throat and my arm encircles her waist. My fingertips brush the soft satin. “I’d like us to adopt Aria once you agree to make it official.”

My lawyers are ready to proceed. I wasn’t ready until Aria called Cassidy momma this afternoon. I was rational when I decided I hadn’t wanted the baby to grow up thinking I was her father. Aria was supposed to exit stage left. But she hasn’t, and my gut is telling me that even if Cassidy had given me the old heave-ho in January, what I experienced over the holidays changed my mind.

I’m in it for the long haul. I can’t love her like a parent and be “Sa” any longer. Not when the baby’s version of Isaiah cripples me. I know she can make the D sound. I’ve practiced it with her. I want to hear her call me “Da” or “Da-Da”. I want to be the man she relies on for the next seventeen years and beyond.

I want to be her daddy.

“The law firm I used when she was born gathered the information at the same time the court named me her guardian. I flipped through the file they gave me when we were in Nashville. What do you think?”

Her chin lowers to my tie. She raises a palm to my shirt, protecting my heart. A self-assured smile graces her beautiful face, and it hits me in the solar plexus.

This time she’s going to agree to become my wife.

“You’d have to ask me to marry you for us to make anything official.” Cassidy turns pink, waiting for me to say, “Will you marry me?”

I’m about to reply that each time I’ve asked, even if she thought it wasn’t an actual proposal, I meant it—I have the ring—but a booming voice catches our attention.

“Stop denying it. Miss Cavanaugh isn’t her mother.”

“There’s nothing to deny. You’re off base, and you don’t belong here,” Vespa argues in a flat monotone as I unlock the door with a keycard.

I hear Monty next. “It’s late. If you want to take this up with Isaiah, come back tomorrow.”

“I’m not leaving. I’ll wait.”

“I’m sorry, man. But you’ll have to wait out in the hall. I have orders. No one can be in the suite while Isaiah and Miss Cavanaugh are out. Vespa wouldn’t have let you in if she thought you were here to conduct anything other than tour business. You said what you needed would take a minute. The minute is up.” Monty is calm, yet the intrusion has stretched his patience.

“You’re not getting rid of me.”

“And you’re not ruining Cassidy and Isaiah’s night because of your pathetic curiosity about a rumor with no merit,” Vespa’s voice pitches. Her thumb and forefinger crack together. “You’re replaceable in a snap, Dillon.”

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