Page 30 of Hold Still

Our conversation doesn’t get any further when the dessert is placed between us. We pick up our spoons and dig in. It’s sweet and creamy, exactly the way I remember her tasting. I sit back and drop my spoon.

“Don’t you like it? I think it’s great.”

“It is.”

She swallows another spoonful. “Well, you better get your next taste before it’s all gone.” Her spoon hovers above the ramekin. I grab mine again and tap hers away and take another, large spoonful.

“Hey! Leave some for me!” She shoves my spoon to the side and plunges hers into the dessert. Within minutes, it’s gone. Enjoying her passion for it was almost erotic. She excuses herself to go to the ladies’ room and I check my phone while paying the tab. Five missed voicemails and ten texts, mostly from Ginger and Aiden. Sighing, I respond to them all, some of the joy of the day diminishing.

When she returns to her seat, I stand. “Ready?”

“Did you pay?”

“Yes. It was the least I could do after everything you did for me today. Plus, I should get home and let Bans out.” I place my hand on the small of her back—relishing her tiny shiver—and lead her out of the restaurant. She’s not immune, just protesting.

I throttle down Shirley as we pull into my driveaway. Maneuvering to the side of her Civic, I hit the kickstand and pull my helmet off. Behind me, McKenna does the same. Before she swings her leg off the bike, I swivel my head to her. “Not your first time on a motorcycle, huh?”

She runs her hand through her hair to remove the helmet-head. Without meeting my eyes, she replies, “There’s plenty you don’t know about me.” Then she hops off and extends the helmet to me.

Her answer makes me want to dig. “But you like them, right?” I take the helmet from her and hook it onto the bike.

She shrugs. “I like my Civic. Steady and reliable. Can you please hand me my purse?”

Bending over, I retrieve it. “Here you go. Do you want to come inside? I have some time before I need to get ready for the Jade.” I surprise myself with this question, but it’s too late now.

“Oh. I, uhm.” She looks at her car, then at the front door. “Sure. Thanks.”

Together we go into the house and Bans comes racing over. McKenna jumps behind me as the golden retriever jumps on my front. A smile snakes across my face—not quite the lady-sandwich I’m used to, but I like it.

I accept Bans’s kisses. “Okay, girl. I’m home. Let’s go outside.” I point toward the back patio, and she takes off like a shot.

Once the dog’s gone, McKenna appears at my side. “She’s well trained, I’ll give you that.”

I chuckle. “Hours of obedience school.” Wish others would be as amenable. “She’s really sweet and super friendly, I promise.”

McKenna gives me a sideways glance, then forces a smile. Rather, her lips move upward and some teeth show, more like a baring of teeth. “I’ll remember that.”

“Would you like something to drink?” My standard question.

“Nah, I’m good.”

With her response, we bypass both the bar and the kitchen and head to the back patio, where Bans waits patiently, a chew toy in her mouth. I go over to her in the grassy area while McKenna takes a seat. As I proceed to play with Bans, McKenna asks, “Do you have a guitar here?”

“Of course. What self-respecting rockstar would be without his instrument?” I pull on the chew toy, Bans tugging back.

“I wasn’t sure if you left everything at the Jade.”

“Nope.” I win the tug of war and throw the toy for her to fetch. “I have two here—my very first one that’s more sentimental than anything, and one I use…” For writing. Not much call for it lately.

McKenna crosses her leg, but she’s so short that her other foot dangles rather than being planted firmly on the ground. She uncrosses it and swings both feet. I’m not sure she even knows what she’s doing. I chuckle at how cute she is. Bans barks to get my attention and I play tug-of-war with her again.

“Why don’t you go get your sentimental guitar? I’ve only ever seen you with a shiny electric one onstage.”

Her question throws me so much I lose my grip and the golden retriever wins this round. She races around the pool, doing her victory lap as I struggle to respond to my guest. “I really haven’t taken it out in a while.”

She cocks her head to the right. “Where’d you get it?”

Immediately, my mind goes back thirty years. “Tío Miguel—the uncle I told you about—gave it to me when I was eight.”

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