Page 96 of Once Upon a Boyband
It doesn’t matter how much I loved making music then or how much I love making it now.
I won’t make the same mistake again.
Which is why I have to makethis lifereally count.
Laney knocks on the door right on time, and she looksbeautiful.Casual, in jeans and a soft green sweater that’s loose and hanging off one shoulder.
I feel a sudden impulse tokissthat shoulder, to press my lips to the hollow right above her collarbone and breathe in the scent of her.
Fortunately, I’m not an animal lacking all self-control, so I say hello instead.
“You look amazing,” I add. “Thanks for coming.”
Ringo is at her feet, holding his sit like a very good boy, and I lean down to give him a treat.
“Did you seriously just pull a random dog treat out of your pocket?” Laney asks as she comes inside.
“Hazards of the job,” I say. “Are you hungry?”
“Hungrier now. It smells amazing.” She takes Ringo off his leash, and he runs into the living room where Goldie is lounging on her dog bed.
Laney steps close, one hand lifting to my shoulder as she leans up and kisses me, lingering just long enough for this to bemorethan a hello kiss.
“You look good too,” she says, her voice soft. “Now feed me. I’m hungry enough to eat my arm.”
Heat spreads through my chest and something like relief washes over me. I worried it would be weird tonight, that we might not find our footing after everything that’s happened.
Seeing her last night helped, but this—this gives me the hope I need.
We’re going to be okay.
And weareokay.
Dinner is easy. The short ribs turned out perfectly, the wine compliments the meal just like I hoped it would, and the yeasted angel biscuits are the best batch I’ve ever made. By the end of the meal, I’m buzzed on good conversation and good wine and a growing certainty that this is exactly what I want my life to be.
There may still be a niggling sense of doubt at the back of my mind.
But it's only a matter of time. The doubts will fade.
They did before. They will again.
“Okay. You have to tell me where you learned to cook like this,” Laney says as she helps herself to a second serving of white cheddar grits. “I’ve never thought about serving short ribs over grits, but this is unbelievable.” She cocks her head to the side. “Actually, I’ve never made short ribs. But if Ihad, this combination wouldn’t have occurred to me.”
“Mom taught me the basics,” I say as I grab another biscuit. “But I mostly learned through trial and error. When we were still living together in Knoxville, Sarah would do all the shopping, so I did all the cooking.”
“Did either of you go to college?” Laney asks.
Her question is curious, but not judgmental, so it’s easy to answer honestly. “Sarah has a marketing degree she did online. But I didn’t. At the time, it felt too risky to put myself out there in such a public way.”
She puts her fork down on top of her empty plate and slides it forward. “That must have been a weird time. Right after. What did you do to stay busy?”
“I cooked,” I say. “I taught myself how to play guitar. I worked out a lot.”
“The muscles are finally explained,” she says through a grin. “And Sarah was with you the whole time?”
“She spent three months in foster care right after Mom died, but as soon as she was eighteen, she moved in with me, and we were together until we moved here and she wanted to get her own place.”
“You were just kids,” Laney says. “I can’t imagine living on my own at eighteen. I mean, college didn’t really count for me because my parents still gave me so much support.”
