Page 13 of California Love Songs
Together, they walked back to the main house and Damien took his position at the fancy barista machine Howie had installed in his kitchen. When the milk was perfectly frothed, he handed Crystal the cappuccino and made himself a green tea. They took a seat at the table outside, where the fruit salad was waiting. Now he felt the pink rose was a cheesy gesture, and hoped Crys would imagine his staff had placed it there.
Without asking, he served her a generous portion of fruit salad and then went to warm up the pancakes.
Crystal sipped her coffee slowly, looking as though she was really savoring its taste as her dark eyelashes fluttered across her cheeks. He smiled to himself, glad he hadn’t lost his touch. And then her fingers traced the rim of the cup and something tugged deep inside him. For a crazy moment, he imagined those fingers tracing his lips. How would it feel for her to touch him that way? He shivered.
After he brought over the plate of warmed pancakes and slid a couple onto her plate, he put a jug of pure maple syrup on the table.
She laughed. “You did not buy that for yourself,” she said, pouring a generous portion over her stack.
He’d ordered a few things she liked, but she didn’t have to know that. He told her he kept some unhealthy things in the kitchen for his family, which was also true.
After she’d munched pancakes, swallowed, and told him how good they were, she said, “So I guess you’ll be hitting the road again soon?”
He chewed his own pancake, minus the syrup, and felt the faintest furrow creasing his brow. Hadn’t he told her at the party that he was thinking of spending more time in Carmel-by-the-Sea? Did she want him to go back on the road? “Actually, I’ve decided I will be staying for a while,” he reminded her, keeping his tone even, as if discussing the weather rather than altering the course of his life.
Crystal’s eyes sparkled even more than usual. He was certain that meant she was happy to hear his news. “Really? Staying?”
The word hung between them.
“Yeah.” He set down his cup, seriousness overtaking his previously light demeanour. “There’s something about being here, now, that feels… right.”
She cocked her head. “Even with your love for touring? For the thrill of the stage and creating hit albums?”
Her words were an echo of his past declarations, a reminder of the life he’d lived and loved for the past fifteen years. The life he had loved for so long. The life he had lived without her.
“Those things will always be a part of me,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving hers. “But I need a break. Maybe a change.”
He watched Crystal absorb his words. She looked surprised but excited. And in turn, this made him feel excited too. It had been so strange to consider giving up his life on the road. For so long he had lived for the roar of the crowd and the adrenaline of performance. And yet, here he was, contemplating a quiet life in the very place where he’d been raised. A place that had cultivated the deep friendship between him and Crystal. Could it be that she wanted him to stay?
He searched her eyes for answers, realizing that whatever came next, they were standing on the precipice of something entirely new.
After a moment, she said, “It will be fantastic having you around more. Your mom and dad will be thrilled. Maybe even your siblings.”
He laughed. “Maybe. You know, I always wished you’d come on tour with me at least once. Having you there would’ve made those endless roads feel more like home.”
He thought back to when he’d asked her to run his tour team and she had turned him down. At the time, he hadn’t been able to understand it. He’d offered her the chance to travel the world with one of her closest friends. She’d have made great money, seen the world, met people with influence. But she’d refused.
“I wanted to be there too,” she admitted. “But my family needed me. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if I could handle the chaos of your world. I’m more of a homebody, I guess.”
She said the words lightly—my family needed me—but no one knew better than Damien how much she’d had to give up when her father left their family. She’d been one of the brightest students in her class—the whole school, probably. She’d dreamed of being a doctor for as long as he’d dreamed of music. And she’d given it all up to help her mom, to go out to work to help support the family, help raise her younger siblings. He admired the hell out of her, but he also sometimes wondered why she hadn’t joined him on tour, why she hadn’t taken the easy money—money that would have been enough to support several families. Why, instead, she’d gone into event management.
But when she admitted to being a homebody, he understood in a way he never had in the past. Now that home was calling to him, he could see why Crystal might have wanted the comfort of home rather than nights of packed stadiums and revolving hotels. Sometimes even losing track of what damned country they were in.
“Understood,” he said, nodding. “Sometimes I think I can’t handle it anymore either.” He thought for a second, choosing his words. “Touring has taken its toll on me, Crystal. The constant motion, the never-ending cycle of cities and stages—the screaming fans, the interviews, the lack of privacy. It’s exhausting.” His dark eyes locked on hers. “I don’t mean to complain, because I’ve been so lucky to have this amazing career, but I’m tired.”
“Sounds like you’re burned out,” she said, her tone sympathetic yet firm. She reached across the table, her hand hovering over his for a heartbeat before retreating. “It’s okay to admit that, Damien. It doesn’t make you any less of an artist.”
“Actually, there’s something else,” he began, hearing how his voice changed, how it carried a new weight and the excitement he couldn’t ignore.
She raised one dark eyebrow.
Should he tell her? But somehow she seemed like the one person he really wanted to know about his new interest. “I haven’t told anyone about this, and I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself for now, but… jazz,” he said at last. “I’ve been playing around with some jazz rhythms. There’s this pull, you know, toward the sound. It’s hard to explain.” He suddenly felt foolish. Now that he’d said it out loud, the idea of a rock star transitioning to jazz sounded crazy.
“Jazz, huh?” she mused, her tone devoid of judgment. “It suits you—unexpected and complex.”
“You think so? Because it feels like jumping without knowing if there’s a net.”
“Isn’t that what jazz is all about? Improvisation, taking risks?” Crystal encouraged him as she always had. “You’ve always pushed the boundaries with your music, Damien. Why should this be any different?”
