Page 12 of California Love Songs
The simple request reminded him of their carefree high-school days when time stretched endlessly before them. He grinned and was glad she couldn’t see his goofy expression.
“Nothing set in stone,” he admitted, his day growing brighter as the nostalgia crept in.
“Great. Why don’t you come over? We can hang out, catch up. Like old times,” she suggested. Then added, “Before you’re dragged back out on the road.”
Damien could picture the playful glint in her dark eyes, a look he knew all too well.
“Like old times,” he echoed. The thought of returning to those days of innocence and laughter thrilled him. He had not let himself relax in a very long time. And there was no one he would rather chill with than Crystal Lopez. Even if it made him feel weirdly nervous at the same time. “Sure, I’d love to.” Then he added, “Why don’t you come to my place? I’ve just made a huge breakfast that needs two appetites to do it justice.”
“Is everything green?” she teased.
“Not everything,” he said, glancing at the pancakes.
“I’ll be right over.”
When Damien hung up, he took the time to tidy away his music magazines and lay two places at a small table outside, his appetite returning. He cut a single pink rose and placed it in a bud vase with a clip of greenery.
An agency kept up the place when he was away, and came in a couple of times a week when he was in residence. They shopped for him according to his strict dietary specifications, cleaned, did laundry and gardening, but he’d never needed or wanted full-time staff. A security company patrolled his place regularly and, though he’d rather have done without, he’d accepted that with his fame and wealth, it only made sense that his home should be secure and gated.
He didn’t live like a slob, even though he could have. His parents had raised all their kids to clean up after themselves and pitch in with cooking and chores, and he still tried to live as normal a life as he could. As though he didn’t sell out stadiums around the world and have a string of platinum albums and a couple of Grammys to his credit.
Crystal had been here often enough that he hoped she felt at home in this sprawling villa that his dad and his brother Finn had built with a little help from him. He always felt at home here, too, no matter how long he’d been away. Especially since he’d added a recording studio on the grounds. While he waited for Crystal, Damien found himself walking along the flagstone path that led to the studio. He’d been working on something new, something totally different from the rock music he’d always played. What better way to shake off this weird nervous energy while he waited than to play music?
He opened the heavy soundproof door and immediately began to relax. The studio was spacious, with dark wooden floors and a comfortable feel, while also being state-of-the-art. His setup could rival any studio in LA and, more and more, this was where he worked.
He picked up his favorite guitar, the rare 1962 Sunburst Fender Stratocaster that always traveled with him, and began to feel his way through a new melody he’d been working on. Within seconds, he was deeply engrossed in coaxing out the new rhythms and harmony, his callused fingers moving with fluidity and precision. He fixated on the strings as if they held the secrets of the universe, and then he closed his eyes. He’d always worked hard, practicing and refining his music, and it had paid off with the career he’d dreamed of. He had dozens of hit songs at his fingertips, but this was what he liked the best: working on something new.
As the melody shifted, Damien moved from the strings of his guitar to the keys of a keyboard set up beside him. The change in instrument brought a different energy to the air, and he stopped to write down a couple of new chord sequences that sounded better.
Lost in the mechanics of songwriting, Damien had no idea how much time had passed when he suddenly felt he wasn’t alone. Fingers still hovering over the keys, he lifted his gaze and found Crystal smiling softly. In an instant, the air shifted. Recognition sparked between them like an electric current, and the gentle happiness that filled her dark eyes made his heart race.
“I buzzed myself through the gate,” she said. “I thought I’d find you here. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
He rose from the bench, the keyboard forgotten, and approached her with open arms. The hug that followed was tentative at first, but there was also a comfort, a rightness in the way their bodies aligned. As they pulled apart, an awkward silence settled—a shared awareness of something deeper than friendship simmering beneath the surface.
Crystal looked gorgeous in a pair of skinny Levi’s and a white T-shirt, her black hair hanging in a shiny sheet, silver hoops dangling from her ears. “Is this a new piece you’re working on?”
“Yeah, it’s… something different,” he admitted, the words trailing off as he glanced back at the keyboard, then at her. Damien ran his fingers through his tousled hair, suddenly at a loss for how to explain his new direction. “Just a bit of improvisation.”
“It sounded great.” Then, after a pause, “Different. I liked it.”
The sincerity in her voice grounded him. “Yeah?” he asked, suddenly feeling shy and a little protective about his new music. But before she could answer, he said, “It’s something new I’m playing with. Anyway, enough about that—everyone’s been talking about the birthday bash the other night. I even received a thank-you note from the birthday girl.” He cracked a grin. “I wonder if she has any idea how much her hubby shelled out for the event.”
Crystal laughed. “Billionaires buy the best and know it doesn’t come cheap.”
“They sure got the best when they hired you,” he told her. “I’ve been to Grammy afterparties that weren’t as well coordinated, or as much fun.”
“Thanks,” she replied, her cheeks turning pink at the praise. “But having you there is what made the party special, you know that.”
He chuckled, grateful for the shift back to their usual friendly banter. “Did I make ice sculptures that featured the birthday girl as a mermaid? Or design a menu that even the hardcore foodies are still raving about?” Damien scoffed playfully. “You nailed it. Made the front page of the Sea Shell. Written, of course, by my sister.”
“Erin definitely got the scoop, being that… and one of my oldest friends.”
“Shall we head into the house?” he asked. “I can make you a coffee.”
“You still remember how to make a cappuccino?”
He laughed. “Yes, I know my place. It’s always my job to make the coffee when I’m home. In my parents’ house as well as my own.”
