Page 4 of Love Deep
“Yeah, and her baby,” I say. “But, Rosey, you can’t say a word to anyone about her being here.”
“I know,” she says, pressing a finger to her lips.
“I don’t worship the wings,” Byron says. Rosey shoots him a look that calls bullshit. “What?” he protests. “I don’t. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy them, but I don’t love them like Fisher and Worth and… all of them.”
“No one could love them like your best friends love them.” Rosey glances around. “You think you’ll get Vivian out of the gilded cage of the Club and down here to sample small-town life including the chicken wings? She’s one of the biggest stars on the planet, but there’s nowhere like Star Falls. She should experience some of its magic.”
“So, I worship wings, but you think Star Falls is magic?” I ask Rosey.
She gives me a pitying look. “Maybe you haven’t been here long enough.”
“I’ve been here a lot. It’s beautiful. I love it. You know that.”
“Yes, but seeing it is one thing. Living it is another,” she says with a sparkle in her eye.
She looks over my shoulder, and her eyes brighten as she sees someone or something. I turn, and a woman just arrived. She’s scanning the patrons, no doubt trying to find whoever she’s meeting. She’s got wavy blonde hair and bright eyes that I can tell are blue from over here, five yards away.
Rosey catches her eye, and the woman breaks out into the biggest infectious smile that even has me grinning. She waves at Rosey, and I watch as she heads off to one of the booths on the other side of the bar.
She’s bloody beautiful.
“That’s Juniper,” Rosey says before I get a chance to ask. “She’s the artist we’ve been telling you about.”
I frown and take another bite of the wing while I try to think back to whether I remember Rosey or Byron mentioning an artist from Star Falls. I’m used to people mentioning singers they’ve seen on YouTube or guitar players they’re following on Instagram and telling me I need to check them out. Almost always, it’s immediately clear why they’re not signed to a record label. But Juniper has something about her. Star quality is such a bullshit concept. Except it’s not. You either have it or you don’t. And maybe Juniper has it.
“She a singer?”
Byron starts to make an up-and-down motion with his hands, like he’s gently flapping.
“She’s a painter,” Rosey says, clarifying Byron’s miming. “You know, the one who painted some of the pieces in the Colorado Club. In fact, one of her paintings is opposite your bed in your lodge.”
“Ohhh,” I say, everything clicking into place. “And you wanted to know if I knew of anyone who might be able to help her in New York.” I nod. I should have paid more attention. “I know a few people.”
“Shall I go and get her?” Rosey asks, half out of her seat already.
I’m not complaining. I wouldn’t mind being introduced to her.
“Sit down and let the man eat his chicken,” Byron says.
“She used to go to school with Byron,” Rosey says. “They’ve known each other since they were kids.”
I can’t decide whether I’m imagining it or whether Rosey is putting a little too much effort into our conversation. She’s usually way more relaxed than this.
“So, how’s it going with Vivian?” Byron asks, awkwardly changing the subject.
I nod, still fixated on the beauty across the bar. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s laughing with a group of friends on the other side, by the door, and they all seem as equally transfixed as I am.
“Really good,” I reply. “She seems exactly as she comes across to the public—focused on being a new mom and wife. She’s low-key and… great.”
Vivian Cross is probably the most successful singer on the planet right now. And I just signed her to my record label. She’s recording her next album up at the Colorado Club, which is why I’m here in Star Falls.
“You sound surprised,” Rosey says. “Shealwayscomes across as low-key and great when I see her interviewed.”
“I’ve been in this industry a long time,” I say. “Theimage you see on TV is usually just a fabrication of how the artist’s team wants them to come across. How they think they’ll appeal to the widest audience possible.”
I don’t know how I ended up in an industry that revolves around pretense when authenticity is what I value most. Actually, I know how—the music. I’ve loved music since I can remember, and I’ve managed to make it my work. I’m lucky.
“So, you thought America’s sweetheart, Vivian Cross, would be a total diva bitch?” Rosey asks.
