Page 106 of Fire
Not the time, Zara.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Great.” I laugh. “Let’s go.”
I really have no idea what he was so worried about.
Like everyone else in the world—except for my ex-husband, that is—my parents love Hendrix Creed.
My mom has been halfway infatuated with him since she caught us together in my hotel suite back in Nashville. But now? Now that infatuation has escalated into a full-blown obsession.
Even my dad likes him. His quiet appreciation of the new man in my life means everything. The way Hendrix not only respects my dad’s aloof personality but also leans into it, allowing him to initiate conversation rather than bombard him in a vain attempt to seek his approval—it’s perfect.
He’s perfect.
We are halfway through dessert, crammed into the kitchen where the small, circular dining table sits. It’s the same one that’s been here since I was a kid, and I can see the nicks and scratches from years of homework and craft projects. The entire house is like this. Worn. Loved. Full of memories.
Sometimes I dream of giving them enough money to remodel or even start fresh, but I often wonder if they would want to. This house is filled of memories—Christmas mornings, birthday parties and movie nights. It’s a bit dingy around the edges, but it’s not the sparkle that makes a home. I should know that better than most.
It’s the memories.
I blink back into reality and smile at the man next to me. Hendrix is on his second helping of my mom’s famous karydopita, a Greek walnut cake. He looks absolutely gorgeous in a pair of fitted jeans and a gray Henley. When he finishes his bite, he turns his attention to my mom and asks, “Are you two going to the concert tomorrow?”
He knows they aren’t. I told him when we secured tickets for his family. He knew how bummed I was that my mom—I’d never ask my dad to go to something so chaotic—wouldn’t be there to see me thriving. Still, I don’t say a word and wait to see where this goes.
“Oh no. I don’t think I can handle all that fuss at my age.” My mom shakes her head and takes a sip of her coffee.
“That’s too bad,” Hendrix says, setting his fork down on his empty plate. He glances up at the wall clock, and I feel it. Something is about to happen. “I know Asher will miss seeing you.”
My mom’s eyes nearly pop right out of her head. “You. He…What?” I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mom trip over her words before. Ramble? Sure. Give a heated lecture when we show up past curfew? Hell yes. But to be rendered almost speechless?
He’s going to have to teach me that trick.
Hendrix grins. “Well, he loves having Zara on tour. We all do. The whole crew adores her, and I was telling him how I was coming over for dinner today. I mentioned how big of a fan you were, and he said how much he was looking forward to meeting you.”
“Hedid?”
“Yeah, he—” The sound of a phone buzzing cuts him off, and he holds up a single finger, which in most cases would be a really douchey thing to do when you’re in the middle of dinner with your girlfriend’s parents. But when he pulls out his phone, and I see that mischievous glint in his eye, I know it was planned. “Oh, what a coincidence. Do you mind if I take this?”
My mom absently shakes her head back and forth. I think this woman has finally met her match when it comes to meddling. I glance over at my dad. His dark-brown hair has grayed over time, and his lanky frame has softened a bit, but he still has that all-American good looks that made my mom fall hard for him in college. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and a tiny smile is painted across his lips as he watches the scene unfold before him.
Hendrix swipes his thumb across the screen, and the sound of a FaceTime call connecting fills the air. “Oh, hey man,” he says, all nonchalant, like he didn’t set this whole thing up.
I guess I know why he wasn’t worried about my mom.
Not when he had freaking Asher Knight in his back pocket.
“Hey,” Asher’s familiar voice replies. “How’s it going?”
“Good. Zara and I are enjoying an amazing meal with her folks. Her mom made stifado and this amazing walnut cake. I don’t think I’ve eaten this well in years.”
My mom beams with pride. She’s not very close with her parents, so cooking is her only real tangible link to her mother’s heritage that she still clings to, and I know it means a lot to her to hear his praise.
I lean over and wave into the camera. “Hey, Asher.”
“Hey, Doc.” Instead of the casual clothes I usually see him in around the hotel, he’s in his signature rocker look that he wears on stage, except for one slight change. He’s wearing a shirt tonight, which is probably for the best.
