Page 15 of Crimson Desires

Dave exited the building. He opened the car door for Aster and me and escorted us into the bagel shop.

Immediately, I was greeted by a middle-aged Jewish woman behind the front counter. The woman’s name was Sue. I’d known her since I was a kid.

“Jack!” Sue beamed. “Oh, you’re getting so big! Come here, baby.”

Sue walked around the front counter and gave me a bone-crushing hug. Despite her small size, Sue was an absolute beast when it came to giving hugs.

After letting me go, she sized up Aster. Not-so-subtly, she whispered, “Who’s the pretty one?”

I smiled. “This is Aster. She’s a roadie... I mean, she’s part of Wicked Crimson’s touring crew.”

Aster held out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t be so formal. I’m Sue. I’ve known Jack since he was three.” Sue pushed Aster’s hand aside and hugged her. Aster winced as Sue’s arms tightened around her, but she was tactful enough not to complain about the constricting embrace. “You kids sit down. What would you like to eat?”

After we gave Sue our orders, she sat us at a booth in the back of the store, away from the immediate view of the windows.

Aster cracked the ghost of a grin. “Family friend?” she guessed.

“More or less.” I played with the little plastic cups of coffee creamer at our table. “My father has a lot of business meetings in New York. When I was little, he’d bring my mom and me with him so that we could explore the city. Every morning, Mom and I would come down to this bagel shop to get breakfast. Eventually, we got to know the owners: Sue and her husband, Ben. Every time I’m in New York, I try to stop by.”

“Who’s your Dad?” Aster asked.

I laughed in disbelief. “You don’t know? He’s James Maverick. He’s the CEO of Maverick Records. He owns like, half of the music industry.”

“Wow. That’s a lot,” Aster said. She bit the inside of her cheek. “My dad used to own a construction company. But that was like, five years ago. And he doesn’t own it anymore. So, not the same thing.”

Shit. Was I bragging? Did I make her insecure?

“What about your mom?” I asked.

Aster winced. Clearly, this wasn’t a fun topic for her.

“What about yours?” Aster shot my question right back at me.

I balanced the little cups of coffee creamer into a pyramid. This wasn’t my favorite topic, either. I genuinely didn’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to bring it up. “She passed away,” I said.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” Aster said, her expression relaxing.

“It’s fine. It happened a long time ago,” I said. I took a breath, putting on a smile. “Anyways, this place has the best bagels in all of New York. And I know that’s like, a really fucking bold claim to make, but I don’t care. It’s the truth.”

Aster was all too happy to follow my lead and leave all talk of parents behind. “We’ll have to see about that. I’ve had some pretty good New York bagels in my lifetime.”

“Is that so?”

“I went to school in New York. Freshman year, my roommate and I used to seek out all the best breakfast spots.”

“A college girl, huh? What did you get your degree in?” I asked.

“Well, I was going for a degree in studio art.”

“And that’s why you ended up working at a bar?”

Aster recoiled, her expression reflecting her offense. “First of all, that’s fucking rich coming from a professional singer. Secondly, I never finished my degree. Some... complicated life stuff led to me dropping out early.”

I wanted to ask her more about what had happened, but I had the feeling that she wouldn’t tell me. So, I opted to let it go.

Moments later, Sue came out with our breakfasts. Steaming plates of fluffy garlic bagels with heavy schmear, crispy bacon, and fluffy eggs were laid out in front of us—along with a small two-tiered tower filled with immaculately decorated pastries.

---