STONED (Wrecked Book 1) (11 page)

It’s been a month since Joaquin showed up at school. He left a message at the studio for me that he has a mini European tour, fifteen shows in twenty days. I don’t miss that craziness. Why he felt the need to inform me of his whereabouts is beyond me. Persistent bastard. So I’m more than surprised when he walks into the Dirty Bird that night as I’m packing up my guitar after my set. He has on a beanie and glasses. I almost don’t recognize him, which I’m sure is the point. He sees me and waves, pointing at the bar. I nod and gather my stuff. The butterflies in my stomach at just the sight of him throwing me off balance. When I make it to the bar a couple minutes later after stopping to chat with a few people, I see that he’s saved me a seat.

“Great set, Willow,” Bear says, taking my case over the bar to stash it while I sit.

“I didn’t realize you played here regularly. I would have come to see you.” Joaquin leans in and kisses both of my cheeks, leaving me a little breathless at his proximity. In so many ways, Bear has been the only man I’ve let close to me. That Joaquin does things to put himself in my personal space so naturally has those damn butterflies taking flight again. “Hi,
chèrie
. Did you miss me?” His teeth are a perfect flash of white against his dark beard.

“Oh, were you gone?” I feign surprise, trying to hide my smile.

Joaquin laughs at my attempt. “You’re a shit liar, Willow.”

“I always have been,” I confess. “What are you doing back in town?”

“I was going to have a pint, but now I’m taking you for coffee. It’s too loud in here tonight to talk,” he informs me nonchalantly.

“I can’t. I have to go and get Lyric from Cora’s place,” I tell him, a hint of disappointment in my words.

“We can take her with. It’s still a respectable time to have a bébé out, isn’t it?” Pushing his sweater back, he looks at his wrist, wincing. “Okay, maybe not.”

It’s then that Bear speaks up. “Cora called while you were on. Perry’s at your house with Lyric. She can’t stay at her place, something about a dishwasher leaking and dumb ass contractors not knowing shit.” He shrugs. “She popped by the house to get the keys from Cora and took Lyric home.” I cock my head to the side trying to figure out if he’s full of shit or not. It’s not unheard of. It just seems too convenient.

“You’re sure?” I ask even as I’m taking out my phone to call. I don’t have to though—there are three texts from Perry and one from Cora, all saying the same thing Bear just did, only a little more colorfully.

“Yup. I’m sure,” Bear says as he moves down the bar to the guy waving his glass.

“Perfect. Come have coffee with me. It’s not dinner, just some coffee, and you can tell me how your classes went this week, and I can tell you how awesome Amsterdam was.” Smiling hopefully, he knows he has me when Bear yells from down the bar.

“Go, Willow. Have a cup of coffee with the man, for fuck’s sake.” Flipping him the bird, I turn to Joaquin.

“Okay, but not for long. I haven’t seen Lyric all day because of a problem at the school.”

Standing and holding out my jacket for me to slip on, he agrees. “I have a hot date later anyway, so I can’t be out long.” I whip my head over my shoulder to look at him, mouth agape. “I’m kidding,
chèrie
. You were jealous though, weren’t you?”

I roll my eyes. “Hardly, Frenchie,” I lie. I have no right to be, but I can’t ignore the little ping I felt. Jealousy is a feeling I know all too well after years with Stone and not something I like about myself. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way.” With a sweeping gesture he motions for me toward the door.

“There’s a little place called Spun a couple blocks from here. It’s coffee and pastries, books and yarn. Cute, little place, open 24/7. Do you mind walking?”

“No, not at all. Did you say yarn?” he asks as he strolls along beside me.

“Yes. That’s the reason for the name too. Spun sugar for the pastry and sweets. Spun tales for the books. And spun yarn for obvious reasons.” I shrug. “They have a room off the back of the shop that is nothing but wall to wall yarn and big comfy chairs. They have classes and everything.”

“Have you taken one?”

“I have. I was terrible at it. I signed up for this beginner’s class, I was pregnant with Lyric, and I thought how awesome it would be to be able to knit stuff for her. You know, baby blankets and little scarves and hats.” I smile over at him. “I sucked. I couldn’t make a single thing and then I swore that because of that I was going to be a terrible mother. It was awful.” I’m laughing now at the memory. “They felt so bad for me that everyone in the class made me something for Lyric, which only made me feel worse since they could all do it. Although it’s true that some of them didn’t do it well, they still did it.” Joaquin is chuckling softly as he listens to me, and it’s . . . nice.

I indicate that we have to cross and suck in a little breath when he places his hand at the small of my back to guide me across the street. “So you’re a terrible knitter. Can you cook?” he asks, opening the door for me.

“I can as a matter of fact,” I inform him. Nodding in approval he follows me to the counter. I’m here quite often and they know me by name now. Also knowing that I drink tea, their special house blend, and that I like to prepare it myself.

“Hey, Willow. Haven’t seen you in a few days. How’s that beautiful baby of yours?” Kim, one of the owners, asks.

“She’s good thanks, getting so big.” We chat for a moment and then I place my order, looking over at Joaquin who, no surprise, orders a café au lait and a chocolate croissant. He hands Kim the cash and looks over at me and I roll my eyes.

“What? Did you want to pay for your own?”

“No. You can pay. I was rolling my eyes at how French you are.”

“How French I am?” His brows are drawn in confusion.

“Café au lait and a croissant?”

“Oh, come on! Who doesn’t like a chocolate croissant?”

“He has a point there. Plus, mine are killer,” Kim says as she prepares our order. I watch as she puts the silver kettle and everything I’ll need to make my tea on a tray with the biscotti before turning back to Joaquin.

“They are really good, but you’re still really French,” I tell him.

“
Oui
, I am.” Flashing me that charming smile of his, he takes our tray and walks over to a table in the corner, right in front of the window so that you can see all of King Street.

“Aren’t you worried about someone recognizing you by the window?” I whisper.

“No. Are you?” I am. Not that they would recognize me if I weren’t sitting with him and truth be told, Canada is so much more laidback when it comes to celebrities. The paparazzi aren’t like rabid dogs here. He must notice my hesitation, however slight, because he redirects us to a booth in the back that is almost completely hidden from the rest of the customers. And the windows.

“Thank you, Joaquin.”

“You’re welcome,
chèrie
.” We don’t discuss it further. He just sets our tray down and helps me with my coat before removing his own and sitting.

“So how was the tour?” I ask, as I make my cup of tea. It’s odd to ask someone that question after so long of living on tour myself. I never thought I would find myself in a position to discuss such things with anyone again. Especially after completely removing myself from that part of my life.

“It was fantastic. Exhausting of course. There’s so much travel time involved, as you know.” He takes a sip of his coffee and goes on. “We have a new tour manager and breaking her in has been some work, but she really has a ton of potential and some fantastic ideas on how to keep the show fresh.” You can hear the passion in his voice when he talks about what he does, and it makes me smile. “I’m a one-man show. I don’t have a band, so I have to find ways to be entertaining when it’s just me and my guitar up there.”

“Oh yes. Because you singing is not entertainment,” I joke.

Laughing at my teasing, “No, no. It is but you know what I mean. Even I get bored with just standing there. Corinne has some ideas for the next tour that I’m eager to try out. That’s all.”

“It always helps to get a fresh set of eyes. Someone innovative who thinks outside the box. Especially in this industry,” I correct myself, “Your industry. Music.”

With a fork he cuts off a piece of the gooey croissant and pops it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a second. “Do you miss it?” he asks when he’s finished chewing. “I remember you toured with them for a long time. I’ve met him.” I notice that he doesn’t say Stone’s name. “But never had the pleasure of meeting you. Nice guy. Moody. Brilliant at what he does though.” His description of Stone is spot on. He is all of those things. And more. “So. Do you miss it?” I can hear the underlying question. Do you miss
him?
is what he’s really asking. So I answer honestly.

“Some days I miss it very much. Other days you couldn’t pay me enough to go live that life again. The constant traveling. The strange cities, cramped tour bus with five guys.” Even though the tour bus turned into a plane before too long. I shake my head. “I miss the music. After a while I lost that and that’s when it stopped being fun for me.”

“Is that why you left? Because it wasn’t fun anymore?” His tone is gentle, inquisitive but not prying.

“I left because things changed. People changed and I got hurt. Badly.” I take a sip from my mug.

“And the bébé, Lyric?” he asks, again not in an intrusive way. And again, I answer honestly.

“Lyric is mine,” I say in a soft, firm voice which leaves no room for argument.

“Fair enough.” Tilting his cup in my direction he takes a drink.

“How long are you in town for? Do you have to get back to Quebec soon?” Dipping my biscotti in my tea, I glance up at him as I take a bite.

“No. Not yet. I’m staying here for a while. I have an apartment over in The Beaches.”

“I live in The Beaches,” I interrupt excitedly, though I’m not sure why. He smiles and goes on.

“And there’s this woman I’m trying to get to know who lives in the area so I thought I’d stick around.” Winking at me he forks off another bite of croissant. He’s flirting with me and I don’t hate it. In fact, I like it and find myself flirting back without hesitation.

“Is that right? Anyone I know? Maybe I can put in a good word for you.”

“Maybe you do. She’s about your height, gorgeous, like you are. Sings like a damn angel and has the most beautiful daughter. Stubborn as hell though.” Grinning he adds, “It will be fun getting her to come around. I’m up for the challenge.”

“Is that right? Is that all she is to you, a challenge? So once you get her to come around, then what?” I question. Almost afraid of his answer.

“Then I treat her like a woman should be treated. Show her that she doesn’t have to hide from the world because she’s more than her past and anyone in it.” Softly spoken words, accented and full of promise.

“Is that right?” Barely a whisper, gone is my bravado and sass. How is it that this man, this stranger, already knows me so well?

“
Oui
.” One word said with total confidence and conviction. And just like that I realize how much trouble I’m in. Fighting him, this smooth, French-speaking and determined man, is going to be harder than I ever imagined.

Willow

WITH LYRIC’S HEAVY CAR SEAT
in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, I use my elbow to ring the doorbell a couple times. It doesn’t take but a minute before it’s swinging open and Cora is reaching for the baby.

“Why didn’t you call from the driveway? We would’ve come out to help,” she scolds.

“It’s not a big deal, she’s just getting heavier.” Placing the sack on the kitchen counter, I peel off my coat and wait for Cora to get Lyric’s off before going to hang them in the front hall closet.

“Where’s Bear?” I call as I make my way back.

“He had to go to the Bird for a minute. There was a problem at the studio. He’ll be back soon.” She coos at Lyric, talking crazy to her, making the baby laugh with glee. “Why don’t you tell me about Joaquin? Bear said you left to have coffee with him last week and that he’s been by the bar a few times since then.” Cora peers around Lyric at me. “’Fess up, pretty girl. You’ve been here for more than a year and you’ve never even looked sideways at another man and now you’ve been out with one and he’s hanging around. I’m going to need the details.”

I snort, “I was pregnant, in case you’ve forgotten. Not a ton of men looking to date a pregnant chick.” Going over to the bag I brought in, I start putting things on the counter for our dinner. I come over here at least once a week and eat dinner with them. I bring the groceries, and Bear usually cooks while Cora and I gossip and catch up on all the craziness that goes on at the bar. Since Bear isn’t here, I decide to go ahead and start dinner.

“Bullshit. There were plenty of men around, hoping to date you. You never gave any of them the time of day. Not that I blame you. You had a lot on your mind,” she says, never taking her eyes off Lyric as she kicks and gurgles.

“He wants one of my songs,” I tell her. “I don’t want to give it to him, so I think he’s trying to sweet talk it out of me.”

“Is it working?” Cora asks. I can hear the smile in her voice.