“It’s a bad habit,” I tell her and Rye. “She’s always done it.”
Inside, music plays from hidden speakers, something instrumental and soothing. The scent of grilled meat drifts from the back patio.
“Family’s here!” Stormy calls out.
Footsteps approach from multiple directions. Zara appears first, wiping her hands on a dish towel, followed by Levi carrying baby Poppy on his hip. Willow trails behind, still holding her guitar.
“Rye,” Zara steps forward with a smile that looks genuine but assessing. “I’m Zara. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for having me.” Rye accepts Zara’s quick hug with surprising grace. “Your home is beautiful.”
“Levi built most of it himself. He’s annoyingly talented that way.”
Levi grins, adjusting Poppy’s position. “Welcome to our home, Rye. I’m Levi, and this little princess is Poppy.”
Poppy stares at Rye with the serious expression babies use when deciding whether someone passes inspection. She rests her head on Levi’s shoulder and smiles.
“I’m Willow.”
“Hi, Willow. I think you’re about my daughter’s age.”
Willow leans to the side to look around Rye. “Where’s your daughter?”
“With her grandma.”
“Why didn’t you bring her?”
Rye opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off by Willow, who shrugs. “Next time,” she says. “We have horses, ATVs, and a pool. It’d be fun.”
I try not to smirk, but it’s almost like I told Rye this would be easy.
“Come in or outside,” Zara says as she wrings her hands together. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine,” Rye says.
“Wine it is,” Zara heads toward the kitchen while I direct Rye to the patio, which stretches across the full width of the house, furnished with comfortable seating and a massive grill whereenough steaks sizzle to feed a small army. String lights create golden pools in the gathering dusk, and the view extends to rolling hills where horses graze in distant pastures.
“This is incredible,” Rye says, settling into a chair. “How long have you lived here?”
“Construction started when Stormy was a baby, so probably fourteen years,” Levi answers, checking the steaks. “Bought the land after my second album went platinum. Always wanted space for the girls to grow up with room to breathe.”
“I get that,” Rye says quietly.
“Dad says you find talent?” Willow asks as she sits down with her guitar.
“Not exactly,” Rye says. “I manage a place called The Songbird. Artists come in, play their songs for a writer’s showcase. They’re trying to sell their songs to a producer or other artists. And bands play on the weekends.”
“I should probably sign up,” Willow says so matter-of-factly that we all burst out laughing. She looks at us, as if we’ve got five heads each.
“What?”
“Something tells me that between me, Zara, and Darian, you won’t need a showcase to find a producer.”
“You’re a nepo baby,” Stormy adds.
Willow sticks her tongue out at her sister. “If I’m one, so are you.”
Stormy rolls her eyes.
