I put the car into park and unbuckle my seat belt to go knock on the door when I see light coming from the house, a sliver of warmth backlighting Kelsey’s petite frame. She must turn the light off, though, because suddenly it’s dark again, just my headlights illuminating the garage door in front of me.
I don’t need more than the light from my vehicle to take in the mane of dirty-blonde hair flowing around her shoulders, the loose strands whipping around in the wind, or the outline of her strong thighs wrapped tightly in a pair of black leggings. She has on a black vest, the glowing red emblem indicating it’s one of the heated ones. Her black tennis shoes complete the look. She makes a very basic part of me stir to attention. The same part of me I shove back down, down, down, to the place I’ve kept it since I moved home to care for my mom.
“Let me help you with that,” I say, reaching a hand toward her suitcase as I meet her a few steps away from where I’ve parked.
I’m not surprised Kelsey packed everything she needs in a carry-on-sized suitcase. It seems her style. Plus, we’re both traveling light, since our gear was sent in a truck last week. Two of my men are driving it to Vancouver, arriving this morning. From there, it will get broken into two identical storage containers, one for each of Jaxon’s sets. While the first set is currently being built in Vancouver, the second will be sent to London as soon as our security equipment is added to it this afternoon. The first set will have one short day to make it across Canada to Toronto before being packed up and sent to Sweden. Luckily, besides making sure we have two sets of everything, the tour has its own logistics team who handle making sure the right things and people get where they’re supposed to be.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it,” Kelsey says in response to my offer. She opens the back door of the pickup to throw her black suitcase in but stops. “Maybe we should take my car.”
“Why?” I ask. I want to blame my confusion on the early morning, but the military teaches you to wake up quickly.
“I’m not sure I can be seen riding in a vehicle with that logo on the side,” she jokes.
Or at least I think she’s joking. In high school, the locker room talk frequently focused on dissecting something Kelsey said, trying to understand if she was insulting one of us or was flirting somehow. No one was ever sure, though Trent and his buddy Neil always seemed to think she was flirting with them. Unfortunately for all of us, I’m confident it was usually insults, though the fact that we never knew for sure was a clear sign of her superior intelligence.
“You get used to it,” I say, pointing to my shirt and its matching logo.
I register the disbelief that flashes across her face, the same surprise I feel myself. That was an unexpectedly normal response from me.
“I can’t believe I didn’t wear my KH Security polo,” Kelsey says, keeping the joke going.
“Missed marketing opportunity.”
“Maybe I should just write it on my forehead. Do you have a permanent marker in here by any chance?”
A chuckle escapes me as she gives up her qualms about riding in my work truck and casually throws her bag into the backseat.
I climb into the driver’s seat, though every bone in my body is screaming at me to walk around the truck and open her door forher. I know she won’t appreciate the gesture—unless she’s completely changed everything about herself since high school, I suppose.
As Kelsey opens her door and pulls herself up into the passenger seat, I turn on the radio, unsurprised to hear a Jaxon Steele song filling the cab. The title song from his album last year went multiplatinum, and with his tour starting soon, the world’s appetite for his music has been reignited.
“I guess we’re going to know all these songs a lot better by the time we’re done with this,” Kelsey says.
She twirls a thin ring around her middle finger, and I wonder if it’s some sort of nervous tic or just a habit of hers. Nervous tics don’t seem like a thing Kelsey would allow herself to have.
“I hope we aren’t given a quiz or sing-along test when we arrive,” she says. “I barely know any of his songs.”
“Really?” I ask.
“You know how it is with him and Wild Bluffs.”
“Not really,” I say. “I was already gone when it all went down. So were you.”
“I guess that’s true. I only know because of Izzy.”
I nod, unsure what to say. The silence between us grows, the weight of my uncertainty pushing down on me as I navigate town to reach the highway. A million thoughts race through my head: conversation starters, random trivia facts, anything. I know once we get started, I can hold my own, even in a conversation with Kelsey, but everything that pops into my head sounds too trivial, too mundane for her. I don’t know how I was able to email her about work for the last few months— Work! That’s it.
“So, are you ready for rehearsals this week?” I ask, my voice coming through gruffer than I intended.
Her eyes shoot to mine, the corners tightening as her body goes rigid.
Shit. That was not the response I was expecting.
“Yes, we’re fully prepared. I don’t know what Trent has shared with you, but we’re ready to go. We completed and shared the advance-team reports for each location, just like Trent and I agreed.” Her words are clipped, like she’s impersonating a CEO from a movie. “Are you ready?” she asks, that same bite to her voice.
“I didn’t mean to…” I trail off. “I was just trying to make conversation. I reviewed each of the sixteen location reports. They were remarkably thorough. Better than any I’ve seen before.”
“Thank you,” she says uncertainly.
