“You…you…”
“Genius?”
“Asshole.”
“It’s fucking epic, by the way. The best I’ve ever made.” I kissed her hand. “I thought about you the entire time. There are a couple of songs on there I wrote about how I feel when I’m around you. The words just poured out. Easiest album I’ve ever recorded, bar none. And all because I’m fucking obsessed with you.”
“Don’t.” She looked away.
I clasped her chin and made her look at me. “Don’t what?”
“Say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to make me cry.”
“Good crying?”
“The best crying.”
“Then, cry away, Spitfire. I’ll wipe your tears.”
“I can’t. Mom will ask too many questions, and we’re here.”
I glanced out the window as the car pulled up in front of a colossal house with pillars on either side of a glossy black front door. The door opened, and Aspen’s double, albeit three decades older, appeared, beaming. She almost danced on the balls of her feet, and the second Aspen was out of the car, her mum threw her arms around her daughter. A twinge of jealousy pinched my insides. My mum was typically British, reserved and frugal with expressions of love. Oh, I knew she loved me, but I couldn’t remember a single occasion where she told me she did. At thirty-five, it was fucking lame to still want her to say it, despite knowing she never would.
I got out of the car but hung back to give Aspen and her mum some space. A dark-haired guy with flecks of gray at his temples emerged, and Aspen’s mum released her into her father’s arms. He was just as expressive, and the twinge of jealousy inside me grew into an ugly mess.
“Joz.” Aspen’s mum approached me, both arms out to the side, palms facing up. “Welcome to our home. Do you do hugs?”
“Hello, Mrs. Kingcaid. Um, yeah, I guess.”
“Sienna, please.” Her arms came around my waist. Probably because she was barely five feet tall, and at six foot three, I towered above her. “We’ve been dying to meet you. Aspen’s barely told us anything.”
“He’s British, Mom. Private. So, no interrogations, please.”
“As if we would.” She linked her arm through mine. “We’re thrilled you could be here to celebrate my birthday. Come along. I’ve put both of you in Aspen’s old bedroom. I presume that’s okay?” She winked, and color flooded my cheeks. I wasn’t a man who suffered from embarrassment, but the hidden message from the mother of the woman I was fucking caused the first blush I’d suffered in more than a decade. Probably.
“That’s great, Mom.” Aspen saved me from answering. “I’ll take him up before he gets any more flustered.” She unpeeled her mother’s hand from my arm and led me inside, jogging up an impressive staircase to the left of the even more impressive hallway. Although I could afford a place like this, I was far more comfortable in my loft apartment. I never had shaken off those working-class roots. I liked to believe they kept me grounded and helped me make music that appealed to the masses.
Aspen opened the door to a vast bedroom decked out in cool blues and soft grays. Above the king-sized bed was a triple clef in gold—one of those wall art decorations.
“This is some place.” I crossed the room and gazed through the picture window to a large lake with a fountain in the middle. “I can’t imagine growing up here.”
“I didn’t. Mom and Dad bought this place when I was, oh, thirteen or fourteen, I think. Although now that we’ve all left home, Mom said they’re thinking about downsizing.”
“But you grew up rich?”
“Yes. My parents didn’t, though. My dad and his brothers are all self-made. They worked hard, making many sacrifices, and they ensured we knew how privileged we were. How privileged weare.” She joined me by the window, sliding her arms around my waist and resting her cheek on my shoulder blade. “I’m glad you’re here, Joz.”
I twisted in her arms and slid my hands around her back. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
“Liar.” She grinned.
“Okay, I’m glad that I’m here because you’re here.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have something to tell you, and you’re not going to be happy about it.”
Her forehead puckered. “Oh, yeah.”
