“I’ll walk you.” Tyler slipped out of her heels and wiggled her toes. “Ooh . . . that’s much better.”
After saying goodbye to her family, Tyler led the way down the hall toward the back door, her pulse ticking like a bomb about to explode.
“Is the car here?” Cary’s voice was casual, but she heard the restlessness underneath.
“I’ll check.” Vegas zipped up his coat. “See you, Tyler.”
The door shut behind him, and a cool breeze slipped through, sending a shiver down her spine. Or maybe that was just nerves.
It’s now or never.
She turned to Cary, heart hammering. Without giving herself time to second-guess, she slid her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”
“Happy birthday!” His hands found her waist, warm and steady. “I wish I’d known. I would’ve brought you something.”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? You donated your guitar.”
“That was nothing.”
The words barely had time to settle before she leaned in, pulse roaring in her ears. Then, suddenly, their lips met, and—
Mmm . . . red velvet cake and cheap wine.
Their lips locked together like Lego pieces. If only she’d worn Le-Glue instead of gloss, maybe he wouldn’t pull away.
A loudbangat the door shattered the moment.
Cary jerked back, eyes slightly dazed. She caught her breath, biting back a nervous smile.
“Text me when you get back?” she asked, hoping he didn’t hear the wobble in her voice.
He blinked, as if recalibrating. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice was rougher now. “Say hi to Rory for me.”
She nodded. “Will do, Cary.”
CHAPTER 8
CARY
“Say hi to Rory for me?” Cary repeated as he climbed into the car and slammed the door shut. He had to go and ruin a perfectly good kiss with that stupid comment.
Vegas tapped on the back of the driver’s seat. “Let’s go.”
“That’s what I told her.” He buckled his seat belt, shaking his head. “To say hi to her dog.”
“Real smooth, Ex-Lax.” Vegas pulled his hair back and laughed.
Cary shoved his tour manager’s shoulder, but he barely flinched. “How come you didn’t know it was her birthday?” He didn’t mean to sound like a spoiled child and corrected his tone. “I mean, you two are friends, aren’t you?”
“We’re not Facebook friends, man.” Vegas scrolled through his phone. “It’s not in my calendar either. I’ll fix that.”
“Did you know Bert was her dad?” Cary raised an eyebrow of suspicion. Why hadn’t this come up before? He’d practically spent every waking moment with Vegas. Hell, they’d even listened to some of Bert’s old records together. Not a peep out of Sebastien, either.
“Of course,” Vegas said. “Everyone from Winnipeg knows Bert Robertson.”
“The Robertsons are like a real-life musical family.” That summed them up perfectly. “I wish I were closer to my folks, but with all the touring . . . well, you know how it is.”
Over the years, he’d grown apart from his family. Life on the road was grueling, and he’d built walls to protect himself. Fame was strange, isolating, and he doubted they’d understand. But seeing his mom’s happiness tonight hit him hard. His parents had always supported his dreams, and all he’d given them was a Tudor-style house—some called it a mansion. In Brandon, real estate was easy to come by, so even that hadn’t felt like a big deal.
