“Please don’t.” She unfolded her napkin and set it on the table. “If there’s something to tell, we’ll tell him.” If Sebastien found out, she’d have to enter a witness protection program.
Tyler and Cary lingered over a glass of wine until last call, the conversation flowing easily. Despite the seven-year age gap, they had plenty in common—mutual admiration for Bruno Mars, Shawn Mendes, and Olivia Rodrigo, and mutual confusion about Ed Sheeran’s popularity. Plus his fans were called “Sheerios.”
Cary stood from the table and zipped up his jacket. “Come, walk me home.”
“What about the wine?”
He grabbed the bottle and turned toward the people behind them, who were busy arguing about which Cary Kingston song had opened the show.
He winked at Tyler. “I think I can help settle this.”
You’re ridiculous.
Cary passed them the bottle. “She’s right.” He pointed to Frosted Highlights. “I opened with that song.”
Shrieks of “No! It can’t be!” and “Oh my god!” ensued for several minutes, disrupting everyone on the patio and the residential high-rise buildings in the area.
Bragging Woman eyed Tyler up and down. “You’re a lucky lady,” she said, kind of snotty.
Cary grabbed her hand. “I’m the lucky one.”
Moments later, the bar emptied onto the patio, and camera flashes popped like runway lights. Being famous looked utterly exhausting—but he made it look effortless.
Tyler rolled her eyes and stepped out of the spotlight while he smiled for selfies and signed every last autograph.
When he was done being Cary Kingston, rock star, they crossed the street toward his building.
Is he going to invite me in?
There was only one way to find out.
“It’s so weird that your biggest fans didn’t recognize you,” she said. “Especially the bragging woman wearing your shirt.” Then again, she hadn’t recognized him when he’d shown up at the office wearing a beanie and glasses.
He smirked. “It happens all the time. People say I sort oflooklike Cary Kingston.”
“People aren’t very smart.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
Cary paused at the front door of his building, cupping her face in his hands. His fingertips were rough, callused, but she didn’t mind. The guitar demanded sacrifice. He leaned in, kissing her slowly, deliberately, their tongues entwining. No one was there to interrupt, so she archedher back, pressing against him. He deepened the kiss, pulling her under like a riptide.
After they made out like teenagers he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and the warmth of his body cocooned her. The metamorphosis of falling in love was happening, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d float away like a butterfly.
“Have breakfast with me,” he whispered into her neck.
Is it too soon to sleep with him?Her head and her heart had an argument.
She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, I have to get home to Rory—”
“No!” He took a step backward and pulled down his beanie. “I meant in themorning. Come back and have breakfast with me in the morning.”
Tyler exhaled, relieved he wasn’t trying to sleep with her—though a small, pathetic part of her wished he were. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like that.
A taxi pulled into the driveway, presumably for her. “Did you call this?” she asked.
He smiled proudly. “I downloaded the app.”
“Look at you. Such a man of the people.” She tried to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation with humor. “I’d love to have breakfast. What time?”
