“The end of January.”
“Really?” she asked, her voice unsure. “It’s not on your itinerary.”
Shit. She sounded like a stalker again—but this time, he didn’t flinch.
“I confirmed it yesterday.”
She didn’t get the memo.
“I’ll be there anyway—In LA.” She took a sip of her latte. “I have a band playing at the Troubadour.”
“A band on our roster?”
“No, they’re that indie band I told you about, Yestown.” She grabbed her bag and dug out her phone. “That reminds me . . . I have to check in on the Westgrays. They need babysitting twenty-four seven.”
“Babysitting?”
“That’s my job. I’m a professional babysitter. It’s their first day in the studio.”
“The first day is always the worst.”
“Get this.” She rolled her eyes to the back of her head. “They’re making a double album.”
“Why on earth would they do that?”
“Sebastien said ‘more pucks on the net.’” She shrugged. “It’s ridiculous.”
“It sounds like it.”
Tyler walked back into the living room. “I don’t see any pictures of your family.” She swiveled her head to make sure she hadn’t missed them. “Not even your parents.”
“I should fix that. Come, have something to eat.” He opened the containers. “I wasn’t sure what kind of jam you liked so I got one of everything.”
“Thanks but no thanks,” she said politely.
“You don’t eat bread?”
She sat on a high stool at the counter. “I do, but I can’t eat things that aren’t cut properly.” She pointed to the stack of toast and wagged her finger. “It needs to be cut diagonally.”What kind of psychopath cuts it vertically?She continued, “Croissants are safe because you have to cut them horizontally.”
He laughed. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. So, I was thinking . . . maybe you could visit me?”
“Way ahead of you.” She flashed a wicked grin.
He tilted his head, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I’m already here.”
His eyes closed for a second. “You know what I mean, Tyler.”
She giggled, tearing her croissant into chunks. Rory performed a tap dance at her feet, earning each flaky piece.
“Australia or England?” he asked. “What’s your preference?”
“As a country? Australia. I think the monarchy’s ridiculous.” The idea of being born into power grated against everything she believed in.
“Where do you want to visit me?” His tone shifted—impatient now.
“I haven’t been to either,” she admitted, softening. “But I can’t go.”
