Randall looks at me like I’m crazy. “No, because he just turned eighty, old fucker.”
“Oh.”
“Though we dida lotof drugs.”
“Randall,” I scold, shocked at the admission.
He shrugs. “What could you do? It was the times.”
I shake my head at his candor and gesture to the house. “Do you want to stay for a bit? I was about to make lunch.”
“Already ate.” Wasting no time, he points to the four bags at our feet, each one filled to the brim with Snowball’s belongings. “Help me carry these to my car, will you?”
“Of course.”
My muscles strain as I lift the bags—who knew one tiny dog could have so muchstuff?—and follow Randall outside.When the front door swings open behind me, I pause on the steps, surprised to see Landon appear in the doorway. He looks between Randall and me with wide eyes. “Oh. I heard voices. Thought it was Parker.”
“Randall stopped by to pick up Snowball,” I tell him.
“Oh,” Landon says again, his eyes zeroing in on the rock star. They’re wider than I’ve ever seen them, and unless I’m mistaken, a blush ascends his neck, pooling color in his cheeks. He freezes for a moment before hurrying down the steps and shoving out his hand, fumbling for an introduction. “Mr. Bishop. Hello. I’m Landon. Landon Blair. Pleasure to meet you.”
I stare at Landon in pure disbelief.
Sorry? Pleasure to meet you?
Is Landon Blair…is Landon Blair actuallystarstruck?I never thought I’d see the day.
With a sigh, I set down the bags, making sure my arms don’t rip off. I have a feeling we’re going to be here a while, especially when Randall shifts Snowball to one side and takes Landon’s hand in a firm shake. “Randall Bishop.”
“I have a few of your albums,” Landon blurts.
Randall’s eyes narrow. “Which ones?”
“Um, the first two, I think,” Landon says, more flustered than I’ve ever seen him. “Gravestone Pallorwas brilliant. Not that the solo stuff wasn’t good, too. I just…have that on my Spotify playlist instead.”
Randall frowns. “Everything’s streaming these days. Don’t get paid shit for it.” He shrugs. “Good thing I’m loaded.”
No one says anything. Landon clears his throat. “Well, I’ve got work to do. It was an honor—it was great—a privilege—nice to meet you, Mr. Bishop.” Then he nods at me. “Violet.”
I nod back because what else can I do? Since the night ofThe Baking Challengepremiere, things between Landon and me have been…strained. He never apologized for leaving—not that I was expecting him to, really—and I never brought it up. We’ve kind of been tiptoeing around the issue (and each other), and I’m not sure why it feels so awkward. All I know is that it does. And I hate it.
I really fucking hate it.
As soon as Landon retreats into the house, Randall asks, too loudly, “What’s the deal with Pretty Boy?”
I snort at the nickname and mutter, “No idea. I think he’s having some sort of stroke.”
“I meant what’s the deal with you two? He your boyfriend?”
I nearly choke. “Absolutely not. He’s my…” I hesitate, searching for something besidesmy estranged sister’s ex-boyfriend. “Landlord,” is what I settle on, then wince.
“You’re not dating?” Randall asks again.
“Nope,” I say, praying for a quick end to this conversation.
“Well, what’s the point in that? You’re young, he’s young. You’re pretty, he’s pretty. Just do it already. What are you waiting for?”
I can’t help but laugh at Randall’s oversimplification. “It’s way more complicated than that. We can’t just ‘do it’ already,’” I say, making sure to use air quotes.
