Page 104 of Sweet Distraction

“Welcome to your first tour,” Vince says with a wink and then ushers me to an open seat.

Gizmo looks at me, then back at Rocket, and then back at me. “Fuck, man. I stand by the fact that you’re still way too hot to be his nanny.”

I cough over my next breath of air. “Well, I’m not technically his nanny,” I joke, which causes a bout of laughter to ring out.

“Shh. We have baby ears here,” Hawkin says, and as if on cue, Poppy scrambles up in the seat beside Hawkin’s.

“Another female in love with Hawkin. Exactly what we don’t need,” Vince mutters.

A laugh rings out, and Gizmo tugs on one of Poppy’s pigtails. She giggles. “Are you going to be my new backstage troublemaker?”

“You don’t need any help,” Rocket says.

Our laughs combine, and just like that, we all fall into this weird normalcy that only cements itself further as we buckle in our seats and take to the sky. They’re warm, funny, and clearly ready to fold Poppy into the band family like she’s been here all along.

I accept the glass of wine the stewardess hands me. Hawkin holds his up across the aisle to mock toast me.

“We’re glad you’re coming with us,” Hawkin says. “Touring’s crazy, but there’s nothing in the world like it. Just keep your headphones charged to protect your ears—and tune us out—and don’t ever, under any circumstances, eat the chili the venue provides.”

I laugh. “Noted.”

“Small spaces and chili don’t go together,” Vince says, to which everyone makes some kind of agreement. But Rocket rolls his eyes almost as if he’s embarrassed that they said that in front of me. It’s adorable.

“And”—Gizmo holds up his finger to make his own point—“don’t believe anything Hawke says after midnight or before coffee.”

“Those are life and death timeframes,” Hawkin jokes.

“Moving on to Rocket’s idiosyncrasies,” Gizmo says.

“Nope. Not going there,” Rocket says, waving his hands. “Let’s not scare Willow off just yet.”

“Because you need the nanny,” Vince says but gives me a look that says he knows more than he’s letting on.

Did Rocket tell them we’ve hooked up?

My cheeks flush red, and I cringe at the thought. Then again, all three are married men, so maybe they’re just living vicariously through their brother and his exploits.

Exploits? Jesus, Willow.

While I’ve been in my own head and coloring absently with Poppy on the table between us, the conversation has carried on. They’re all joking back and forth, but it’s Rocket I focus on. He taps his wine glass against mine and smiles.

“See? We’re all just normal guys,” he says but then shifts his gaze over to Poppy.

I watch Rocket watching her.

Earlier today, he was standoffish. He seemed tense, and his words were clipped like maybe he was nervous about this. About bringing us here. Yes, he said this is what he wanted, but saying it and seeing it happen are two totally different things.

It worried me. I thought maybe we’d bitten off more than we could chew too fast. That this might be a bad idea.

But now as I watch him, he’s leaning back, relaxed and grinning.

Poppy babbles something and throws her rabbit into Vince’s lap.

The guys cheer like she just won a Grammy.

I don’t think I’ve met a more resilient three-year-old in my life. She only just lost her mom, has had her life uprooted, living with strangers, and yet here, she’s simply adapting. Thriving. She’s incredible.

And Rocket?