Page 74 of Sweet Distraction

“I had one. Once.”

“Once?” He nudges me with his shoulder. “You have to give me more than that.”

I pick at the hem of my sleeve. “His name was James. We grew up together. Family friends we’d vacation with. Barbecue with. We went from making mud pies in my mom’s garden as kids to first kisses at high school dances. He was a good guy.”

“I’d expect nothing less if you liked him.”

My smile is bittersweet. All those memories I still hold dear and paint such a great light on my youth. Almost every memory of family vacations has him in it. Every birthday party or holiday growing up includes him.

“First love turned into college sweethearts. We made the long-distance thing work even though it was just across town. Never really discussed the future but knew we’d end up together. And then one day in our junior year of college, I got the call from his mom that he was gone.”

I can still feel the memory so clearly. Can hear the emotion in his mom’s voice. Can remember feeling like my heart had been ripped out and shattered.

“Gone, gone?” Rocket asks, his expression flooded with compassion.

“Gone, gone.” I sigh. “It was a fluke thing. An undiagnosed congenital heart defect. He went to bed then just never woke up.”

“I’m so sorry, Willow.”

“It’s okay. It was years ago.”

“Years don’t erase the hurt. They just dull the edges.”

“Spoken like a songwriter,” I tease.

His smile is cheerless. “And I imagine you swore off relationships after that for good reason.”

“More like I swore off possible hurt from losing someone again.”

“Valid.” He toggles his head from side to side. “You threw yourself into school, then work. I bet it’s way easier to get lost in that than put yourself out there again.”

I raise a hand. “Guilty as charged.”

“If you don’t get attached, then you can’t get hurt, right?” Truer words have never been spoken. “We’re the same but different,” he says.

“How so?”

“You don’t date because you know how bad the heartbreak is. I feared getting to know Poppy because I know how bad the heartbreak is when a parent lets you down.” He takes another sip. “The same, but different.”

“The same but different,” I repeat. “Is that your excuse why you don’t have someone? Or I guess I should say many someones?”

He chuckles. “My life is chaotic. What you’re seeing now—me being at home, the quiet, the calm—it’s the exception, not the rule. The rest of the time, it’s press and performances and hotels and flights and no sleep and running on caffeine.”

“And whiskey and women galore,” I say with an infused cheer.

He looks at me while I berate myself for making a second comment about the abundant women in his life although, I’ve yet to see that side of him. I sound like a jealous lover when I have no right to feel that way.

“That comes with the territory,” he says slowly. “If I want it to.”

I clear my throat. His hand on my foot feels like a brand now. Hot. Noticeable. Something I should pull away from yet I sit and welcome the burn.

“Does it bug you?” he asks.

“What?”

“My lifestyle. The stereotypes. Your suppositions.”

I swallow. “Why should it?”