Page 56 of Forbidden Heart

“Actually, he created it.” JJ shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “And whenever he’s working on a new concept, he goes to the gym.”

“He does?” I ask, suddenly feeling like I’m having a fangirl moment. Not only does JJ know the creator of Young Mouse, but it’s his dad. And now I get to hear about his process first-hand!

“I’d go with him a lot, but I don’t think he’d ever actually work out. He’d start lifting weights and then get distracted. That’s why he always brings his sketch pad with him. He loves drawing on the bench press instead of lifting.”

“Wouldn’t people ask him to move?”

“Hell, no. They’d sneak up behind him and try to get peeks at his work.” JJ grins. “And Mom’s process is just as weird.”

“What did you say she does again?”

“Puts fruit hats on sculptures of prominent political figures,” JJ recites, like she made him memorize that exact line so he wouldn’t get her job wrong. “Want to know what she does to get inspired?”

“What?”

“Makes a mess.” JJ grins. “She can only work when the house is in chaos. I mean, paint splashed everywhere, books and papers lying around. That sort of thing. She only paints to get ideas for her sculptures. And when she’s got a deadline, Dad and I aren’t allowed to touch anything. So we’re often hopping over piles of books and tiptoeing around wet paint.”

“In the house?” I gape.

JJ nods.

“I’d love to see that!”

“Next time she’s on a deadline, we’ll drive down. Just don’t try to talk to her while she’s working,” JJ warns.

“I won’t. Promise.” I grin, imagining what it must have been like for JJ to grow up with such creative parents.

“So, what’s your process, Roonie?” he asks, and my stomach roils, because I’m definitely not as cool or creative as his parents.

“I don’t have a process,” I admit, unable to meet his eyes. “I just come up with songs.”

“While doing what?” JJ presses.

“Mostly cooking or cleaning.”

“Then that’s your process.” JJ grins. “Cooking and cleaning.”

“Oh.” My face falls. I’m definitely not a real artist like his parents. My process is proof that I’m an amateur, just like the fact that I didn’t get into LUV Academy. I’m not a professional songwriter, and I never will be.

“Hey, I think it’s an awesome process,” JJ says. “It’s much better than making a mess of the house or hogging the bench press. Trust me.”

“If you put it like that.” I smile shyly.

“All right, then.” JJ pulls me to my feet. “The fridge is pretty bare, and our next grocery delivery isn’t coming until tonight, so cooking’s out. I guess we start cleaning.”

“What are we going to clean? The apartment’s spotless.” I look from the glistening floor to the sparkling windows to the immaculately clean counters. There isn’t a speck of dust anywhere—the housekeepers have made sure of that—so I have no idea what JJ expects us to clean.

“A process is a process, Roonie.” He shrugs, leading me toward the closet adjacent to the bathroom. It’s filled with extra sheets and towels, plus a whole bunch of cleaning supplies.

JJ hands me two fancy-looking mops and grabs up a bucket. He fills it up with water and a cleaning agent labeled floor wash, and we take everything to the living room.

“Let’s do this.” JJ grins and dips his mop in the bucket.

Carefully, I do the same. Then I pick a spot in the middle of the living room floor—a nice, shiny spot that doesn’t require cleaning—and get to work.

JJ, meanwhile, has other ideas. He grabs the fancy white carpet—the one I thought I’d ruin with my apartment flood, but that the cleaners managed to save—and places it on the coffee table. Then he dumps a bunch of soapy water all over the floor and starts randomly spreading it around the living room with his mop.

“Have you ever washed the floor before?” I ask as I watch him make a complete mess.