Once Upon a Sure Thing (Page 19)

My throat catches. “Monkey, you’re stuck with me.”

A little smile seems to sneak out. “Okay. Good.”

I squeeze her shoulder, wanting her to feel reassured completely. “You’re stuck with me for good.”

She shrugs. “Well, Uncle Kirby is leaving.” Her eleven-year-old logic must seem ironclad to her. Poor kid.

“Chloe,” I say, fighting back the hitch in my voice. I need her to feel my strength. I need her to know deep in her gut I’ll be here. Always. “It’s not the same. I’m your guardian. I made a legal promise to the state, and I made a promise to my sister. It’s an unbreakable vow. You know that, right?”

“I think so.”

“Know so,” I tell her firmly, as I look her in the eyes. “You’re mine. That’s an unbreakable promise too. It’s my promise to you.”

A little tear forms in the corner of her eye as she sniffles. “I don’t want you to go.”

I wrap my arms around her, trying to pour all my love for her into her little body. “I’m not going anywhere. And if I ever go somewhere, you’re coming with me. You and me—we go together.”

She pulls back and holds up her pinky. “Package deal?”

Laughing, I wrap my pinky around hers. “I swear.”

“Well, now that we’ve pinky sworn,” she says softly, then her shoulders rise and fall, as if she’s letting the last of her tears escape, “can you go back to my hair?”

“Of course,” I say, relinquishing my shrink role and returning to my hairdresser job. Tomorrow, I’ll wear another hat, then another. Good thing I like hats.

As I finish her hair, she tells me how excited she is for tomorrow since we’re heading to Campbell’s in the early evening to decorate his Christmas tree. After I tie off the ends of her braid, I wrap my arms around my little monkey and give her a kiss on the forehead.

“Do you want to watch an episode of Girls Rule?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s this new show about a girl band in high school. I figured since you’re a girl, and you’re in a band, you might, I don’t know, like it,” she says, that deadpan Chloe back in full force.

“Sounds like my kind of show.”

And it sort of is. It’s cute and kitschy, but the girls can hella sing, as Chloe says.

When the episode ends, I say goodnight and return to the living room. After I review some pages from an upcoming book about the exploits of a hyper-sarcastic sixteen-year-old who hosts her own sports radio show, I grab my phone, perusing the texts from Macy once more.

Did we really look that hot?

I sink onto the couch, pop in my earbuds, and find one of the videos of Miller and me. I hit play. Seconds later, a tremble rushes through me as I watch Miller kiss my neck. A shudder runs roughshod over my skin as I study the look on my face on the screen. I slow down the video, pausing it.

Holy shit.

That look.

It’s like rapture. Like bliss.

I close my eyes and recall that moment in the studio, how I felt with Miller’s lips on my body.

I felt like a stranger in a strange new land, one I wanted to travel to again and again. I picture myself there, being kissed on my neck, my ear, and my lips. My skin heats from the inside out. My breath comes faster.

Awareness dawns on me like the sun rising. I could stay here in this land where Miller and I kiss and touch and lose ourselves in each other.

But it’s too risky.

Too dangerous.

I snap open my eyes.

I didn’t start a band with Miller to fall into his arms. There’s a sleeping girl in the other room who needs me to always be here for her, to take care of her. The band is supposed to be part of that. It helps me provide for her, and the better Miller and I lure in fans, the more money we earn.

I allow myself one last peek at the video then hit end. Resolved, I grab Chloe’s school bill and write a check for the next tuition installment.

* * *

The second the door to Campbell’s spacious apartment snicks shut, I’m greeted by a chorus of “Hashtag ZimmerHart.”

Guess that name won’t die.

Mackenzie cups her hands around her mouth, calling out the title bestowed by the viral masses, while her good friend Roxy whistles in appreciation. Miles joins in, shouting, “The other half of Hot Stuff is here.” From his spot on the couch, Miller seems to soak in the praise as he grins at me. That smile of his does funny things to my chest.

Things I can’t entertain.

I try to make light of the comments, smiling as I yank off my mittens and take Chloe’s hat, stuffing both in my purse. “We’re just having fun.”

“Sure looked like the kind of fun I’d like to have,” Roxy says as she flicks a strand of her long red hair out from under her Mrs. Claus hat.

“It’s crazy fun for me too. I’ve never captured anything on video like this,” Jackson says as he rummages through a bowl of popcorn that Campbell’s daughter made.

I do my best demure smile, since that comes easily to me. “See? It’s fun for everyone.” I gesture to the tree to deflect attention. “Let’s tackle this bad boy.”

* * *

But the talk of the new musical duo dominates even as we decorate Campbell’s monster-size Christmas tree.

“You guys are going to be the next big thing,” Mackenzie says, her brown eyes sparkling as she rifles through a storage box, snagging a horseshoe ornament. “When will we see you on stage?”

“First show is next week,” I say, bouncing on my toes as I hang a fake candy cane from a low branch. “We booked a gig opening at a club in Soho.”

Her smile radiates. “That’s amazing. And you’re just a little excited, I take it?”

Laughing, I adjust the candy cane around a string of lights. “However could you tell?”

“I knew the two of you would work out,” Campbell says confidently, while hanging a mini stuffed-fox ornament in the middle of the tree.

“Of course it’s working out. She has the voice of a sexy angel, plus she’s better-looking than my brothers,” Miller says with a wink as “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town” blasts from the sound system.

Campbell claps him on the back. “Why play with your washed-up brothers when you can sing with a very lovely lady?”

Miles clears his throat dramatically, striding over to the tree with his son by his side. “Speak for yourself. I’m not washed up. Am I, Ben?”

Miles lifts his son to reach a high branch in the tree with a mini wooden caboose.

“No, Daddy. You took a shower this morning. I took a shower too. I decided I’m too old to take baths,” Ben says, informing us of his big decision.

Mackenzie pinches her nose. “I don’t care for baths either. It’s like sitting in a pool of dirty water.”

I snap my gaze to her, dropping my jaw. “You don’t like baths? I love luxuriating in the tub when I have the rare chance.”

She shakes her head adamantly. “I don’t have a tub, and I don’t miss it.”

Roxy raises a glass of eggnog. “Hear! Hear! I have a tub, but I don’t use it. I’m all shower, all the time.”

“A woman who loves showers,” Miles says in a raspy tone, wiggling his eyebrows at the leggy redhead.

I shift my gaze from him to her, and I swear he’s picturing Roxy in the shower. The dirty pervert.