“Sure you will,” Mrs. Simpson says, cutting a sharp look Zack’s way. “But not that one. He looks like trouble.” Her gaze shifts back to me. “You want me to call the police? Report an intruder?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you. Zack, meet Mrs. Simpson. Mrs. Simpson, meet Zack. He’s one of the good ones.”
“Hi,” Zack says, lifting a wary hand. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I promise. I just wanted to make sure Colette was all right.”
“Well, she clearly isn’t,” Mrs. Simpson huffs. “The girl might want to cry in peace, you know. Not everyone wants someone up in their business while they’re grieving a loss.”
I refrain from pointing out the irony there—Mrs. Simpson has been all up in everyone’s business for as long as anyone in town can remember. At least as far back as the early 70s when she wrote a gossip column for the local paper. “It’s fine,” I assure her. “I’m glad he’s here. He might keep me from finishing the entire jar of marshmallow fluff.”
With another suspicious glance Zack’s way, she nods. “All right. But call for help if you need it. I have my hearing aids in.” She arches a brow and points a warning finger at Zack’s chest. “Both of them. So…” She slowly closes the door, keeping Zack in her sights the entire time.
As it clicks shut, Zack laughs under his breath. “She’s a character. I’ve never been called trouble before.”
I turn back to him with a sigh, and whisper, “Don’t take it personally. She doesn’t get out much. Last time she was a regular in society, men in black jeans and motorcycle boots probably were dangerous.” I flop a hand toward my apartment’s open door. “You want to come in for a beer or something? The house is a mess, but…”
“I don’t care.” He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I like messes.”
“Then you’re going to love me right now,” I joke, gesturing toward my bed head and puffy, makeup-free face. Leading the way inside, I head down the hall to the kitchen where I slump back onto the tissue-scattered floor and grab my jar of marshmallow goo. “Beer’s in the fridge. Help yourself.” I lift the fluff in Zack’s direction. “Or you can share what’s left of this with me. Clean spoons are in the drawer by the sink.”
“No, thanks, I’m good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he glances over his shoulder toward the living room. “Would you be more comfortable on the couch?”
I shake my head and dig for more sugar. “I don’t deserve comfort. I’m a horrible person.”
“You’re not a horrible person.”
“I am. I’m selfish and stubborn and awful.”
Zack crosses the space to squat beside me, bringing his face almost level with mine. “It’s your body and your life. If you want to have a baby, you have every right to take steps to make that happen.”
I wince. “But Fernando was my boyfriend. We were planning a future together. I shouldn’t have done that behind his back.”
He arches a brow. “From what I heard, it sounded like you told him exactly what you intended to do. It’s not your fault he didn’t take you seriously.”
My bottom lip quivers. “But I knew he thought I was bluffing. I should have made sure he understood that I wasn’t.”
“That’s not your responsibility. You told him the truth, and you kept your word. If anyone’s a horrible person, it’s him for thinking you were playing games about something so serious.”
“Maybe.” Letting my spoon rattle into the sticky jar, I slump against the cabinets. “The worst part is that it was all for nothing.” I wrap my arms around my ribs, holding myself together. “It didn’t work. I didn’t get pregnant.”
“I’m sorry.” Zack settles onto the floor beside me. “You can still try again, though, right?”
“No,” I whisper, hating the word. It seems like all I’ve heard for the past year is no. So far, trying to have a baby has ended in one door after another slammed in my face. “My doctor thinks I’ll need in vitro fertilization, but I can’t even afford another round of artificial insemination, let alone fifteen thousand dollars in IVF fees. If I still had a job, I could maybe save up enough money before it’s too late, but Summer and Salt declared bankruptcy last week. Theresa had to let everyone go.”
Zack makes a sympathetic sound, but I cut him off with a raised hand. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t deserve sympathy. I knew it was coming. I saw the warning signs in the financials months ago and ignored them. I’ve been so focused on trying to have a baby that I haven’t been paying attention to anything else. Not my friendships or my boyfriend or my job. And now…” I press my lips together, refusing to cry again. I sip in a breath, willing my throat to relax. “Now, I’ve lost everything. Including the baby dream.” Zack’s quiet for a long moment, making my lips curve as I add, “I like that about you.”
“What’s that?”
“The way you think before you talk.”
He smiles a little shyly, which is adorable. I doubt most men who have been famous as long as Zack’s been famous remember what “shy” feels like. But he’s a special guy. I knew that the moment my best friend, Theodora, introduced us at a pool party the summer after I graduated from college.
Zack was the only man there who wasn’t hitting on the Brazilian models who crashed the gathering halfway through. He spent his time catching up with Theo and meeting her friends, seeming genuinely interested in her ordinary life even though he’d just had a single hit number one and was headed out on a world tour in the fall.
“Thanks,” he says. “I like to say what I mean and mean what I say.”
“That’s a lovely quality.”
“Well, I’m not always lovely,” he says with a sigh. “Shoving Fernando into a puddle of his own piss in the alley behind Chippy’s wasn’t lovely. Not even close.”
My eyes go wide. “What? Why?”
“I didn’t like the way he was talking about you.”
“I meant why he was peeing in an alley, but…” I trail off, warmth rushing to my cheeks. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His gaze locks with mine, setting something humming to life in my chest, something electric that I haven’t felt around a man, not even Fernando, in far too long. “The men’s room was closed for cleaning.”
“What?” I’m so distracted by that forbidden hum that I’ve lost the thread of the conversation. When I find it again, I shake my head and wince. “Right. Sorry, I was…momentarily insane.”
Yes, Colette, you are insane. Zack isn’t into you, and even if he were, a relationship with a rock star would never work. He’s gone all the time, and you want to start a family. Not to mention the fact that you just broke up with your boyfriend. This would be a fun rebound fling at best and a disaster at worst, and you can’t afford anymore disaster in your life.
The inner voice is genius.
I should listen to her.
I really should.