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Chapter seven

Robbie

I’m regretting my decision to help Naomi more and more with each passing second in this car.

The Uber driver is going entirely too fast for what’s supposed to be a routine, leisurely route taking me into Pine Falls.

Admittedly, I don’t think he’s gone one mile over the speed limit, but still.

To me, it feels like he’s racing at top speed, and I can hardly catch my breath as I watch the line of roadside trees rush past in a green blur.

It’s only been a little over a week since I left Naomi’s house.

This might be the soonest I’ve ever come home after leaving.

And for good reason, apparently—my mood is souring by the minute.

I’m starting to think this whole thing was one giant mistake.

Why in the world did I offer to come back when I didn’t absolutely need to? Naomi can manage on her own, right?

My phone dings from my pocket with a text message notification.

Dane: Make it back?

If my calculations are right, he should be just getting to LA right about now to spend a few days by the beach in between gigs, and boy, was I tempted to go with him.

Lazy days in the scorching sun with a cool, refreshing drink in my hand.

Enticing distractions lurking at every corner.

Those are my favorite kinds of days off.

But I’m a man of my word. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure why I spoke up the other day with Naomi’s dad.

Aside from simply wanting to quiet a man who was being an absolute jerk, of course, I’m thinking maybe part of it was my guilt talking for taking advantage of her comfortable couch one too many times.

Robbie: Unfortunately, yes.

Dane: You’re missing out on this!

His next message is a selfie of him on the beach with the ocean in the background and a brunette woman under his arm. With a shake of my head, I smirk and type back.

Robbie: Don’t fall too hard for her. I can’t play without a drummer if you decide to settle down.

Dane: Can’t make any promises. Just wanted to rub it in. Have fun in Minnesota!

I decide not to appease him with a response. Instead, the crunching gravel of Naomi’s driveway pulls my attention out the window.

“Thank you,” I say to the driver before grabbing my bags from the backseat. While I walk to her front door, I shoot off a text message at the same time.

Robbie: Your favorite imaginary boyfriend has arrived.

After a full minute with no response from Naomi, I knock loudly on the door and slowly push it open.

“Naomi?” Loud clanking coming from the kitchen drowns out my voice.

What in the world is she doing? I drop my bags in a pile on the floor and round the corner slowly so as not to spook her.

She has a stony face and a slight crouch to her knees, as if she’s on the offensive, readying herself for whatever sort of battle she’s entangled in.

I watch as she frantically whisks batter with one hand while simultaneously using her other to stack dirty bowls next to the sink.

“Hey,” I say again a little louder, to which she jumps, inadvertently tossing a puff of flour into the air.

“Oh my gosh, Robbie! You surprised me.” Her blonde hair sits atop her head in a messy bun with strands falling along each side of her face. Her wild eyes hold just a hint of crazy in them—the look of a person on a mission.

“I sent you a message.” I inch closer, assessing the chaotic state of the kitchen. I’m not used to seeing this place in any state but spotless—aside from my own mess I typically make, that is.

“You did?” She glances at her Apple Watch. “Oh, yeah. What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d come back after my show,” I say simply.

“Oh…I wasn’t sure if you were serious.” She blows a wisp of hair off her face with the corner of her mouth and resumes whisking frantically.

“Didn’t you say baking relaxed you? I gotta be honest—you don’t look even a little bit relaxed.”

“I don’t?” She cringes.

“Nope. You have more of an unhinged-lunatic vibe happening…although, even that, you wear well.”

“I’ve been busy.” She shrugs me off.

“What are you making, anyway?”

“Raspberry-amaretto cupcakes. Let’s just say things have snowballed after the bridal shower, and I have not one, two, or three, but four personal cupcake orders I’m working on.

Plus, an actual wedding cake! Isn’t that great, Robbie?

” She doesn’t stop moving, but she manages to beam at me with a hesitant sort of pride.

“Is it?” I ask cautiously. “Judging by the anxious energy that’s radiating from you, I might have to beg to differ.”

“It is great. It’s finally happening, Robbie. I’m getting orders. This could be the start of all my dreams coming true.”

“I don’t want to be a Negative Nancy here, but is it feasible to take on that many orders at a time? When do they all need to be done by?”

“The cupcakes are all due on the same day, and the cake is due a few days after that. Look, I know what you’re going to say, but I feel like I can’t say no at this point—I’ve barely begun operating. These are my first few orders. I don’t want to mess anything up or burn any bridges, okay?”

“Alright, alright.” I watch as she continues bouncing around the kitchen like a ping pong ball.

“Hey, I have an idea,” I say as she slides two trays into the oven. “Is that your last batch?”

“For tonight, yeah.” She places her hands on her hips, finally able to take a breather, although some of the panic remains in her eyes.

“Why don’t you go get changed while these are baking? I’ll clean up your mess, and then while the cupcakes cool, we can go out.”

“Go out?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Yeah,” I say pointedly. “It looks like you could use a break. Plus, it’s good for our image, right? We can pretend it’s a date—put ourselves out there while we discuss what our whole plan is here.”

“Our plan?” Her brows furrow further.

“You know…the dating scenario.”

“Dating scenario…” she says slowly.

“Are you just going to repeat everything I’m saying back as a question?”

“Maybe?” A tiny smile cracks on her face. “No, um…that sounds good, actually. We definitely need to discuss this crazy idea of yours. Are you sure you want to clean? I made a huge mess.”

“Absolutely nothing would bring me more joy,” I deadpan.

“I know that’s sarcasm, but I’m going to pretend it’s genuine so I don’t feel guilty,” she says, already on the way to her room. “Give me twenty minutes!”

The task admittedly does look ominous, with thick batter stuck to the mixing bowls stacked in the sink and utensils scattered across the island, but I jump right in, intent on getting it done.

While I scrub dishes, it’s not lost on me that I already feel less anxious about being home.

Or maybe it’s just nice to have something else to focus on.

Perhaps having a purpose while I’m here will make it more tolerable.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she announces a few minutes later, strolling into the kitchen, bringing a wave of perfume with her.

She has on a black sleeveless romper with strappy nude heels.

Her long blonde curls are loose and framing her face, and the subtle blush on her cheeks already makes her look more awake than a few short minutes ago.

She looks beautiful—like she always does.

“Perfect timing. I’m done here too,” I say, drying my hands on a towel.

She grabs an oven mitt to take the cupcakes out of the oven. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve been this good at cleaning the whole time you’ve been posing as a slob?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Are you going to change?” she asks, pointing to my clothes.

I look down at my loose-fitting tee and grungy jeans. “You don’t like the starving-musician look?”

“I like the put-together, edgy musician look, not the grungy-looking one.” She smiles innocently.

“Ouch. I’m definitely not changing now.” There’s not one person in this city I’m worried about impressing. I grab her car keys while she places the cupcakes on the cooling rack.

“What are you doing with those?” she asks, pointing at the keys.

“I’m going to drive,” I state the obvious.

“It’s my car.”

“And?”

“It’s my car,” she repeats, following me out the front door toward her car.

“Do you really think I’m going to show up on a date with the woman driving me around?

This might be fake, but I’d like it to look real.

I don’t want to look like a fool. There’s some chivalry buried deep in here somewhere.

” I ignore her snort and hold the passenger side door open for her to climb in.

Before she can sit, a voice from next door calls out.

“Naomi, are you okay? Do you know this gentleman? Are you being taken against your will?”

We both turn toward Mrs. Pelinski, who’s sitting on her front porch.

“Hi, Mrs. P. Yes, this is Robbie. You’ve met him many times,” Naomi calls.

“I have?”

I elbow Naomi and clear my throat, calling attention to the perfect opportunity that just presented itself.

“Uh, right,” she murmurs under her breath. “Yes, you have,” she calls out. “He’s been my friend for many years…and he’s actually my boyfriend now.”

I notice how she has to force the words out, slightly grimacing as if it’s painful. I’m well aware that I should probably feel offended, but instead, I feel the need to hold in a laugh.

“Oh, well, nice job, dear. He’s very handsome.”

“Thank you.” I wave, accepting the compliment as Naomi climbs in the car.

“That was weird,” she says with a cringe as I start up the car.

“That looked hard for you,” I comment nonchalantly.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“I was thinking The Italian Place. Fancy enough for a date, don’t you think?”

“That sounds amazing, actually. I didn’t realize how hungry I am. Their ravioli sounds so good right now.”

“Only the best for my pookie.” I tug at the bottom of her ear, relishing her recoil and look of disgust. This might be more fun than I thought.