Page 37

Willow

I know something’s up the second Rocket walks into the kitchen mid-mug of coffee and freezes when he looks at his phone screen.

He groans and then looks over at me. “I apologize in advance for whatever is about to happen.”

“What—”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

It’s not a polite knock but more of a kick-down-the-door, open-up-we’re-the-police kind of knock.

Rocket winces seconds before the door opens.

Three men stride in like they own the place. Three men who a majority of the world would know by sight but who have caught Rocket on his heels.

“Caldwell. Brother. We’re here,” the one in front—Hawkin Play—yells. He’s tall and lean, with dark blond hair and a smile that screams trouble. He cuffs the side of Rocket’s shoulder gruffly and then clocks me immediately and grins. “Well, well, well. You must be the one he’s been hiding from us.”

The one behind him—dark hair, gorgeous eyes, and a grin that could light up a room—Vincent Jennings stops just inside the threshold and lets out a long whistle. “Damn, Bristol was right. You’re real. He was making excuses why we couldn’t meet you.”

“I wasn’t making excuses,” Rocket says and pushes Vince’s shoulder playfully. “I was protecting her from you and ... from this .”

“You’re such a fucking liar,” Gizmo says as he clears the doorway before walking up to me and holding out a hand. “Jase Gizmodo. Nice to meet you, Willow.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I say, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“That’s Hawkin.” Hawkin salutes. “And Vince.” Vince steps in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “And you met Giz,” Rocket says. “And whatever they say, they’re full of shit.”

He says the words, he sounds exasperated, but Rocket came to life the minute his best friends walked in the room, and that makes me smile.

“Full of shit? Us?” Vince mutters as he grabs a banana from the fruit bowl like he lives here. “What were the bets we had?”

“Secret girlfriend.”

“Witness protection.”

“A new fetish.”

They call out faster than I can keep track of who’s saying them.

“None of those,” I say. “I’m just Willow. Just the nanny. None of the dramatics needed.” I look at them all, chuckle, and say more to myself than anyone else, “And you’re the infamous band.”

“Infamousandunderappreciated,” Gizmo says, already walking around the living room like he’s casing the place.

I glance over at Rocket. His expression seems to be switching between hatred and love as his two worlds crash together.

“You’re here, why?” Rocket asks.

“Songwriting session,” Gizmo says brightly. “Emergency inspiration. Couldn’t wait.”

“You just wanted to meet Willow,” Rocket mutters.

“Damn right,” Hawkin says. “Quinlan’s already decided she’s one of our girls, so it’s only you who’s been hiding her like she’s a national treasure or ugly, and we just proved the latter wrong, so ... there’s that.”

“Andwe wanted to meet her ,” Vince adds as Poppy peeks her head around the corner from where she was playing in her bedroom. She came out to see what all the chaos is about, and now three men, three strangers, have all turned their attention on her.

She’s got her bunny clutched in one arm and an expression that says who the hell are these people and why are they so loud?

“Ohhh my God, is this her?” Gizmo drops into a crouch and holds out a hand. “You must be Princess Poppy. We’ve heard all about you.”

Poppy glances to me, uncertain.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I say. “They’re dad—Rocket’s friends. And loud.”

“Hey there,” Vince says, dropping to his knees and softening his voice, holding out his hand to her. “I’m sorry we were so loud. I’m Vince, and it’s very nice to meet you.”

Poppy looks at the hand, then back to him before her tiny hand disappears inside of it as they shake. She looks around again before slowly walking forward. She stops in front of Hawkin and, after a long beat, holds out to him a sparkly sticker shaped like a rainbow.

He stares at it like it’s made of gold. “For me?”

She nods emphatically as Gizmo groans. “Of course, that’s who she goes to first. That’s who everybody crushes on.”

A chuckle goes through the room as four men watch a precious little girl. She walks over to the pantry and opens the door to decide on a snack, already bored with the adults.

But I’m not. I’m fascinated and in a little awe of the men standing before me.

“We’ve got so many questions,” Vince says, hopping up to sit on the counter.

“Like how you’ve been here almost a month and have never met us—”

“Nor have you smothered Rocket with a pillow yet for being annoying. Impressive,” Hawkin tsks.

“Some days are easier than others,” I tease.

“She’s a saint. A saint, I tell you,” Gizmo says and hooks an arm around Rocket’s neck affectionately.

“I thought you said we were writing,” Rocket says and takes a few steps toward his studio. The only thing I can think is he’s terrified that his bandmates are set to embarrass the hell out of him when it comes to me. Or embarrass me.

“We’ll get there. We wanted to talk to Willow first,” Hawkin says.

“Nope. I don’t trust you assholes as far as I can throw you,” Rocket says and physically puts his hands on Gizmo’s shoulders to steer him down the hall.

Before Gizmo disappears around the corner, he points at me. “You’re awesome, Willow. Glad we met. And Poppy? Playdate, soon?”

“Way too good for him,” Vince says as he follows suit.

“Seconded,” Hawkin chimes in. “Or is that thirds?”

He laughs, and then they’re gone from my sight, but I can still hear their laughter echoing off the walls until the studio door shuts.

No doubt Rocket’s real torment is about to begin.

I turn to Poppy, who’s now sitting on the floor, sorting through her sticker collection like nothing unusual just happened.

“They’re ... a lot,” I say.

She glances up, eyes wide, grin big, and nods in agreement.