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CHAPTER ELEVEN

DECKER

I climb out of the back of Lena’s black SUV and thank Gustav as he shuts the door behind me before jogging to catch up to Lena, who looks like she’s on a mission.

My hair’s still damp from the rushed shower I took when Jason called to let me know we were “officially doing this thing.” I just agreed and got ready.

It? was easier to go along with him than to tell him she and I had already decided to do this thing last night and that we talked guidelines and everything.

It’s weird how fast it happened, and it’s better to let him think he’s still steering this ship. This relationship.

Lena walks ahead of me, hips swaying as she puts distance between us.

Only the faint scent of vanilla and something else lingers in her wake.

I dodge a dumpster and a few trash cans, but she doesn’t wait for me to catch up.

It’s like she’s trying to lose me. Maybe she is.

I hate to tell her, but one of my strides is about two of hers.

If I wanted to be beside her, I would, but she wants space, and I respect that.

I wouldn’t be too happy either if someone encroached on my plans.

My foot lands in something sticky, and the sole of my high top peels away with a nauseating sound.

The irony is not lost on me—America’s Pop Princess being smuggled through the least glamorous place imaginable.

She pads down the alley on grimy sneakers.

Seeing her in those ratty things instead of her usual designer heels is jarring.

Not only because they’re less than pristine, but she’s shrunk a few inches.

She’s even shorter than I realized. We weave through another alley, Gustav—her bodyguard—leading the way.

It feels silly having someone here to protect Lena when I’m sure I could handle anything that comes our way myself, but I’m no stranger to security detail.

It’s his job, so I won’t argue. Besides, I’m not sure how far I’d be willing to stick my neck out for her, anyway.

I doubt she’d do the same for me, unless it was to save her own butt, from what I’ve gathered.

“Where are we going again?” I finally ask.

Lena whips her head around, dark hair obscuring her smirking face as she nods toward a steepled church towering ahead.

It feels out of place with all the new buildings crammed around all sides, but there’s something comforting about it withstanding all the updates surrounding it, stained glass and all.

“To help make food,” she says simply. “For people who are hungry. People who can’t afford enough food.”

She says it to me as though I couldn’t possibly know what it’s like.

What she doesn’t realize is that there were a few years my family could have benefited from a place like this.

We always scraped by, but there were times I had to watch my parents go without.

They never took handouts. Too proud. I can’t say I agree with their logic, but we live and we learn, as they say.

“Gotta keep up appearances,” I say, sizing up the brick building.

She scoffs, and I don’t look at her when she flips around to scowl at me. Gustav reaches a metal door and props it open for us both as I file in silently behind her.

We weave down a dark hall, Lena guiding us like she’s been here a million times.

She’s greeted with broad smiles from the staff members, and even calls a few by their first name.

What’s different about this place is that no one rushes her, no one asks for an autograph.

Their smiles may be a little brighter when she looks their way, but for the most part, every person we encounter treats her as though she’s any other human on the street.

When we make it to the kitchen, hairnets and gloves in hand, I realize she wasn’t joking about making food.

A nice lady with pink lipstick and flowery perfume takes us to a table buried in potatoes and hands us two peelers.

I pull out a chair and sit, examining the sterile-looking room.

For a church, it sure doesn’t feel very inviting in here.

Everything is white and wallpapered. Gray linoleum flooring runs from wall to wall.

It’s like someone lost all the crayons in the box except for the most boring colors.

I’m no interior designer, but this place could benefit from some flowers or a different paint or something .

I turn back toward the mound of vegetables and realize Lena’s watching me. “What?”

“You just look uncomfortable, that’s all.” She arches a brow, whisking her peeler across a potato. “Feeling a little out of your element?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that she’s enjoying the thought of my discomfort. “Why? Are you in yours?”

She shrugs. “Kind of, I guess. I like this place. I try to go to every Christmas service here. Sometimes I rearrange my work schedule so I won’t miss it.”

“And when it isn’t Christmas, you just sit in the kitchen and peel root vegetables?”

“Not always. Sometimes I go out to meet people, but a lot of times I just like to stay behind the scenes. Work with my hands instead.” She holds up a half-peeled potato and wiggles it. “Get some dirt under my nails or whatever.”

“Hard to do that with the gloves on.”

A corner of her mouth lifts at my joke, and then she sighs. “It’s probably weird I don’t just stand out there and say hi. And not to toot my own horn, but it does make people really happy when I do meet and greets.”

“Of course it does. You’re Lena Lux.”

She eyes me coyly. “But I think it’s just as important that their food is made with love, ya know?

And I feel like I can provide that. Maybe some people would think it’s selfish not to just go out and let everyone have an autograph or whatever, but I like to think I’m helping just as much this way.

I have more to offer than a pen on paper. ”

Her words burrow into me. She’s right. We’re so much more than our careers, than what people witness from the outside.

“So, this is your philanthropy?”

“My mom and Antonia only call it that because it sounds better. I just volunteer when I’m in town. We make donations to all kinds of places I never even get the chance to visit, but this place calls you to serve. To be active. So I try to make time.”

I arch a brow, still shocked by all her—very unbratty—answers.

“Is it your first time in a soup kitchen?” she asks.

I hesitate, then nod.

She breathes out a laugh and continues to peel her potatoes.

My brows dive down my nose. “What? I do other stuff.”

“Like what?” she asks, not looking up.

“Well, for one, I give money to the local animal shelter and other rescue centers.” I scramble to compile my list of decencies, debating whether or not I should tell her about my dream of opening my own shelter. “And I tried to foster a pup once.”

“Tried?”

A smile breaks across my face as I push a pile of discarded peels into the bin nearby. “I failed.” Tugging off my gloves as carefully as possible, I whip out my phone and show her my lock screen. Princess gazes up at Lena with that mottled gray stare. “I never stood a chance.”

Lena brightens, her eyes finding mine for a moment, and I realize just how blue they are.

She’s hardly looked at me today, and for a moment, we’re smiling at each other, like she doesn’t have some weird thing against me for the way we met or that she ruined my retirement plan, like peeling potatoes next to each other is as natural as her being on stage or me playing on a field.

Her enthusiasm gives me the bravery I’d been lacking.

“I’d never had a dog before. Saw a post online begging for someone to foster her because she was set to be euthanized.

She was older, needed some expensive meds to keep her comfortable while she waited to die after her previous owners neglected her.

Left her outside. Hardly fed her.” I chuck my peeled potato into a bowl and grab a new one.

“She’s the reason I was hoping to invest in Gable’s.

Thought maybe it’d bring in some steady cash after my football retirement. ”

“To pay for her medication?”

“No. She doesn’t need it anymore. She beat the odds.

” I smile and swallow a deep, steadying breath.

“I want to open a shelter that specializes in end-of-life care for senior and sick dogs. Was also hoping to offer financial help to people who are willing to take in a dog with medical challenges. My pup had so much life left in her, and she wouldn’t be here today if those people had given up on her. ”

Lena is quiet for a long moment, and when I finally look up, she’s smiling at me.

When the silence crawls on, I clear my throat. “I know it probably sounds weird?—”

“No. Not weird. I think it sounds amazing. Like you have a purpose. Not everyone finds that.” She smiles again. “What’s her name?”

“Princess.”

She stifles a little giggle.

“And before you ask, yes, I did name her.”

Lena bites down on her bottom lip like she’s holding in another laugh.

“What? What’s wrong with Princess?”

She shakes her head, and I nudge her with my elbow until she breaks. She laughs again. “Nothing! It’s just… a feminine name. I figured you’d be the type to name her Tequila or Vista or Field Goal or something.”

“Field Goal?” I can’t help but laugh, too. “That’s a terrible name.”

“You seem like you’d go for something football related. Not Princess. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

I smile to myself as we pile the peeled potatoes into a big silver bowl. “Glad to know I can still surprise people, I guess.”

“Are you a creature of habit or something? All out of surprises? I find that hard to believe.”

I eye her as I rotate my potato under the peeler. “Regardless of what you believe, I guess these days… yeah. I kind of am. Traveling takes it out of you—as I’m sure you know—so I guess I kinda just like stability at home as much as I can manage.”

She nods emphatically. “You have to find stability where you can, it seems. I try to keep up with a routine, but recording this week has blown all that out of the water.” She flicks her peeler, sending a strip of potato skin flying to the floor.

“We added extra sessions because I wasn’t happy with the way the new song was coming along. ”

“I thought you said you were rerecording?”

She eyes me. “A man who listens, who doesn’t love that? Yeah, well, if I’m being honest, I don’t think it needs an update. Maybe that’s what’s giving me the most trouble with it.”

“Don’t fix what ain’t broken,” I recite.

“Exactly.” Her lips part into a wide smile before each corner falls again. “But I have to listen to my label, and they want to freshen it up, so it’s my job to come to a consensus with them.” She groans and leans back into her seat. “I’m gonna be stuck in the studio forever.”

I give her a sympathetic smile, but I’m so unfamiliar with her world, I can’t offer any words to soothe her. Despite how grating she can be, I wish I could.