Rockstar Baby: Crescent Cove Book 6 Read online

  Then I burned the toast and had to trash it.

  Pay attention to the food, Ivy. Not to the dude outside.

  I poured a juice and a water and backed out through the door.

  “Here we go. Your food is almost ready.” Only a little bit of a lie.

  “Is there a big dude named Mick in the back?”

  “Close. His name is Mitch.” Except Mitch was probably sound asleep next to his fireplace right now.

  “Of course it is.” The way his accent slipped around the vowels of his words made something flutter in my chest. Energy, happiness…lust?

  Maybe.

  Interest more than lust perhaps.

  Lust wasn’t for girls like me. I was the forever girl. The one who would marry a teacher and pump out two kids.

  The kids part intrigued me, not so much the teacher. Not that it had to be a teacher, but the only guy who had hit on me lately was one of my brother Caleb’s friends. Mark was just like my brother and pretty much hit on anyone with a pair of tits. And those kinds of guys didn’t interest me.

  At least not right now.

  I was used to being the buddy and that sweet girl from the diner. Old people patted my hand and left me a dollar under their coffee cups as if they were giving me the world.

  Not him.

  He looked at me as if I was a woman. I mean, I was, but being twenty-four and looking like a perpetual teen got old sometimes.

  His golden lashes swept down as he took in the snug line of my polyester pants. I’d pregamed my trip to the bar with a few glasses from Kinleigh’s perpetual box of wine at her clothing store. It had taken very little prodding for me to dive into her retro trunks at the back of her store. Sure, most of us used those particular trunks for Halloween, but we’d giggled our way into outfits and wobbled to the bar on ridiculous platform heels.

  Kinleigh was one of my best friends, and she was forever trying to give me a makeover. I was suddenly very glad I’d listened to her clothing suggestions for once. The platform shoes were surprisingly comfy though. I might keep them. I liked the extra four inches without the accompanying pain as well.

  Too bad the margaritas had mostly worn off on my walk to the diner.

  I might need some of that courage to get through his meal. Mitch usually had an emergency bottle of whiskey stashed in the flour pantry.

  Then again, I didn’t want to rush my customer. He’d be gone and I’d be back to taking my frustrations out on bread dough again.

  “Does that work back there?” He nodded toward the jukebox with a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Or just pre-programmed?”

  “Nope. Fully functional. If you’ve got the quarters.”

  His eyebrows snapped down. “Who carries quarters?”

  I patted my tiny pocket. The pants really weren’t made for anything other than showing off my butt. “I don’t have much in the way of tips, seeing as I was SOS’d from my boss to fill in for the usual night girl.” I curled my finger around the two quarters I had in my pocket from my one drink at the bar. Unfortunately, I’d had to pay my way there as well. No one had bought me drinks. “However—”

  He held his hand up. “I can pay my own way, love.”

  “You have quarters?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Cash?”

  “That I have.”

  “Good, then you can give me a nice tip.” I slapped the two quarters on the table. “Good luck finding a song you like. Most of the songs are from the 50’s and 60’s. A handful of 70’s.”

  “I’ll make do.”

  Chubby Checker’s anthem wasn’t exactly the conduit for a sashay back to the kitchen, so I just double-timed it to get back before the bacon was well done.

  As I was plating his food, I had to redo his toast—again. Talk about distractible Debbie.

  “Re-fucking-lax, he’s just a guy.” I blew a flyaway bit of hair out of my eyes and grabbed the two plates. Perfect toast this time, thank you very much.

  He was still standing in front of the juke when I returned. He had broad shoulders. The sweater was obviously well made—not a Target special. It fit his body far too well. He seemed athletic. The kind of guy who played football or…no, rugby. He seemed like he would play something a little more about contact.

  Something that would leave bruises.

  Lord, where did that come from? And why was that so fascinating?

  He turned and caught me staring. His eyebrow rose and a slow smirk spread across his interesting mouth. Straight white teeth flashed and transformed his serious face into a mouthwatering collection of smile lines and rugged charm.

  Cripes, my panties were in such trouble. And not just because they were currently drowning.

  He gave me that unsettling once over again as I set the plates down.

  He pressed a combination of buttons and “Bang a Gong” came through the speakers. He came back toward me with a little swagger in his walk before sliding back into the booth. “Thanks.”

  I pressed my lips together against a laugh. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. I hate eating alone.”

  I rolled my tongue along the back of my teeth. “I’m working.”

  He glanced around the room. “Think your boss won’t mind.”

  “You don’t know my boss.”

  “I’ll pay for your meal.”

  “You keep wanting to pay for things for me. My time, my food…” I tipped my head. “Then you play this song.”

  “Are you telling me you’re dirty and sweet like the girl in this song?”

  “Maybe.” My heart was going to bang its way out of my damn chest.

  “Do you want to be my girl…for tonight?”

  Yes! Holy shit, yes!

  “It remains to be seen.” I twisted on my heel and burst out laughing when the song changed to “Happy Together” by the Turtles.

  A sense of humor and he was hot? Score.

  Once I was in the kitchen, I used what was left of the bacon I’d cooked for him and dropped a basket of fries. The three minutes it would take would calm my freaking heart.

  Did he really want to take me home?

  Or to his hotel. That was probably more likely. He definitely wasn’t from here.

  I made myself some cheese fries and filled a cup with ranch, blew out a slow breath, and pushed through the doors.

  He looked up from his plate and sat up straighter. “Change your mind?”

  I peered through the window out into the storm. “Since they’re not beating down the doors...”

  “Do people actually come here this late? It seems like this little town probably buttons down at like half past seven.”

  I set down my plate and slid across from him. “A few years ago, you’d have been right, but there’s a lot more people moving to the area these days.” I dipped my fry into the ranch and popped it into my mouth. “Ugh, heaven. Mitch won’t let me add it to the menu.”

  He glanced down at my plate. “That looks decadent.”

  “Better than chocolate.”

  His eyebrow did that arching thing. “Now let’s not go that far.”

  “I’m more of a mint girl, though I don’t mind some chocolate chips.” I pointed a naked fry at him. “But you can’t beat the perfection of mint ice cream without anything on it.”

  “Is that right?”

  I nodded. “Especially mine.”

  He set his knife down on his plate and hung his fork along the edge. So unlike most of the people who came into the diner. Half the time, they didn’t even use utensils. He lifted his napkin off his lap and blotted his mouth, then leaned forward. “Is this special ice cream?”

  I dragged my fry through the cheese and bacon on my plate. “Kind of. My own blend.”

  “You make ice cream? How…quaint.”

  I narrowed my gaze at him. “How rude.”

  He laughed and sat back to cross his arms. “You got me. Sorry. I’m not from around here.”

  “Obviously.”

  �
�What? I don’t fit in with the sweet Americana flavor of…where am I again?” He lifted his water glass to his mouth. “Crescent Cove, is it?”

  “Yes, baby capital of the world.”

  He choked on his sip.

  I laughed. “Sorry, that was mean.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  I picked out another fry that was loaded down with cheese and bacon. “It’s not a real moniker for the town, though it might as well be. We’re currently going through a bit of a baby boom. Macy blames it on the water.”

  He quickly put his glass down and shoved it away. “Is that right?”

  I managed not to give him a cheeky grin. “So much so that she makes the most delicious shakes and drinks to avoid drinking it. But I think she’s just a touch superstitious. Halloween is her favorite holiday after all.”

  He shook his head. “This town is odd.”

  “No doubt about that, but it’s home and I love it.” I really did. So many people from my class had moved away after college. They’d been dying to get out of this town. Me? I kept finding reasons to stay. Working at the diner didn’t exactly give me a huge savings account, but living with my brother meant I didn’t have a whole lot of expenses. Now and then, I picked up shifts at The Spinning Wheel and The Cove to pad my pockets. I was cute enough to get tips at least.

  “So, are you going to give me a name?”

  He looked up from his mostly empty plate. “Are you?”

  The juke went silent, then the needle hissed before the quiet was filled by The Rolling Stones.

  We broke eye contact and I laughed as “Paint it Black” filled the space between us. Another song with so much meaning. This time, it was the juke speaking to us since he’d only had two quarters.

  I looked down. Since I wasn’t wearing my usual navy shirt, there was definitely no name tag. “Sorry, I’m usually in uniform.” I licked cheese off the tips of my fingers and debated holding my hand out. I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to touch him just yet. “Ivy Beck.”

  “Rory Ferguson.”

  Yeah, good thing I didn’t go for that handshake. That purring Irish lilt sounded way hotter than it should have. Who even named their kid Rory?

  His mom.

  His dad.

  And they were smart. Because it was different enough to make me take notice. Unfortunately, it also meant I wouldn’t forget it. Annoying. Then again, if the night went where I thought it was going, I wouldn’t forget him anyway.

  I was discerning about who I got naked with. In a town where everyone always knew your business, it was just good practice, but I also didn’t often have the urge to do crazy things.

  At least not anymore.

  My one year in college had been filled with spectacular mistakes, but once I’d gotten that out of my system, men had seemed like way more trouble than they were worth.

  Until now anyway.

  Annoying. Did I mention that?

  “You see the palace in which I work.” I did a grand gesture with my arm. “What brings you in here on a dark and stormy night?”

  “Only place open.”

  “And here I thought it was my sparkling personality.”

  He tapped his long finger on the handle of his knife. “You and your town are very unique. For me, that’s saying something.”

  “Oh, and why would that be? Are you special, Rory Ferguson?” It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Beyond the clothes that surely weren’t off the rack, I couldn’t put my finger on just what made the air different around him.

  I saw the indecision on his face.

  Was he famous? I frowned. An actor, maybe?

  I glanced down at his hands and saw the little callouses on the tips of his fingers. No. Unless an actor was suddenly doing something habitual beyond staring at their own face in the mirror.

  He tapped his knife again. “Recognize me?”

  “No.”

  “Refreshing. Not that I’d expect you to unless you have your sights set on something beyond this town. Say in Los Angeles.”

  “Definitely not. I have no designs on leaving New York, let alone heading for the other side of the country.”

  “Too bad. It’s a big world.”

  I shrugged. “I like home. I like sameness. I like knowing what will happen every day.”

  “You get strangers in your diner during snowstorms?”

  “No, not generally. Takes some doing to find Crescent Cove.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I picked up my glass of water and leaned back in the booth to toy with the straw. “GPS failed you?”

  “To say the least. My mate told me how to get here.”

  The skin along the back of my neck tingled. Mate. Such a simple word, but so alien here. Friend, buddy, teammate—that was the small town life. Football and basketball were gods here. That and the small businesses that made us who we were.

  A small town. A safe town.

  One made for families.

  Not for Rory Fergusons.

  “Who’s your friend?”

  His blue eyes went a little cool.

  I held up my hands. “You don’t have to tell me.” Relief and a little annoyance filled his eyes. “If you want to leave alone anyway.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Is that right?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know you from the doorknob over there.”

  “Not sure you’d know my friend.”

  “So, what’s the deal with you being so cagey?” I started to slide out of the booth. “Look, if answering questions is a problem, then I’m good with just getting your check.”

  He reached across the table to close his hand over mine.

  Nope. I was right. I definitely wasn’t ready for him to touch me. Not because I wanted to pull my hand away, but because there was the zing.

  I knew it was going to be there. Some things a girl just knew.

  I also knew he was like a rich, sinful, caramel treat. He’d taste so damn amazing, but I’d pay for him for a good long while. The question was just how good was the caramel? Or was he even worse? Would he be like my favorite mint, so good I’d never be able to forget?

  Wow, overthinking.

  He could just be Ben & Jerry’s.

  My hand was still hot where he’d touched me. Ben & Jerry’s, my ass. Not that there was anything wrong with store bought ice cream, I just knew I made better. Same as I knew he was going to taste far more decadent.

  “No. I just…” He sighed and pulled his hand back. “I like this.”

  I twisted back into the booth. “Like what?”

  He shrugged and looked down. “I’m no one here. No preconceptions.”

  “Yeah, for you, that’s cool. For me, you could be married, a serial killer, a criminal…”

  He frowned and looked up. “Wow, dark.”

  “Try being a woman in this age. That’s nothing.”

  “You’re right though. Being a woman in the industry can mean experiencing plenty of the dark. You’re right to be careful.”

  Industry. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Sex trafficking? “Then why won’t you answer me?”

  “Whatever you’re thinking is wrong.”

  “Who are you to tell me that?”

  “Because I can see the wheels in your head turning. I think some of that is part of living in this damn town. The proprietress of the place I’m staying at couldn’t stop interrogating me. Is there something I should know about Crescent Cove? Are you hiding a murderer here or something?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so. But if you listen to the podcasts I do, there has to be at least three murderers here somewhere. Maybe the next town over. Small towns are breeding grounds for murder.”

  “And yet you want to stay here? At least in Los Angeles, I’m ready for a carjacking or shooting.”

  I shuddered. “That’s no way to live.”

  “But the pseudo-murderers in your mind are just fine. Maybe something’s in the water here, and it’s not baby-making
juice. You’re all crackers.”

  “Fair.”

  He frowned at me. “What?”

  “That’s fair. I mean, we’re all kind of used to each other here. You probably think you dropped into the Twilight Zone. Speaking of, did you see they’re rebooting that? God, I’m so excited to see it. I binge watch shows while I’m working.”

  “At the diner?” His eyebrow shot up.

  “Oh, no. Sorry. I have a few jobs actually. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the question about what you do, Lucky Charms.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  I laughed at the horror on his face.

  The bell over the door rang and the stomp of heavy feet made me leap out of the booth. “Mitch!”

  “It’s shit outside, ladybug. Get home.”

  My heart melted at the beefy older man standing in full snow gear. Fat snowflakes were melting on his Giants winter cap pulled over his salt and pepper hair. Mitch never called me ladybug unless he was worried. “I have a few more hours.”

  “You’re not even supposed to be here. Damn Gina living outside of town. I never should have hired her.”

  “You love Gina.” I turned to Rory and he waved me off. I crossed to Mitch. “Is it really bad out there?”

  “It ain’t good. The plows can’t even keep up. No one will be going anywhere tomorrow. Freaking sales will be in the toilet.” His deep voice was even grumpier. “Go on and get home.” He slid his gaze to Rory. “Who’s the outsider?”

  “Mitch,” I whispered. “What have we talked about?”

  “What? Is stranger better?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I started the bread. It’s proofing in the kitchen. Should be good for the French toast special in the morning.”

  “If anyone shows up. Go on. Thanks for holding down the fort until I could get here.”

  “No problem. I told you I was just down the street.”

  “I figured I’d find Kinleigh in here with you.” His bushy brows lowered even more. “Not some strange man.”

  “He’s staying at the Hummingbird. Just got snowed in is all.” At least I was assuming the Hummingbird based on his description of the owner. Sounded like Sage Hamilton all right.

  Mitch grunted. “At least there was one sale tonight.” He stomped into the kitchen. “Crash at Kinleigh’s. It’s a shit drive.”