marrying you because that’s how things are meant to be. You and I were going to end up together no matter what.”
Mom tears up. “I raised a hell of a son,” she says.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“What do you two have planned for today?” Her smile wanes, and she looks at me guiltily. “I almost forgot. You’re playing at the fair tonight.”
“You’re coming, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m only sad nobody will get to hear Abby sing.”
I smile. “This will be the last concert where she doesn’t. After next week, she’ll officially be a singer for Naked Whale.”
Abby giggles and sits back down awkwardly. “Kind of apropos, considering I’ll be as big as one soon.”
“Are you going to watch them play?” Mom asks her. “Do you want to go with me?”
“I wouldn’t miss it, but I work until seven. I’ll take a change of clothes with me and go when I get off. I’m sure I’ll see you there, Shelly.”
Mom is pleased at Abby’s use of her first name. “I’ll be right where I always am, in the front row.”
I call after her as she leaves the room, “My mom. Naked Whale’s biggest fan.”
She calls back, “Chris Rewey’s biggest fan.”
“Your mom is so nice,” Abby says.
“Yeah. I kind of hit the jackpot where moms are concerned.” I look at the time. “I wish you didn’t have to go to work.”
“Me too, but we’re going to need the money.”
“Has that asshole bothered you anymore?”
“Rob? Not since you told him to fuck off last week.”
Mom pokes her head out of the kitchen. “Don’t curse around the baby.”
“Sorry, Shelly!” Abby says.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “He hasn’t come to the drive-thru?”
“Nope. Someone said he got a job at a gas station on the other side of town.”
“Good. I’m glad I was there when he came in and harassed you. Dude creeps me out. He’s way too old to be talking to teenage girls.”
“Tell me about it.”
I touch a lock of her hair. “Old guy or not, I don’t want anyone looking at my girl that way.”
“Babe, you have nothing to worry about. It’s like the song we wrote. Do I need to sing it to you again?”
“You know I want you to, but you’ll be late for work.” We get off the couch. “I wish you could be up onstage with me tonight.”
“I will be soon. Do you think people will care that a pregnant girl is singing in a rock band?”
“I think they won’t even notice your baby bump once you start singing.”
She stretches up to kiss me. “You’re my biggest fan.”
“Hell yes, I am.”
I escort her to her car and give her one last kiss through the open window. “I’ll see you and Slash tonight?”
I can hear her laughter as she backs out of the driveway. Damn, I love her.
Chapter Twenty-one
Bria
I run downstairs to let Crew in. He hands me a coffee, knowing exactly how I like it, and we walk up to my apartment. When I unlock the door, he smiles.
“Ready to get to it?” he asks.
“I hope so.”
Yesterday afternoon was a disaster. Neither of us had anything worth working with. There are some lyrics I didn’t show him that might have sufficed, but I’m not willing to put myself out there like that.
“What’s today?” he asks. “Wednesday? Let’s try to get this done by tomorrow night, so we can rehearse Friday before our gig.”
“It is Wednesday.” I check the calendar. “In fact, today is exactly four months after we met.”
“How can you remember that?”
“It was after my sound check. We went to the diner, remember?”
“Yeah, but how did you know it was a Wednesday?”
“I remember everything about the tour. Every concert, every city. Everything.”
Crew’s jaw tightens. “I bet you do.”
I giggle. He’s jealous. “You’re not thinking about Adam Stuart, are you?”
“He’s been in your bed, Bria. The lead singer of one of the most successful bands of our time has been in your bed. It’s kind of hard to ignore that.”
It’s impossible not to smile. If he’s thinking about Adam in my bed, then he’s thinking about us there, too.
“Technically, he’s never been in my bed.”
“You know what I mean,” he huffs.
“Are you worried you won’t measure up?” I joke.
His eyes snap to mine. “Are we talking in bed or onstage?”
“Both, I guess.”
He rubs his jaw. “Come on, Miss We-Met-on-a-Wednesday, let’s get to work.”
I stare at him. Then the calendar.
“What is it?”
“Give me a minute.” I reach for my notebook. I scribble, mark words out, and scribble some