How Good It Was, page 18
“I like it, Luke. Flower.”
He nodded. “We should take these pictures. We have about half an hour before we need to leave. Where do you want me?”
Wasn’t that a leading question? She wanted him just about anywhere. But not when his position had only changed because he’d seen the baby. Not when she couldn’t be sure if his feelings were real or a contact high from seeing their son.
“What about by the palm near the bar cart? It should coordinate with what I’m wearing, and the light should be good?”
She took a moment to compose herself as she set up the lighting and her camera to capture the shot. “Okay,” she said eventually. “I’ve set a sequence timer. It will take a shot every few seconds so we can take lots and decide which we like best.”
Luke held his hand out to her, and she looked at it for a moment before taking it. “How do you want to stand?”
Suddenly, everything she knew about how to capture the best angles, which side was her best, whether or not to lower or raise her chin, disappeared. She was so close to Luke, she could smell his cologne, all woodsy, not a trace of anything remotely floral. His warmth seeped through her clothes.
They stood next to plants and the bar.
Things they’d bought just so they could take pictures like this. Things Luke didn’t own, hadn’t wanted, couldn’t afford. But they were here, because she’d asked him if they could add them. And he’d agreed.
Fake. All of it. It wasn’t Luke. Hell, it wasn’t even really her.
“You okay, Willow?”
“I’m not sure,” she murmured.
“You look like you just got hit by a cricket bat. Come here.” He pulled her into his arms and enveloped her, running his calloused palms up and down her chilled arms. “You’re cold.” Luke studied her face. “What’s going on?”
It would be too easy to just lean into him, to tell him what was on her mind.
“No, I’m good. Maybe a lot of excitement and adrenaline or something. Look, let’s take our pictures. I’m probably hungry because Lord knows I’m eating enough for four of us.”
“You sure?” He ran a knuckle along her jaw.
Don’t lean in.
“I’m sure.”
“What do we do?” Luke asked.
“Smile. Look lovingly at each other. Make it swoony and believable.”
“Not that hard, flower.”
Luke pulled her against him, his hand over her shoulder as they both smiled. Then, he took her hand, spun her out, then pulled her back again where she fell against his chest. Laughter bubbled over. “Luke,” she gasped.
“What. You said make it believable. And you’re laughing, right?”
His playfulness relaxed her.
He placed her in front of him, slid his fingers between hers, then placed both of their palms on her stomach, his hands splayed over their child.
And goddamn, the ache in her heart that wanted it to be real was back. A dark whisper that his attention was . . .
Fake.
She gasped, and grinned while her eyes stung, grateful he couldn’t see her as they both looked at the camera that clicked each time it took a photograph.
His hands moved over her, leaving goosebumps across her skin, making her thighs tighten with excitement. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts that ached for something more. His arms wrapped around her until she was pressed up against him, until her dress was pulled tight over her bump, leaving her feeling like a sexual woman with needs instead of a pregnant mother-to-be.
Luke pressed his nose against the side of her neck. “I’d forgotten just how good you feel in my arms, flower.”
His lips brushed the skin of her neck, and she momentarily tilted her head to give him room before she remembered.
This wasn’t really about her.
Taking another breath, allowing herself just another second in his arms, she stiffened and stepped away. “That should be perfect. Let me just go look at them and touch it up real quick.”
Too scared to look Luke in the eyes, she hurried to her room. Within seconds, she was looking at the images on the screen.
Stiff, at first.
Then, laughter. So real and free as her hair spun and she didn’t care about angles and shadows.
And, heat. Photographs she could never show anyone. Photographs that revealed what she already knew.
It had meant as much to Luke as it had to her. Only, for different reasons.
They were flammable.
Like they belonged on the cover of a romance novel. Tattooed hands interlaced with her own French-manicured, thin, gold-ring-clad fingers. Holding something so special. Something they’d created.
She scrolled back to the top of the images to an image she’d seen earlier. One when he’d just gathered her hands in his, just before she’d sunk into the moment of them.
Another where his hands were on her bump—she was looking down at them while Luke looked straight into the camera. His blue eyes piercing, his hair just a little ruffled.
She flopped back in the chair for a moment.
Could she really go ahead with this?
Could she tell the world their news this way? Wouldn’t it be better as a private thing?
“How are you doing?” Luke said, knocking on her door and pushing it open.
“Good,” she said, pasting a smile on her face.
Faker.
“Which one did you pick?” he asked.
She tipped her chin in the direction of the screen. “This one.”
“Pretty. Can you send me that one?” He pointed to one where they were laughing, the side profile of her bump visible.
“Sure. Why?”
Luke shrugged. “I just like it. Less staged. More you.”
“More me?”
“Yeah, flower. When you smile at me like that, I’d do pretty much anything you wanted.”
“Good to know.”
“Yeah. Probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
Willow sent Luke the image he wanted and loaded the picture she intended to use into her scheduler app for all platforms. “Ready?” she asked.
Luke put his finger over hers and they clicked the button together.
“You still want to go out for dinner?” Luke asked.
Willow stood. “I do.”
“Good. I ordered a ride.”
A few moments later, they were seated inside. Unable to resist, she pulled out her phone and checked their status, scrolling through the comments that were already beginning to appear. Happy comments. Likes.
After a few minutes, a notification from Luke’s user ID appeared.
She clicked on the post he’d tagged her in. It was the image of the two of them laughing.
New release coming mid-November. #duototrio #willowsdilf
A notification of a private message from Luke appeared at the top of her screen. Unable to bite it back, she grinned and opened the text.
Join me at The Ivy instead of hanging out online?
She turned off her phone, slid it into her purse, and turned to face him. “You’re my dilf?”
“Well, you wanted to fuck me, I’m your baby daddy so . . .”
“I thought you hated posting online.”
Luke placed his hand on the back of the car seat and twirled a piece of her hair around his finger. “I don’t want anybody else to control my narrative any more than you do. And this felt like the kind of news I want to tell the world myself. Not a newspaper, or a press release, or even you. It won’t be a regular thing, though.”
Luke’s phone began to buzz, the messages appearing on the screen.
“Do you need to check those?”
Luke shook his head. “Nope.”
“What if it’s important?”
“More important than having an honest conversation with you and Cletus in the back of this car?”
“When you put it like that . . . But I’m worried. What if your fans don’t like the news? What will that do—”
“You worry too much.” Luke lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Just enjoy tonight, flower. It’s the only moment that matters.”
13
Eleven days later, Luke wandered into the spare room to find Willow editing a video of their trip to the doctor. He still found it a little strange that so much of their life was online.
But it was working.
At least, by Willow’s measures of success.
There had been some fallout. She’d lost about ten thousand followers. And there had been comments about her being a poor example, some threats about her going to hell for having sex outside of marriage, and some mutterings about how he was borderline satanic and a bad influence.
But the majority had been hugely supportive.
Only one of her collaborations had cancelled. A makeup brand targeted to late teens to early twenties. But Willow had mentioned that her father had set up the collaboration, and that while it was a good product, she didn’t particularly love the colour palettes, and she’d never endorse something she didn’t think was good.
Surrounding her were three planners, all colour coded, and a stack of books he assumed were aimed at female entrepreneurs. Words like boss, rich, and life. Coloured stickie notes stuck out everywhere.
“Do you ever rest, flower?” He placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed his thumbs into her tight muscles.
Willow groaned and tipped her chin forward so he could dig in even harder. “The dream is free. Hustle is not.”
He kissed the side of her neck. “Don’t sit at this desk all day,” he said.
“I’m not going to. I’m going for a massage with Iz and Chaya at some Thai massage place they know in Didsbury Village that’s apparently awesome. They even checked they had someone who understood pregnancy massage, so I’m all set.”
“I like that you’ve made friends here.”
Willow looked up at him and smiled. “Is that your polite way of saying I hang around you too much?”
Luke slid his arms around her neck, allowing his hands to slide over her breasts that looked particularly full that morning. “No. It’s my way of saying you’ll be here for a long time, and I’ll be away for chunks of it. It’s good to know you have friends to look out for you and spend time with so you’re not lonely.”
“Well, you should know that the next time you are away, we’re all going for a sleepover at Cerys and Zoe’s.”
He kissed her cheek. “If there’s going to be pillow fights in underwear, I’m coming over.”
Somehow, she managed to stand and turn around without dipping out from under his arms. “There will be virgin cocktails, gossip, and no men.”
“Damn it.” He kissed her lips. Couldn’t get enough of them. They’d had sex . . . which had felt scarily like making love . . . more times than he could count since they’d got back from London two weeks earlier. Now, he wanted her again, but he caught sight of the time on her laptop. “Shit. I have to go. And I just got the email with my test results. All clear.”
Willow grinned. “A quickie?”
He kissed her again. “Would love to, but I don’t want to rush the first time I really get to feel you, and Ben just messaged that he’s leaving his house now. He’ll be outside in ninety seconds.”
“Enjoy yourself.” She ran her palms down his biceps.
“I will. I made you breakfast. One of those parfaits you like. And I added chocolate chips, because I know you’ve been adding them when my back’s turned.”
“Mmm.” The sound Willow made caused him to regret the time.
“Don’t groan like that.”
“I don’t know what it is, but I want chocolate and strawberries together all the time. I even sliced up strawberries and carved up a Snickers bar and ate them together. It was like Snickers crackers and berries.”
“That sounds bobbins, flower.”
“Bobbins?”
“Rubbish. Awful. Grim. Gross.”
“Bobbins,” Willow repeated. “I like it.”
“Yeah, well. The fact I have to let go of you and leave is total and utter bobbins, too.” He pulled her in for a kiss. A quick one that heated swiftly. He cupped her arse, holding her close, then let go with a playful growl against her neck. “See you later.”
An hour later, Parker Moseley pushed the door to a large warehouse space open. “Welcome to your first proper tour rehearsal.”
Luke stopped, wide eyed.
“Holy shit,” Alex said, putting words to Luke’s own feelings.
“It’s a proper fucking stage,” Jase said.
Ben shoved his hair back off his face. “With a whole bunch of shit I’m bound to trip over.”
Ed, their tour manager, hurried over. “Guys, before I forget. Here are copies of the detailed itinerary. It’s all been emailed to you and put in the tour calendar. There are a number of times associated on each day. You’ll have collection time from the hotel. Sound check, which you no longer need to attend. A ten-minute warning. Pick up from the arena. Whether you are staying on the coach, heading to the hotel. Or whether it’s a media day or mandatory day off.”
Luke glanced at the sheet. “You said we don’t need to attend sound check, but I like my kit set up a certain way.”
“Great point. This is Rob Bruner,” Ed said, pointing to a beefy man in his mid-forties wearing a faded Dave Matthews Band T-shirt. “Rob has been a drum tech for some of the biggest tours that have happened over the last ten years. We keep him on retainer so he’s available to our artists.”
“I’m sure he’s great, but isn’t it easier if I just do it myself?”
Rob grinned. “I’m happy to let you do as much or as little as you want. But here’s the thing. Your kit is growing. It’s new to you. I watched some video. You got a stability issue through the snares. Your kick drum travels. The setup is getting wider when you’d really benefit from shifting the horseshoe. I got a more industrial rack I was hoping you’d try. It’s going to allow you to hit harder because I think you know the kit’s current limits and are pulling your strokes.”
“Sure, I’m open to trying shit, but it might be hard to shift to a new formation at this stage.”
“I’m not talking new formation. But you do need some tweaks. I’ve a loan on a new ergonomic drum throne and the rack, like I already suggested. We need you to feel strong and secure when you play, so you can really nail your strokes.”
Parker looked at the band. “That’s the purpose of this. We know you know how to play the songs. But this is how it all comes together live. We need to work out the transitions between songs, check the light cues, maximise the dramatic effect, and minimise changeovers and costume changes.”
“Costume changes,” Jase scoffed. “I’m not fucking Beyoncé.”
Ben laughed. “No, you definitely aren’t.”
“Alex could probably pull it off, though,” Luke said.
Alex chuckled. “I’m probably the only one who could, but no one would see it behind all my kit anyway. Would be a waste of effort.”
Parker rolled his eyes. “Guys. You seem to forget. This is a step up. Do I care if you change your T-shirt or remain a sweaty mess all the way through? No. I don’t give a fuck. But fans paying the kind of money for tickets that you are now charging expect a show. What worked in the pub and club circuit won’t pass on a major tour. And every single person picked for the tour has been chosen for their experience. You need to listen to them.”
“Fair enough,” Jase said.
“There’s going to be a lot of sitting around, today,” Ed continued. “So, you all have time to spend with your respective member of the road crew. They are going to work with you on every specification. What key you want your guitars tuned. Which order you like your pedals. Whether you want your song list taped to the floor, on a speaker or to your left or right. Photographs will be taken. It’ll all be documented. The idea is, when you walk onstage, you should feel one hundred percent confident that your kit is exactly how you want it. And it will consistently be the same, night after night.”
“The sound and lighting team worked from the audio of our last studio rehearsal playthrough. They already have a fairly detailed production plan. But it’s the transitions and any variations that come from really playing it live,” Parker said. “I’ve just got to catch up with Ed and some of the team, but there’s a small room set up for you over there. Help yourself to coffee and be ready to start setup in ten.”
Ben looked around. “This is some next-level shit.”
Matt nodded and led them into the room that had been set up for them. Nothing fancy given the warehouse space, but there were chairs, a couple of tables, a TV. “It starts to get real pretty quick, doesn’t it? All this must cost a fortune.”
“I’m glad Cerys is on the team and coming with us,” Jase said, pouring coffee into a plastic cup from a large pot on the table.
Alex slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m surprised you didn’t go over and say hi.”
“New rules. She wants to keep church and state separate while we are rehearsing. Not make a big deal of being together.”
“Are you cool with that?” Luke asked.
“I’d rather we were just us. But I get it from her point of view. It’s tough enough being a woman in this industry, hell, any industry. So, yeah, if she needs distance while we’re at work, I’m cool with it. Anyway, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that shit.”
A shiver prickled the hairs on Luke’s neck. He didn’t want to think about absence. His son had perfect little hands, and perfect little ears, and the most perfect little nose. Watching him move, listening to his heartbeat, he was no longer “the baby” or Cletus. He was his own child. And something had cracked the wall around his heart. He couldn’t even begin to remotely explain it. In just those few moments, he’d caught a glimpse of a future that involved footie in the park, and the first day of school, and late-night feedings, and siblings.
Jesus.
More kids.
A family that was tight as a unit. Him, Willow, and their kids against the world.
Words didn’t even begin to describe the warmth that filled him as he thought about it. Day trips to Blackpool to ride donkeys on the sand, possibly with his sister and Matt’s kids.
