her past tucked away from Reagan this long, she didn’t need it coming out now. Good thing she hadn’t labeled any of the boxes “Remnants of a Failed Teen Pop Star.” One day she’d tell her the story of how Mommy was kind of famous once upon a time. But not now. She wasn’t ready for the questions that Reagan would have yet.
“So are these yours?” she asked again.
Oakley took the pages from her. “Yes, I liked to write songs when I was younger.”
She still did. Her feelings tended to come out in lyrics, and she couldn’t turn that nozzle off. But now they were messy words scrawled on sticky notes or in her journal. Words that had nowhere to go except into the silence of ink on paper.
“Could we use some of these for the Bluebonnet songs? I like the one about wishes. How does it sound on the guitar?”
Oakley smiled. “Wait, Ms. Punk Chick likes ‘Dandelion’?”
Reagan lifted her bony shoulder, a little sheepish. “I like that part about people’s wishes floating in the air. That seems kind of cool. And the other girls will probably like it because it’s about flowers. Even though it’s really about wishes and not flowers.”
“What about the boys?”
“Who cares what they like?”
Oakley laughed. “You’ll probably care one day.”
“Not today.”
Oakley reached out and ruffled Reagan’s pixie hair—a cut Rae had insisted on despite it drawing some teasing from the other girls at school. Short hair was a no-no in tween land, apparently, but Reagan wasn’t one to take polls of popular opinion—a blessing and a curse. “Go and get my guitar, and I’ll try to remember how this one goes so you can decide if you really like it.”
Reagan’s face lit up and she ran off to get the guitar. Oakley reached for the watered down Coke she’d left sweating on the side table and swigged it for the caffeine more than the taste. She was going to have to find a way to grab some more sleep. Last night, her regular eight o’clock Wednesday caller, Edward, had been more than a little put out by the fact that she hadn’t been able to talk to him at the scheduled time. He said he’d called first and had gotten redirected to the wrong number and then when he’d called a second time, she hadn’t been able to talk yet.
She’d almost died on the spot when the phone had rung in front of Pike. On Wednesdays, her brother kept Reagan overnight to give Rae a chance to visit with her cousin Lucas and to give Oakley a night to herself. But instead of relaxing, she typically used it to log more hours on the line and earn extra money. So she had her account set to sign in automatically at eight. And Edward was used to getting his call at that time every week.
She’d apologized profusely, not wanting to lose one of her most steady and decent customers, and had agreed to give him time off the clock late last night after she was done with her other calls. So he’d taken full advantage of that time. He liked to talk to her like she was his girlfriend. So though it always led to sex stuff in the end, he first had conversations with her about life, things going on in the news, the weather. She had to make up things about her job and life, keeping everything confidential, but he seemed to enjoy the relationship-y parts as much as the hot stuff. It was the behavior of a lonely guy, but he wasn’t demeaning and he talked to her like she was a normal person.
She’d gladly take ten Edward calls a night than the rest of the stuff. Talking about the weather felt decadent after a night of being called a dirty little slut for the hundredth time.
Her phone buzzed from the coffee table and she grabbed it. Unknown Caller. It was too early for any calls to be forwarded from the service. She put it to her ear. “Hello?”
“I have two pizzas, a free night, and a lot of ideas. But I need your address in order to deliver these wondrous gifts.”
“Who is this?”
“Well, someone has a lot of guys calling her and offering free food.”
“Ryland.”
“Give the lady a prize. So what do you say?”
“Pike, it’s a weeknight and Reagan’s here and—”
“This is strictly business. We didn’t get to finish up last night and I’m booked up this weekend, so I figured we could squeeze in some planning tonight. Plus, what kid doesn’t like pizza?”
“She’s already eaten. And I didn’t say we could have meetings at my house.”
“Come on. I figured that’d be easiest on you since you wouldn’t need to get a babysitter. And I really am harmless. Ask Tessa. You think your boss would let me work around the kids if she thought there was anything to worry about?”
Oakley blew out a breath. Of course Tessa wouldn’t. The background check process was extensive. Oakley had almost backed out of the job when she’d realized she’d have to reveal the truth about her past to Tessa in order to get hired. But Tessa had thankfully been very understanding and hadn’t brought up anything since.
Regardless, did Oakley want Pike at her house? She only had a little while before she’d need to put Reagan to bed and get on the phone. Last night had already been too close of a call.
However, the work had to get done and if he was going to be gone all weekend, they’d be even more behind next week when she had to report progress to Tessa. “Fine. But you can only stay a little while.”
“Deal.”
She rattled off her address, hung up, and glanced down at what she was wearing—a worn-out Mickey Mouse T-shirt and yoga pants. Very sexy. She ignored the ridiculous instinct to rush to her room and put something more flattering on. If he wanted to stop by last-minute, then he could deal with the true-to-life version of herself. Plus, she could use all the armor available to her. This outfit said loud and clear that this was not anything more than a planning session.
Now if she could just convince her racing heart of that.
When Pike walked up to the door of Oakley’s small clap board house, music drifted through the slightly open window. He tilted his head, recognizing the dulcet tones of Oakley’s voice singing along with a guitar. Nice. He closed his eyes, straining to pick out the words.
Take my wish, pluck it from the air, plant it with your hands, and let it bloom …
The song was upbeat but had a yearning to it that made it almost sad. Wistful.
Blow it away, blow me away. Watch us fade away.
Pike hummed along with the chorus, picking up the pattern of notes quickly, and inserting a matching drumbeat in his head. Huh, the song was a catchy little thing. Sweet and raw. Like a Jewel tune with an updated rhythm.
He hated to knock and interrupt, but the next-door neighbor had stepped onto her porch and was sending him an evaluating glare. He was used to that look. He’d gotten it as a kid when he’d walk through his friend Foster’s gated neighborhood. The blond kid with the thrift store clothes and the punk rock hair did not belong. He resisted the urge
