No Place Like You Read online

  She shrugged, still chewing, but pushed the box so it angled a little more toward him. Not exactly enthusiastic agreement, but he’d take it. He grabbed one of the doughnuts and took a bite.

  As doughnuts went, it was pretty damn good. “Where are they from?” he said. “I don’t remember anywhere making stuff like this.”

  “Stella Campbell took over the bakery on Main Street two years ago. She’s a genius,” Faith said.

  “Don’t let Lou hear you say that,” Zach said.

  “Well, if Lou ever decides to open a bakery, then I’m all hers,” Faith said. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen, and she insists on being a teacher instead of baking for me all day, so Stella is the next best thing.”

  “I’ll say,” Zach said. He finished off the doughnut in two bites. “She could make a fortune if she moved to L.A. Or maybe San Francisco,” he amended. Los Angeles was full of health nuts these days. Ryder even drank kale smoothies. Maybe that was what had sent the guy off the deep end. He reached for another of the pastries. Faith smacked his hand away. “These are for Nessa and her band. And Leah.”

  Well, that explained what Faith was doing here. Checking in on her pet project.

  “She has a great voice,” he said, nodding his head back toward the door that led through to the rehearsal rooms and the booths. “Nessa, I mean.”

  “I’m aware,” Faith said, lifting her chin. “Kind of why I chose her.”

  “You have good taste. And it’s a good idea,” he said. “Your foundation. It’s tough out there.”

  “Something else I’m aware of, Zach,” she said, and he winced.

  Of course she knew. After all, he and Faith tried to make a go of it back in the day, touring as a duo. It hadn’t gone so well. And he’d jumped ship. Now didn’t seem like the time to talk about that though. “I was just leaving,” he said. “You should go on in.”

  Faith didn’t budge. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “About?”

  “What you’re doing here?”

  “In the studio that I’m part owner of?”

  “Yes.”

  He shoved his hands into his back pockets. “Came to talk to Leah about booking some studio time but she was busy with Nessa. So I’ll come back some other time.”

  Faith frowned. “What did you do?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The only reason for Leah to send you packing is if you did something to piss her off. So what did you do?”

  “Who said she sent me packing?”

  “Well, you had annoyed-Zach face when I walked in. And you’re too nosy not to hang around a studio session and watch what’s happening for at least an hour if no one chases you out.”

  “Maybe I’ve been here an hour.”

  “I talked to Leah about fifteen minutes ago when I was driving back from town. She failed to mention you were here, so I don’t think so.” Faith put her hands on her hips. She wore jeans and a T-shirt that were almost the mirror of his own outfit, if the mirror was a very girly one.

  Faith and he were too alike in many ways. Maybe that was why they butted heads so often. He didn’t feel like making Leah another reason for them to test their skills in pissing each other off all over again. “She was busy. It’s all good. And now, I have to go. Songs to write and all that sort of stuff. Thanks for the doughnut.” He moved past her, stopping to drop a quick kiss on her cheek—half surprised when she stood still and let him—and escaped through the door before she could interrogate him any more.

  * * *

  As it turned out, he had the perfect reason to stick to Grey’s studio and the guesthouse for the next two days. Because when he woke on Thursday morning, it was to the annoying buzz of his phone. The stream of notifications drowning his screen was enough to make it clear that the news about Ryder had gotten out.

  He flopped back on the bed, shoving the phone under one of the pillows. He’d known this was coming. He’d thought he was ready.

  But apparently he’d been wrong. Because it felt like being punched in the gut all over again.

  Still, he knew how to ride out a media storm and he was in the perfect place to do it. No one would get onto the Harper grounds to stick a camera or a microphone in his face.

  Hopefully the press would be more focused on Ryder anyway.

  He could turn his phone off and focus on his songs.

  But he probably should give Faith and Mina a heads-up first. If the press did decide to come hunting for him on Cloud Bay, they might just try to ambush his sisters if they couldn’t get to him.

  He dragged the phone back out, scrolled briefly through the screen. Saw that he’d missed several calls from Jay. And a series of texts. Which could be summed up as “we need to put out a statement, so fucking call me already.” There was a similar series of messages from Hal, who managed Fringe Dweller, as well. Austin and Ian had added to the barrage.

  He fired back a series of texts. He didn’t really care what the statement said. It would be some version of “we support Ryder, whatever he needs, bros before bands, yada yada.”

  He definitely wouldn’t be making any statement in person. Not until he was less pissed with Ryder and could say that shit and not be lying through his teeth. Because sure, the dude’s life was more important than the music, but the way Ryder had handled it sucked.

  Much like the way Zach had handled Leah.

  There was too much suck all around.

  He sent two final texts—one each to Faith and Mina—then turned the phone off, tossing it into the drawer in his bedside table for good measure.

  So. Plan for the next few days. Play guitar. Write music. Hang out with Eli. Stay out of sight.

  Figure shit out.

  Easier said than done maybe but there was no time like the present to at least give it a shot.

  But no sooner had he gone back downstairs to grab his guitar than the house phone started ringing. He stared at it warily. Faith calling to check on him? Or had some scum-sucking paparazzi somehow managed to get the number? He was tempted to ignore it but if it was Faith, she’d just come on over to check on him. Easier to have the conversation. He could hang up if it was anybody he didn’t know.

  “Hello?” he growled, lifting the phone.

  “Zach?” Lou’s voice sounded a little surprised.

  He felt his shoulders relax. “Oh. Hey, Lou.”

  “Honey, I just saw the news. Are you okay?”

  The concern in her voice made him smile. Lou, at least, would always be the one person guaranteed to stand by him. He’d known that since the first time she’d met him when Grey had brought her home to Lansing. He’d still been pretty young but he remembered the feel of her arms and the sense of safety. She’d never left any of them since that day.

  “I’m fine,” he said gently. “But thank you for calling.”

  “Of course I’m calling,” she said, sounding indignant. He could picture her face, all bright blue eyes and cropped silver hair. “You just keep your head down and ignore the press. They’ll lose interest.”

  “That’s my plan.”

  “Good. Can I bring you anything?”

  He hesitated. Part of him didn’t want her to go to any trouble, but there was a bigger part of him that knew that one of Lou’s pies would help his mood right now. Along with some of her common sense. He’d seen her at Faith’s for dinner the night he’d arrived but she hadn’t pushed to find out more about his plans since then. “How about you bring me a hug?” He knew the hug would come with baked goods. Added bonus but if he had to choose between pie and a hug from the tiny whirlwind that was his stepmom, he’d pick the hug.

  “I’ll be right there,” Lou said.

  * * *

  Two days later he was leaving the studio in a mood—turned out the good effects of Lou’s hugs and pie didn’t last forever-—after wrestling with a song that just wouldn’t play ball for four solid hours, when he met Faith coming the other way along the path.

&nb
sp; “Oh good, you’re alive,” she said.

  “Yep.”

  She eyed him up and down. “Or maybe you’re the start of the zombie apocalypse. You need a shave.”

  “It’s my designer stubble,” he said, scratching a hand over his chin. He’d never liked designer stubble. It itched. He usually shaved daily.

  “Nope. Designer stubble looks cool.” She squinted at him. “You look like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. On a bender.”

  He looked down at his clothes. Ancient tattered board shorts and a scruffy T-shirt that had several holes in it. He’d shoved his feet into flip-flops, intending to head down to the beach and work off some frustration on some waves. Okay, so maybe Faith had a point.

  “I’m going surfing.”

  “Well, that’s better than stewing in the studio, I guess,” Faith said. “I was beginning to think you were never going to emerge.” She pulled a folded stack of papers out of her back pocket. “I was bringing you these messages. Every man and his dog has been calling for you at Harper Inc. Including Jay. What happened to your phone?”

  “I turned it off,” he said. “Seemed like the sensible thing to do while Ryder is the media sensation of the moment.”

  “No, the sensible thing to do is switch to a phone that only a few people know about,” Faith said.

  “Two phones is a hassle.” Grey had always had two. Or more, as he’d constantly lost them.

  “If your other one is switched off, then it’s really still only one phone,” Faith pointed out. She waved the stack of papers at him. “Here, take these and I’ll leave you alone. At least I can report back to Mina that you’re still alive.”

  “Given I saw her walking Stewie past the studio this morning, she probably knows that already.” It had been kind of nice to think Mina was checking up on him. Especially when he knew she wouldn’t come up and disturb him. Mina was a painter. She knew all about holing up to work.

  “She worries.” Faith’s mouth quirked and he wasn’t entirely sure if Mina was the only one who worried.

  He took the messages, trying not to feel too pleased that Faith had brought them to him. “What about you?”

  “I worry that my entire phone system might be going to melt down,” she said. But then she looked up at him, biting her lip. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good,” he said. “Just don’t want to get caught up in the circus. Makes more sense to keep moving on with the plan, you know? I’m sorry you’re getting hassled.” They’d grown up with fame, knew the downsides of it. But he’d chosen to stay in the spotlight, and she’d stepped a few degrees sideways. She didn’t actively avoid it in the way Mina did, but even so, she shouldn’t have to deal with his fallout.

  She nodded. “Okay. But you don’t have to be a hermit. Come up for dinner tonight.”

  Another olive branch. Which meant he had to take it. “Thanks. I didn’t stock up on enough groceries to keep hiding out here much longer.”

  “The grocery store delivers. Lou said there were press in Cloud Bay today. Hopefully they get bored soon. But we won’t let you starve.” She hesitated. “How’s the writing going?”

  “I’m going surfing.”

  She grimaced. “That good, huh?”

  “Early days. Need to shake some cobwebs off, I think.” Faith would understand that. And it seemed she did because she nodded at him.

  “Whatever works. Enjoy the surf. Dinner’s at seven.”

  * * *

  When Zach walked through the open patio doors into Faith’s kitchen, Leah almost spilled the wine she was pouring.

  Crap. What was he doing here? What was this, national-Zach-Harper-darkening-her-doorstep-out-of-the-blue week?

  “Leah,” he said, coming to a halt just inside, looking just as surprised as she felt. “Hi.”

  She finished pouring the wine. Took a large swig of it. “Hi,” she said brightly. “Wine?” She held up the bottle, still too caught out by his appearance to think of anything else to say. She tried not to look at the stairs. Faith was upstairs, changing her T-shirt because she’d spilled red sauce on it. She needed to change faster.

  Zach shook his head, walked past her, and stopped at the fridge a couple of feet away. “Ah. Beer. I knew Caleb would have some.” He cracked a bottle, took a swallow. Then another.

  Was he nervous? What did he have to be nervous about? He’d turned her down. End of story.

  “Bad day?” she asked. Dammit. When would she learn not to poke the bear? She was supposed to be ignoring Zach Harper. Consigning his far-too-pretty ass to the depths of whatever fiery hell would take him, burning the memories she had of him—past and present—and getting on with her life. That didn’t involve asking the man how his day had been.

  Zach grimaced. “Wrestling with a song.” He didn’t offer more. She didn’t ask. Song writing was way too close to the subject of producing. She definitely wasn’t going to be asking him who he’d found to work with. She might be dumb enough to poke the bear, but she wasn’t going to hand it a stick to whack her back with.

  Wine. That would be good. She drank again, hoping like hell Faith would reappear before she put too much wine in her currently empty stomach. The pasta sauce simmering on the big stove smelled amazing. Having spent the week eating at the studio, while she worked with Nessa and her band, she was looking forward to a meal that didn’t come in takeout cartons or pizza boxes.

  She eyed Zach. What the hell did you talk about with a musician when you were determined to avoid the subject of music? Did he like sports? She wracked her brain but it stalled, too busy cataloguing just how good he looked in the dark green shirt he wore loose over dark jeans. He’d rolled the cuffs up, putting his arms and tattoos on display. Dammit. It was like he knew her secret weakness. A very stupid part of her wanted to walk over to him, run her hands up his arms, peel off his shirt, and bite one of his tattoos.

  She’d done that once. When he’d been deep inside her and she’d—

  Nope. Stop. Not thinking about that. She dragged her eyes up to his face. His hair looked kind of windswept. Like maybe he’d been—

  “Surfing!” she exclaimed. God. Had she said that aloud?

  “Pardon?” Zach said.

  “Er, have you been surfing since you got back? You used to like that, right?” Wow. She sounded like an idiot.

  He looked amused. “Right. And, yes, actually. I went this afternoon. ’Round to Shane’s place.”

  “Any good?” Cloud Bay didn’t have world-class surf but the beaches on the farthest end of the island where Shane King’s house stood on the top of high cliffs, got some good waves. She’d surfed there herself. Not yet this season though. That would require remembering what free time was. Since the divorce she’d been throwing herself into the studio. Easier than sitting around at home alone. Apart from the odd girl’s movie night with Faith and Ivy and, occasionally, Mina, which was about as wild as the four of them got now that the other three were all hooked up, it was all work, work, work.

  “Not bad. Been a few months since I’ve had time to swim in anything other than a hotel pool.” He grinned. “Salt water is way better than chlorine.”

  That smile. Pure delight. She remembered it. Had seen him grin like that when surfing. And when doing other things. Naked things. There was a sudden throb between her legs as she remembered.

  Oh, God. Her girl parts were dumb. So very very dumb.

  She reached for the wine to refill her glass. Zach lifted an eyebrow.

  “What?” she said. “Some of us have been working all day, not surfing.”

  He held up his hands. “No judgment.”

  “Who’s not judging who?” Faith said, appearing at the top of the stairs. She started down. “Zach, are you annoying Leah?”

  Leah avoided wincing. Focus on the wine. Act normal. Faith did not need to know anything about Leah’s unfortunate weakness for Zach. Leah had kept it a secret for a long time now and she didn’t intend to change that any time soon.

  “Not on p
urpose,” Zach said. “I’m just drinking beer.”

  “Trust me, you can annoy people accidentally,” Faith said, but she smiled at her brother. “Go find Caleb. Talk boy stuff. Leah’s going to play me some stuff from Nessa’s session today while I cook.”

  Zach tilted his head. “Nessa’s stuff? Can I listen?”

  “No. Because I haven’t asked her if that would be okay with her,” Faith said. She flapped a dishtowel at him. “Shoo. Boy things. Go. Do. Soon to be brother-in-law bonding and all that stuff.”

  “But—” Zach started to say, but shut up when Faith just pointed at the kitchen door. He picked up his beer, then stopped and grabbed another out of the fridge, before he retreated toward the living room.

  As the door closed behind him, Leah felt relief for about five seconds. Until she realized that she actually wished he was still here in the same room with her.

  Good grief. She really was stupid when it came to Zach. And there was probably not enough wine in the universe to cure her.

  chapter six

  Leah didn’t stay long after dinner was done, and Zach took her departure as an excuse to head out as well.

  She’d seemed a little nervous around him, but maybe she was just still getting over him turning her down.

  Hopefully. He didn’t want things to be weird. Which was why he’d spent most of dinner pretending not to notice how good she looked in the red tank top and jeans she wore.

  Because there was one sure way to fuck things up while he was home and that would be to tangle with Leah in a whole different way.

  The evening air had turned cooler, clearing his head as he walked the short path through the garden to the guesthouse.

  In another few weeks it would be warm late into the evening, making evening swims and cold beers the order of the day. He needed to check that the air-conditioning in Grey’s studio was working or else he’d sweat himself to death trying to make this album.

  He added that to his mental to-do list as he opened his front door and headed to the kitchen to open the French doors—smaller versions of the ones that graced Faith’s kitchen—to let the air in.

  The breeze ruffled the stack of messages he’d pinned down on the table under a bottle of whiskey he’d found in the pantry.