Every Heart Sings (Serenity Island Series) (8 page)

“Did you read the letter?” Jordan whispered.

Tony wouldn’t meet her eyes. He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Nah, figured it was personal.”

Bullshit. What snoopy teen wouldn’t read a letter hidden away in a guitar case? But she let it go. For now, Tony wasn’t going to share Josh’s secrets with her.

She’d have to work on the kid. Get him to trust her.

Hell, what was wrong with her? She was trying to figure out ways to sweat information about Josh Nicodemus from her sixteen-year-old nephew, when what she really needed to do was get him to trust her enough to believe her when she said that he needed to walk away from the entertainment business or it would eat him alive.

“Go get those dishes done, would you? Before the lunch rush gets here.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You are seriously wrecking my summer vacation, dude.”

“I am not a dude. The sooner you understand that, the sooner we can move on in our conversational discourse. How are you ever going to talk to girls if you keep calling them dude? Sheesh. And, no, this is not vacation. I’m teaching you discipline. You’ll thank me some day.”

“Yeah. You’re cray-cray.” He muttered something else as he pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen.

“Better crazy than a doormat. You remember that, bucko.”

Tony grunted. The universal male language for . . .
I’m not listening to you right now
.

Jordan was no one’s doormat. Hadn’t been for years. Since she’d gotten away from her parents at the age of sixteen.

She understood Tony’s desire to find his own way. She’d been there. Only Tony had a loving, normal parent in Grace. How she’d turned out so normal was beyond Jordan. Guess it had something to do with Grace being a few years older and her grandmother’s insistence on taking care of her while Jordan’s mom had been running Jordan from audition to audition. Grace had never had any interest in acting. So her mom had quickly lost interest in her oldest daughter.

Yeah. Grace was tired or working most of the time. But she was a good mom to Tony.

He’d be just fine.

As long as Jordan could make sure Josh Nicodemus didn’t screw it all up for Tony this summer.

Still, she was curious what could have been in that envelope to so visibly shake the sexy six-foot rocker with more testosterone than God. She recognized fear and panic when she saw it.

And she knew what running from that kind of fear could do to you. It could rip you apart and steal everything precious to you.

No, whether Josh Nicodemus knew it or not, he was about to get help facing his fears. Because, hell, she was nothing if not helpful.

And if it kept Josh away from Tony, even better.

Chapter 7

Paraphernalia, Where Music is Made

Josh found himself trolling the aisles of the local grocery store—The Grounded Grocer—in search of food to stock his refrigerator and pantry closet.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shopped for his own groceries and he hadn’t realized he’d kind of missed the autonomy it gave him. He felt like an average guy. What a concept. Who knew you could miss ordinary life tasks?

And, if he were honest with himself, the chore diverted him from thinking about the letter in his pocket and the mountain of emotion he wore on his back like a two-ton gorilla. He’d deal with his feelings, work what he could out on paper and into his songs and music, later today.

After he purchased the basics.

Food. Paper goods. And lots of drinks—both healthy and the more spirited variety that could help him dull the edge that had been poking him hard since Tony handed that damned letter to him.

Basics. He just needed to focus on the basics.

It would see him through. It always did.

He selected his favorites. What he needed to live on for the next few weeks. The basics.

At the checkout counter, a pretty woman, probably somewhere in her thirties, rang him up. “Good mornin’. You must be that fancy singer Sidewinder said moved in above The Down Dog Café.”

Josh smiled. “Yep. That’d be me. Not sure how fancy I am, though.”

She nodded and twirled a strand of her brunette hair with white-tipped nails. “You’re pretty fancy by Serenity standards. Even though you are doing your own shopping. Gotta like that in a man.” She smiled, flirting with him.

Josh loaded the short conveyor belt with. He kept his focus on the task at hand. Buying groceries.

“You married? Cause I don’t see a wedding band. Not that all celebrities wear them.”

“Nope. Not married.” Josh pulled his wallet from his front pocket, trying to move her along so that she’d start ringing him up instead of taking stock of his assets.

“Good to know. I’m Miranda. Lived here all my life.” She offered him her hand and held on when he took it in a polite shake. Josh tugged at his hand. She didn’t release it. He tried to pull away again. Finally, she let go. “So if there’s anything you need to know about Serenity, you let me know. Ya hear?”

“I’ll certainly do that. Thank you.” He pulled out his phone, since she wasn’t making any progress toward ringing him up. God. Death by non-checkout. “I do have a question for you, Miranda, since you have time. Do you have any idea when deliveries usually arrive in Serenity? FedEx or UPS?”

She studied at the clock over her shoulder. “Oh, any time now. Morning delivery is usually around eleven. Sometimes, there’s a late afternoon delivery at around four o’clock.”

“Great. Then if you could hurry a little, I’m expecting a delivery this morning. My music equipment.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure thing.” She seemed to finally catch on. She scanned a few items. Then looked at him again. “Can I just say. Wow. You sure are pretty.”

Josh laughed. “Thanks. I think. I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman tell me I’m pretty.”

Miranda looked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen someone as model-perfect here on the island since J.D. arrived. And, heck, we’ve all gotten used to her. She’s not as big a deal as she once was. But, you. Darn. You’re like God.”

“No. I’m not. I’m a man, Miranda. Like every other guy you’ve probably dated or encountered here in Serenity. I put my pants on one leg at a time. I tie my shoes. I throw my socks around. I talk with my mouth full. I play guitar twenty-four-seven. I get distracted by a pretty face and a simple melody. Hell, I’m just an average guy.”

“I wouldn’t call you average, by any stretch.” She paused, watching the food advance on the conveyor belt. “You got a lot of groceries here. Sidewinder didn’t mention how long you planned on staying. Here for a while?”

Josh sucked in a breath through a toothy smile, trying with great effort to be nice, and nodded. “Yep. Here for a couple of months. Got work to do. Figured Serenity was the best place to do it.”

“Cool.” She finished ringing up his groceries. He handed her the money. “Well, welcome to Serenity. If there’s anything you need—I mean anything—you let me know. I’d be glad to help you out.”

“Thanks, Miranda. That’s mighty kind of you. I’ll sure let you know.” Again, he turned up the wattage of his smile. He knew he’d succeeded when she melted a little, sagging against the counter with a little sigh.

Damn. Groupies came in all forms. Even, apparently, at the grocery store in Serenity.

Josh grabbed his sacks of groceries and walked home.

But Miranda had certainly been a nice groupie, which was different from everyone else who demanded something from him, expecting him to put out, give in, no matter what. If they pushed hard enough, he’d roll over. That never really worked for him. Yeah, under the influence of drugs and alcohol, he’d made less than stellar choices in women, but that had been a long, long time ago.

Years.

And he couldn’t remember the last woman he’d taken to his bed. God. How long had it been? Since before the tour started. Angel. His next door neighbor and friend with sometimes benefits. Yep, it had been since the last time he’d been staying at his house in Malibu—eighteen months ago. Shit. Far too long. Even for him.

Sometimes, Josh wished he could be like a normal guy—the normal guy he’d told Miranda he was—and just fall in love with a normal girl. But ordinary girls couldn’t deal with him or his mega-lifestyle. Not for long anyway. Oh well, he wasn’t here to fall in love with a woman. Honestly, he was here to fall in love with music and his career again. If he could do that, he’d be satisfied.

Too bad his dick didn’t agree.

Josh walked back through the front door of The Down Dog Café an hour and a half after his initial encounter with the mysterious letter Tony had given him. Jordan didn’t know what to think, but when she saw him, juggling three paper bags of groceries through the front door, she ran to help him out. She lurched for the bag that was slipping from his hands and caught it.

He sighed. “Thanks. I didn’t think it was that far from the grocery store back to the apartment.” He huffed, a little out of breath.

“And here you thought you were in shape.”

He smiled at her and her tummy fluttered. His brilliant blue eyes staring straight through her, and his flash of white teeth and friendly golden-boy charm had her smiling right back at him.

“I am. I can perform on stage for three hours straight, six nights a week. Choreographed dance steps and high-octane acrobatics. All under the blazing heat of stage lighting. But make me carry three bags of groceries for a mile in the humidity, and, damn.”

“Poor, baby. Life is so hard.”

He raised a brow, studying her before he led the way upstairs. “You have no idea,” he said over his shoulder, all sexy with innuendo.

“Bet that gets all the girls to drop their panties. Not gonna happen here, stud. I’m immune to your charms.”

He laughed. “I don’t remember asking you to drop your panties.” He glanced at her.

Damn him. He hadn’t asked. And that kind of chafed.

Jordan had always had guys asking, for as long as she could remember. Come to think of it, he seemed pretty immune to her. Yeah, sure, he’d kissed her, but he’d been able to walk away. No one walked away from her. Ever.

So what made Josh impervious?

Probably because he
was
different.

First. He was sexier than any man she’d seen in, hell, fifteen years . . . if ever. Since she’d left Hollywood, certainly. Didn’t that just suck? Because Josh was exactly her type. Except for the fact that he was a popular celebrity, of course.

Second. She was sure Josh
didn’t
ask. He didn’t have to. Women threw themselves at stars. And musicians were no different. The entertainment business was the same today as it had been fifteen, twenty years ago. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Third. The man lived a privileged life. And who better than her to know exactly what that meant and how that transformed and trashed a life. Hell. The guy couldn’t even do his own grocery shopping.

Josh slid his two bags onto the island in the middle of the kitchen and started to unpack them. She pulled an eggplant and peppers from the paper sack and placed them on the counter.

“Wow. You know how to cook?” she asked, impressed.

Josh tilted his head, looking at her.

“Yes. I do. I come from a large family. We all took turns cooking a meal—four times a month. There were seven of us, including mom, so we were each responsible for making dinner once every week. My mom said there was no way she was releasing a man into the world who couldn’t feed himself or his woman.”

“I like your mom.”

“Yes, I think you would love her.”

“How many sisters did you say you have?”

“Three older sisters. Two older brothers. Two cats, a dog, a piglet and a goat.”

“Sounds like quite the menagerie.” She laughed out loud. “What an image.”

“Yeah, some days it was a zoo. Controlled chaos, my mom called it.” He slipped the extra virgin olive oil into the pantry cupboard and grabbed the box of muesli and nut cereal. “I think it was just chaos. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“So where did you grow up? Doesn’t sound like L.A., not with a goat and a pig.”

“You’re right. I grew up in the Appalachian mountains of Kentucky.”

“Huh. Is that right?” She sat the seasonings on the counter and folded the brown paper bag. “Why didn’t you go to Nashville, become a country singer? Kentucky-born. I’d have thought country would’ve suited you better. Not rock.”

“I have a strong Bluegrass and Gospel background on my dad’s side. My mom’s side of the family is Jewish. I had family in L.A. and a rock-and-roll soul that I couldn’t deny. Don’t get me wrong. I love country music. All music really. My grandfather was classically trained at Julliard.”

“Wow. Really?” Now she was impressed. “You did say you came from a musical family.”

Josh hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. He’s the classical pianist, Saul Nicodemus Cohen.”

“Ah, the namesake for Nicodemus. Then Josh Nicodemus is a stage name?”

“Yes. I was born Joshua Cohen Matthews.”

“Huh. Cohen-Matthews sounds like a Jewish-Christian name.”

“Yes. My mom’s family was Jewish. My dad’s Catholic.”

“Interesting combination.”

“You’d never believe it, even if I told you.”

“I bet.” Her chest filled with repressed laughter. “Well, that explains the big family.”

“Yes, big family, and twice the guilt.”

“So do you mind me asking a personal question?”

“Shoot.” He glanced at her while he put the veggies and meat away in the fridge.

Jordan had been biting her tongue. But she couldn’t do it anymore. “Who wrote the letter Tony gave you earlier today?”

Josh pulled the thick envelope from his back pocket and threw it on the kitchen table. “My grandfather.”

“Oh.” She was at a loss for words, not sure what to say next.

“Yes, my dad died when I was young. Fourteen. I kind of went off the rails. My grandfather stepped in to help my mom guide me. He loved me beyond anything, but he was disappointed when I chose to go the rock-n-roll route with my career instead of pursuing the classical music training he wanted for me.”

“I’m sure he’s proud of you. Who wouldn’t be, with your success?” She tried to offer the consolation that she could see he needed.

“You’d think, wouldn’t you? Not so much. I didn’t meet the high musical standards he held. I was a second-class musician. Not a real musician, according to him. That’s what he says in the first sentence of that letter.”

She touched his arm. Her fingers brushed his warm skin. The hairs on his forearm were brown with blond highlights. He stilled at the touch. He held her gaze, waiting for her to speak. “You are a real musician. I’m sure he loves you and wants what’s best for you.”

“No. He was disappointed in me. I never finished the letter. I thought it was lost. Until today. And it brought all those feelings of inadequacy and incompetence rushing back at me with one look at it.”

“You are anything but incompetent or inadequate. You’re a freakin’ amazing rock star.”

“How would you know? I thought you never saw me perform?” His mouth twitched in amusement.

She cleared her throat and dropped the hand she just remembered she’d been resting on his forearm. It had felt so nice to touch him. “Ah. I looked you up on YouTube.”

His smiled brightened, a mischievous quirk to the corner of his mouth that was sexy as hell. “You did? You looked me up?”

“Yeah. No big deal. I just wanted to see what all the hype was about. You know, with Tony . . .”

She blushed again as he got that knowing look.

“And? What did you think?” His eyebrow hitched and one corner of his mouth lifted in a mischievous grin.

And somehow, Jordan knew . . . just knew that for some reason it mattered to him how she responded right now to this question. He cared what she thought of him. “I loved your performances. You’re a fabulous entertainer. Full of energy. Talented singer and musician. And dancing? Gawd. Sexy as hell. You have to ask?” She gave him a squinty-eyed glare. “Or are you just fishing for compliments?”

The deep, rich timbre of his laugh rolled from his belly and washed over her, sending chills dancing across her skin. “Always. But only because I don’t think you’d give them to me freely, being that I’m an entertainer and all.” He used air quotes around the word entertainer. “And we all know entertainers are from the devil.”

She swatted at him playfully. “Stop. I never said that.”

He captured her hand and held on. “No. You didn’t need to. I understand your struggle. But it’s not the lifestyle that’s wicked. You can live a healthy life, even in the industry today.”