Chapter 12

Mazzy

Ilove playing at Sola because it garners big crowds on the weekend. I wasn’t lying to Foster when I told him I do this because I enjoy performing. It’s really the only reason I do it. Looking out over the crowd, seeing faces lit up with appreciation—that is the validation I crave. After all the years I put into my music, this is worth something far more valuable than money, especially since I’ve chosen not to make it my career.

This isn’t work for me, but play.

Leo and I set up on the stage efficiently, having done this many times before. We each have a stool and a microphone stand in front of us. Although Leo prefers the electric guitar, that’s reserved for nighttime performances, so today we’re strictly on acoustics.

I was against it, but Leo talked me into putting a sign up on the corner of the stage that has our names on it along with our Venmo accounts in case people wanted to send us cash rather than throw bills in our guitar cases.

“No one carries cash anymore, Mazzy,” he explained.

I thought it crass, especially since the owners of Sola pay us a gig fee to be here. But then I had to remind myself that this is how Leo makes his money and he counts on every dollar to pay his bills.

While Leo and I are best when we perform together, there are times that we have individual gigs—Leo more than me since my schedule is less flexible. The one thing we have learned over the years is that we earn the most tips when we play together. Sure, he gets all the women swooning over him, but there is no doubt that he and I are magical together. We have honed and perfected our harmonies and the chemistry in our music is undeniable. We are constantly told that we should try to record something but again, not my dream.

As Leo plays beside me, his smile is brighter than usual. I suspect that’s because I committed to him to play next week as I’ll have all the evenings off. Foster is entering into the last week of practice before the regular season starts and he said he would be home by early afternoon each day and that I could have the rest of the day off. I gladly took him up on that because once the season starts, it’s going to be hectic.

Before I left, we went over the schedule and Foster’s needs are all over the place. One week he might be on a four-day road trip where I’ll have twenty-four-seven care of Bowie Jane and the next he might be home and only need coverage for a few hours in the morning. There’s nothing consistent about it but Foster is committed to making sure I don’t work more than forty to fifty hours a week. He assures me he has a slew of babysitters and other team parents who can step in to give me time off.

I tried to assure him I wasn’t worried about it, especially since a good chunk of my job involves sleeping in the bedroom across the hall from Bowie Jane. A slight argument ensued but we ultimately agreed to play the first month a little loose with set days off until we see how things pan out.

As Leo and I wind down “More Than Words”—which we don’t duet but harmonize the entire song—and get ready to launch into our next one, my attention is taken by a tall man walking into the coffee shop. I’m stunned to see Foster, Bowie Jane trailing behind him, her hand firmly engulfed in his. His eyes come directly to me and he gestures a greeting. Bowie Jane waves enthusiastically and I can’t help but grin back at them.

I have no clue what they’re doing here, but I can’t deny the pleasure it gives me to know they cared enough to come see me perform.

Leo starts strumming the introductory chords for our next song but I reach out and put a hand on his arm to still him. He looks at me curiously but I lean into the microphone, staring across the crowd at Bowie Jane. “I’d like to dedicate this next song to the cutest little ten-year-old girl I know.”

Her eyes widen with surprise to be mentioned, although not by name because I won’t violate her privacy. I wink at her as I start the opening chords of “Shallow.” The patrons in the coffee shop recognize the song and we get a rousing cheer before we even start singing. As Leo and I play, I keep an eye on Foster who leads Bowie Jane up to the counter. He orders a coffee and she gets some type of berry-colored drink along with a chocolate croissant.

They wind their way over to an empty spot on the side wall to a built-in counter with tall bar-style stools. Foster picks up his daughter and sets her on one, then stands behind her with his elbow resting on the counter and his eyes pinned on the stage.

For some reason, I feel the music coursing through me with more clarity than usual and I make extra effort to hit all the notes perfectly. It’s a beautiful song and Leo and I kill it every time, but when we finish, it’s not the crowd in general that suffuses me with happiness with their cheers. It’s seeing Foster and Bowie Jane clapping enthusiastically, and then Foster wolf-whistles, making me laugh.

Leo leans to the right, covers his microphone with his hand and asks, “Who’s that?” His eyes slide over to Foster and Bowie Jane.

“That’s the kiddo I’m nannying and her dad. I’ll introduce you if they stay until the end.”

Leo nods and then turns to the crowd, speaking into the microphone. “It’s that time, folks… let’s see if you can stump Leo and Mazzy.”

This is my favorite part of when we sing together and the regular customers who come to listen clap with excitement.

I glance at Foster and see that he’s confused but he’ll get it soon enough.

Leo leans over and grabs a glass bowl the owner sets out with a pad of paper and pencil beside it. Inside the bowl are folded notes that the customers have written on. He rummages around inside and pulls one out, opens it, and reads it aloud. “‘Blackbird’ by the Beatles.”

Leo scratches his head and turns to look at me, a faux look of bewilderment on his face. “‘Blackbird’ by the Beatles? Have you ever heard of this song?”

I give a tiny shrug. “Maybe. I mean, the Beatles have a lot of songs.”

Someone from the back of the coffee shop yells, “We finally got ’em.”

Leo grins and I grin back at him, and we start plucking at our guitar strings with the famous melody, causing the patrons to groan before clapping with wonder and satisfaction that we’re pretty damn good at knowing many of the songs people throw at us.

Not to say we don’t get stumped, because we do. We save those song titles and try our best to learn some of them for future performances. But this song we know well because it happens to be one of Leo’s favorites.

Our rendition is beautiful with Leo handling the bass notes and me harmonizing the higher ones. When we finish, we get a standing ovation and several women come up to drop money in Leo’s case.

But it’s Foster who I look to because I seem to only care what he thinks. His eyes are hooded as he looks back at me, a slight smile on his face as he shakes his head and gives a slow, intentional clap. As if he can’t believe what he just heard.

I beam from the inside out with pride and realize it’s been a long time since I cared what individuals thought of my talent. I wonder why it matters to me what Foster thinks.

Leo thanks the crowd for coming and a steady trickle of people walk up to praise the performance. A few more women throw more money into Leo’s guitar case. One lady drops a note in there, which I’ll bet has her number on it.

Foster and Bowie Jane hang back while Leo and I stow our instruments. Two of the coffee shop employees pack away the microphones, remove the stools and set up a table with four chairs for additional seating for later crowds.

With my guitar case in hand and my purse slung over my shoulder, I move over to Foster and Bowie Jane, beaming at them both but my gaze focusing on the little girl. “I can’t believe you came to watch me play. Surely you had more exciting things to do on this beautiful Saturday.”

“It was Dad’s idea,” Bowie Jane says. “But I wanted to come too.”

My eyes slide to Foster to see if he’s embarrassed to be called out like that, but he merely stares back at me. “It was well worth our time. You’ll have to tell us other times you’re playing and we’ll come watch again.”

I’m the one who gets flustered and I feel my face heat up. It’s not a pretty look on my pale skin. “That’s really sweet of you, but you don’t have to.”

“I know we don’t have to,” Foster replies, a slight tinge of censure in his tone. “But we want to. I’m going to tell my teammates about it and I’m sure they’ll want to come with their SO’s.”

My forehead crinkles at the unknown term. “SO’s?”

“Significant others,” he explains. “Wives, girlfriends, partners. Not casual relationships.”

“There’s a distinguished difference in who gets invited to what?” I ask, fascinated.

Foster lifts a shoulder. “Not a hard rule and not something that’s ever discussed. It’s just that for more intimate gatherings like this… where it’s about fellowship and camaraderie, SO’s would come. The casual daters on the team wouldn’t bring casual hook—” Foster stops midsentence, realizing he was about to say hookups, and glances down at Bowie Jane who is following the conversation in earnest. “Casual girlfriends,” he amends.

“What’s a casual girlfriend?” Bowie Jane asks.

I lift my hand to my mouth to cover the smile and force down a bubbling laugh. I’ll give Foster credit though—he doesn’t flinch over the difficult question. “When a relationship is casual, there’s not really a deep commitment or love between the two. So if one of my teammates has a casual girlfriend, she wouldn’t come to gatherings that focus around our friends and family, which we keep more private.”

“And Mazzy is like family, right?” she asks.

“Right,” Foster says with a firm nod. “And also a very good friend.” He then turns to me. “What do you have going on the rest of the day?”

“Just going to relax at my parents’ house. Maybe read a book.”

“She should come with us for pizza and bowling,” Bowie Jane says, reaching out and taking my hand in hers. “Will you come?”

“Oh, honey,” I reply, giving her a squeeze, and cutting my eyes to Foster briefly. “I don’t want to impose on you and your dad’s time together. You and I can do bowling and pizza some other time when Dad’s on a road trip.”

“You should come,” Foster says, and I’m stunned by the invitation. I could totally see Bowie Jane asking me because she and I have really clicked this week.

I don’t know what to say so I stall for time, glancing at my watch as I take stock of my feelings. In my other nannying jobs, my days off were not just for me to decompress and recharge, but it was also a time for busy parents to bond with their kids. Not once was I ever invited to a family event, no matter how close I’d grown to my charges.

Pointing out that this time is precious to Foster and Bowie Jane and they should take advantage of it is the honest truth and I should insist they adhere to that. But part of me is flattered by the invitation and another part is actually excited and intrigued by it.

My conscience whispers that I have no right to be excited or intrigued by any of this, especially because it’s probably got more to do with the handsome dad inviting me to spend the day with them when he clearly doesn’t need my help. Foster is an incredibly capable single dad and there’s no purpose for me joining them.

“Please, please, please come with us, Mazzy,” Bowie Jane pleads.

“If we aren’t interfering with your plans,” Foster says, “I think you should come. It’s just more opportunity for us all to get to know each other and with the season starting next week, it’s about to get crazy.”

My attention darts between Bowie Jane—face screwed up in an adorable pout—and Foster, whose stare is intense and hypnotic.

“Okay, fine… yes, I’d love to come,” I finally say and push aside the tiny bit of guilt that I’m crossing a line.

A hand comes down on my shoulder, slides to the side of my neck. I know it’s Leo but I’m stunned to see Foster’s eyes flash hot, then turn ice-cold as he looks at my friend standing behind me. He doesn’t know that Leo’s touch is innocent and only born of friendship. We’re familiar with each other that way but for some reason, I feel like it’s too intimate under Foster’s discerning gaze.

“Want to grab some lunch?” Leo asks me genially, his smiling eyes taking in Foster and Bowie Jane before coming back to me. “I’ve got some new material to go over with you.”

“Actually,” I say, turning to face him, which dislodges his hand. “I’m going to hang out with these two.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder. “Leo… this is Foster and Bowie Jane McInnis.”

Leo reaches out to shake Foster’s hand as I tell him, “This is my best friend and music partner, Leo Stratham.”

“Nice to meet you,” Leo says and then glances down at Bowie Jane. He’s not the best with kids, so he merely lifts his chin at her. His attention comes back to me. “No worries. We can go over it tomorrow at family dinner. What’s your mom making?”

I laugh, giving him a playful slap to his stomach. “I have no clue but your belly will be happy. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“See ya,” he says, and then does a classic Leo move and puts both hands to my face, pulls me into him and presses a hard kiss to the top of my head.

Brotherly. Friendly. He’s done it hundreds of times.

But it still feels too intimate with Foster and Bowie Jane standing there.

Leo nods at Foster and heads back to the small stage to collect his guitar.

“So, is he a casual boyfriend?” Bowie Jane asks, and I almost choke I inhale so quickly.

I whirl around, aghast. “No, he’s not a boyfriend.”

“Then why did he kiss you?” she asks.

“That was just a friend kiss. Not a romantic kiss.”

“Romantic kisses are on the mouth, right?” Bowie Jane asks for clarification.

At this point, my cheeks are on fire and I look to Foster for help. He’s grinning like a Cheshire cat, enjoying the exchange. I give my attention back to Bowie Jane, put on a bright smile, and say, “How about we go bowling?”