Roni Loren - Call On Me

“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 to lift the pizza boxes to neighbor lady and let her know he wasn’t there to steal or pillage anything but to deliver gifts.

The music stopped and Oakley answered the door a minute later. Her dark hair was piled on her head in a haphazard bun and her T-shirt looked liked it’d seen better days—probably in the nineties. But she looked ten times sexier than she had in that boring work outfit. Now he could see the details of the tempting curves beneath the thin shirt and yoga pants—all woman. All the way down to the bright pink polish on her toes.

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to dress for a slumber party,” he said, allowing himself another head to toenail perusal. “I would’ve brought my footed pajamas.”

“You come to my house after seven. This is what you get.”

“Well, lucky, lucky me.”

She shook her head. “I swear, you could flirt with a tree stump.”

He handed her the pizzas. “Why do that when I can have fun annoying you?”

With a sigh, she opened the door wider and let him come inside. He shut it behind him while Oakley handed Reagan the pizza boxes. “Baby, you remember Mr. Ryland?”

Reagan nodded and shifted her weight to the other foot. “Hi, Mr. Ryland.”

Her gaze was so serious, so … adult. Those old soul eyes made him forget how uncomfortable he was around kids. “If it’s okay with your mom, you can call me Pike.”

Reagan looked up at her mother and Oakley nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Why are you bringing us pizza, Mr. Pike?” Reagan asked. All bluntness.

He didn’t bother correcting her that he’d meant she could drop the mister. “To get on you and your mom’s good side.”

Reagan’s lips twitched into a little smile. “You’d have to bring dessert for that.”

He laughed. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“Can I eat another dinner, Mom?” Reagan asked, clutching the pizzas like she was afraid she’d have to give them back.

“Sure. Why don’t you bring them in the kitchen and get out some paper plates? We’ll be there in a minute.”

Reagan hurried off, and Oakley grabbed her guitar to slip it into the case.

The living room was small and lived in, the furniture and carpet worn but not in disrepair. Nothing fancy, but Oakley’s place had a cozy, welcoming feel to it.

“I heard you playing when I walked up. Great song.”

She latched the case. “Thanks.”

“Who’s it by? I haven’t heard that one before.”

She glanced over at him, wariness putting lines around her mouth. “No one. It’s just a thing I tinkered with a long time ago. Reagan found the lyrics and wanted me to play it.”

“Wait, you wrote that?” He moved closer without realizing he was doing it. That was her song? “What’s it called?”

“‘Dandelion.’ It was just a stupid teenage thing I scribbled down.” She gave him a dismissive wave of her hand. “Reagan wanted to change some of it around and maybe use it as a starting point for one of the songs for the group.”

“Oh, hell no.”

She set down the guitar case next to the TV and peered back over her shoulder. “What?”

His mind was already working, grabbing onto thoughts and running with them. “I only heard a little bit of it, but that’s not a kid’s song. Too much yearning in it for that. And that’s a one-voice song. Besides adding in some drums and a bass track, it didn’t sound like it needed to be messed around with. Maybe you could play the whole thing for me?”

She crossed her arms. “We’re here to work, not to waste time serenading you with my teenage ballads. Plus, I don’t play my own stuff for other people. I only did it because Reagan asked.”

“Hold up. You have more stuff?”

A smile finally broke through at that. She tilted her head. “What’s with you? You look like a beagle who just got offered a rack of ribs.”

What was with him was that he had been trying his hand at producing for the last year, and he hadn’t had a song hit him with that kind of gut-level force since he’d heard Keats. He was still new to this producing thing, but his instincts on what was good hadn’t let him down yet. “Fine. We’ll eat pizza and work. But before I leave, you’re going to play that song for me.”

“I will n—”

He raised a finger. “Remember, I am selflessly donating this Thursday night for the good of children , Oakley. I provided dinner. And I am mostly keeping my eyes to myself even though you are parading around in that enticing ensemble. All I’m asking in return is a song.”