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“Yep—playing around with a song,” Vivi said swiftly, almost sounding a bit panicked at his obvious suspicions. She tapped the notebook on the counter, like it would provide the proof she couldn’t.
“Inspired byHouse Hunters?” Walter’s assistant asked teasingly, nodding at the still-on television.
“The great love story of an upper-middle-class couple and a Grecian bungalow,” Vivi said, flashing a kind smile at him—though her voice was firm and discussion-ending.
Walter’s assistant chuckled under his breath warily then forced a smile. “Right. Well, Remy, we’re pulling out in thirty—you riding here?”
“Oh, I—no,” Remy said quickly. “No, I wasn’t planning on…” He stopped when his eyes drifted to Vivi’s and, to his frustration, he found he couldn’t read her expression from this distance—not when he couldn’t see the corners of her eyes, judge the way her breath rose and fell. From just a few feet away, she became Vivi Swan again, unreadable and famous and flawless. Everything he knew about Vivi Swan said she wouldn’t want him to stay, but Vivi the girl might…
“No, I’m not,” Remy said slowly, letting his eyes slide back to Walter’s assistant, who nodded approvingly—if slightly—at Remy’s words.
“Well, get back then, now. I want everyone where they’re going to be in the next ten,” Walter’s assistant said then vanished, his walkie crackling as he moved on to the next bus.
Despite the fact the television was still muttering in the background, the bus was thrown into a heavy silence that sealed Remy’s mouth shut. It seemed to have the same effect on Vivi; she flipped her notebook closed and ran her fingers along the edge of the granite countertop. Watching the action made Remy’s hand hum, made him remember the way his breath felt small when those fingers were wrapped around his, how they felt tiny and delicate and not like fingers that had signed millions of autographs and massive record contracts.
“Thanks for coming over,” Vivi said breezily.
Remy swallowed hard. His lips parted, and words seemed to bloom without much assistance from his brain. “Of course. Anytime.”
Vivi looked like she didn’t quite believe him but wanted to, and it was too much—something felt hooked in Remy’s stomach, pulling him forward, one step, two steps, he reached out with one hand to take hers again—
Vivi stepped away, breathing in sharply, reaching for an upper cabinet. “I think I’ll make some tea and go to bed. See you tomorrow?”
Remy froze in place, unable to think fast enough to act as though he’d just been rushing toward her for some other, less totally inappropriate reason. He rocked back then nodded, knees wobbling like the joints of an old toy. “Yeah,” he said, alarmed to see he wasn’t entirely unsuccessful at matching her false tone of voice. “Tomorrow, and I’ll bring my laptop so we can work.” Work, because this was Vivi Swan, and he was her drummer-slash-producer, and she was his boss, and so that meant they had aworkingrelationship.
“Alright. See you then,” she said, taking down one, two, three boxes of tea and arranging them on the counter. Remy paused, waited one more second, then dared to brush by her, sucking in on himself so their skin and clothes and fingers and breath didn’t touch. He hurried down the steps and pulled the bus door shut behind him, taking a deep, heady breath of dry Salt Lake air.
Vivi’s New Man
Nighttime tour bus rendezvous!
Vivi’s got a secret weapon on her tour—producer-slash-drummer Remy Young, formerly of indie band Quiet Coyote. Rumor is that the two have been spending a lot of time on Vivi’s tour bus lately, but there’s no need to worry, Noel Reid—they’re songwriting together. Vivi has reportedly been in search of a new sound, and while Remy doesn’t have any major credits to his name, he’s respected in the industry as a musician and producer. Despite her sold-out Sweethearts tour, media outlets have been reporting that fans are getting a little tired of Vivi’s unlucky-in-love routine. Will Remy Young be the one to break the mold she’s cast herself in?
One thing’s for sure—with Noel Reid in the picture less and less, these days, Remy’s got his work cut out for him if he wants to produce a new breakup song.
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Author: Bianca Treble
