Jared hoped like hell it wasn’t Kayla arriving early—he still had to make himself pretty. He followed his daughter, who stood on tiptoes to open the door.
Dimity swept in. “Why the hel—’lo Madison—aren’t you answering your cell?”
“It should be working.” He fumbled for his pocket under the apron. No charge. Maddie’s games had run the battery flat.
“Forget that.” Dimity did a wholly uncharacteristic thing and hugged him.
Okay, that’s weird.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past hour and a half.”
Jared’s stomach dropped. “Is Kayla okay?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? We had lunch, she was going Christmas shopping and then to a movie. Haven’t you phoned—”
“Without me!” Maddie howled.
“It was a lame one, Madison.” As Dimity spoke, her fingers flew over her phone, texting. “All about the true meaning of Christmas. Okay, I’ve given them the green light.” She glanced up. “Good, the house is clean.”
“I’m glad you approve. What’s this about a green light?” And why are you here?
“They want your reaction as soon as possible. Madison, why are you wearing a sheet?”
“Daddy’s keeping me clean till Mommy sees me.”
“Weird.” Dimity dumped her laptop on the couch, knocking the cushions out of formation.
Jared straightened them. “Whose react—” A howl from the kitchen interrupted. Rocco didn’t like being left out.
“Oh.” Uneasiness played across Dimity’s face. “Is the baby still up?”
Maddie laughed. “He’s not scary, silly billy.”
Crash.
Jared ran, stopping in dismay at the kitchen door. Globs of spaghetti sauce encircled the high chair and Rocco’s bowl was rolling across the floor toward him. Leaning forward, his son followed its progress with interest. “Uh-oh.”
Jared grabbed paper towels from the pantry. “No. We don’t throw food.”
“No,” Rocco repeated gleefully.
Maddie tugged Dimity into the kitchen. “He won’t bite unless you put fingers in his mouth.”
“Stand back, you two, until I’ve cleaned this up.”
“No, you need to get cleaned up.” Dimity confiscated the paper towels. “For a start, take off that greasy apron. We need a sexy soulful vibe, not a short-order cook. And your hair’s flat. Madison, run and get your daddy a comb. Hurry now, the TV crew will be here any minute.”
“What TV crew?”
“Don’t worry, the kids won’t be in shot. But we’ve got to make the most of this.” Her cell rang. “It’s Zander.”
“Make the most of what?”
She held up a hand. “Hi Zee. Yeah, I’ve found him.”
“Okay,” Jared said. “I’m losing it.”
“And why wouldn’t you?” Seth Curran, Rage’s drummer, walked into the kitchen with a grin like Christmas Day. He grabbed Jared in a man hug. “I’m trying not to tear up myself.”
“How did you get in?”
“Maddie let us in.” Skirting the spaghetti sauce, Seth went to Rocco, who was going ballistic with excitement. Every living creature loved the band’s affable Kiwi sticksman. He was a walking, talking charm offensive.
“Us?” Jared repeated. Had he been dropped into an alternate reality?
Moss McFadden, Rage’s lead guitarist, entered the room, a bottle of vodka under one arm and a rare smile in his green eyes. He punched Jared’s shoulder. “Congratulations, buddy. Let’s get this party started.”
“Not until after the news crew leaves.” Dimity threw Jared her cell. “Zee wants to talk to you.”
“Will somebody please expl—Hey, don’t touch that.”
Too late. Moss had already taken a handful of walnuts and a wedge of blue cheese, ruining Jared’s careful display.
Giving up, he put the cell to his ear. “Zander?”
“Capitalize on this,” his mentor said from New Zealand. “Wring everything you can out of it, publicity-wise. It couldn’t have happened at a better time for you. I’m proud of you, man, it’s well deserved.”
Jared watched Dimity throw Moss some paper towels. “I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do,” Dimity said from her knees. “The news has been out for two hours.” She and Moss were smearing the sauce around the floor with the ineffectiveness of two people who never cleaned.
Seth studied him as he took Rocco out of his high chair. “He doesn’t know,” he said, and started to laugh.
In his ear, Zander said. “Seriously, you haven’t had a call? The Grammy finalists have been announced. You’re up for Song of the Year with ‘Kayla’s Song.’”
The news was too much to take in. Her song. The one he’d poured his emotions into. Lonely and homesick, he’d written it through the three-month auditions and performed it on the show finale. It had sat at number one on iTunes for a week and been recorded as part of his prize. And it had become a popular addition to the set list on Rage’s tour, along with several other of Jared’s songs, as Zander tried to manage the demands on his failing voice.
And now it was up for an award. Damn.