Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)(5)

I enlisted Miller’s help for Chloe’s sixth-grade project on medieval times, since he’s absolutely amazing at building things. I suspect that’s on account of the fact that he still has a ten-year-old boy inside him.

He also used to be a Lego master, and he won several Lego contests growing up. A few years ago, he showed me pictures of his creations, and I promptly enlisted him as my secret weapon in the school project battle.

As we head to the checkout line, Miller sneaks a peek at his watch.

“Do you need to go?”

He scoffs. “Please. I’m in this for the long haul, warrior princess. I’m just checking to see how many minutes until my feeding time.”

Miller’s stomach keeps me busy—I’ve learned a few tricks. “Can I tempt you with Thai or Chinese takeout tonight?”

Miller’s eyes light up. “Actually, can you get that pumpkin curry dish from Avatar’s Burritos?”

“Anything you want. You know the rules. I feed you, and you help Chloe with the tenth circle of hell.”

“It’s a fair deal to me.”

As we leave and walk to the therapist’s office on Sixth Avenue, Miller clears his throat. “So . . . I made a decision.”

The earnestness in his voice surprises me. He sounds vulnerable. I meet his gaze and ask softly, “What is it?”

His hazel eyes look into mine. “You know how Campbell’s been pushing me again to start a new duo?”

I nod, remembering that Campbell mentioned it when we met up with him recently.

Miller shrugs happily. “I’m ready. I posted an audition notice on my way down here. I’m looking for someone to sing with me, do some local gigs, maybe record a few videos, see how it goes. Nothing too crazy yet, but we can start here in New York.”

I bump my shoulder to his. “Good, because if you were on the road all the time, I’d be a sad panda.” I frown dramatically, but I’m more relieved than I let on that he’ll mostly be around.

“You know I’d miss you, and Campbell and Samantha, and Jackson, and, hell, I’d even miss my doorman because that dude has the best advice on fantasy basketball picks.”

I roll my eyes. “Glad I rank up there with your insider fantasy league coach, Miller.”

He drapes an arm around me and squeezes. “Just messing with you. I’d miss you like crazy.” He lets go of my shoulder. “And I decided to take another piece of his advice.”

“What’s that?”

He holds his arms out wide. “I want to sing with a woman.”

On Sixth Avenue, at four in the afternoon, my blood freezes.

I’ve no idea why this news turns me to an icicle, so I do my best to find some morsel of warmth inside me. I try to muster a laugh, but all that comes out is a tight, “That’s going to be great.”

“You think so?”

I nod robotically. “Of course.”

“Too bad we’d be absolutely terrible singing together. Otherwise, I’d say it should be you and me.”

“We’re like orange juice on cereal.”

We’ve attempted karaoke. We’ve sung a few times at Christmas parties. You’d think we’d sound great together—he’s a former teen idol who played in arenas with his brothers, and I used to sing duets to the tune of millions of views on YouTube.

But our styles simply don’t mesh.

My voice is a church voice. His is a rocker’s.

“You’ll find someone who sounds amazing with you,” I say in my best supportive tone, even though there’s a part of me that desperately wishes it were me.

I wish, too, that I understood why I want that.





Chapter 3





Ally



Chloe emerges from the therapist’s office, giving me a quick wave then shoving her sleek auburn hair off her face.

“Hey, Monkey,” I say, using the nickname I bestowed on her years ago when she scurried to the top of the rock climbing wall at the park in the blink of an eye.

“Hi, Aunt Ally. Hi, Miller.”

He offers a fist for knocking, and she knocks back.

“Are you ready to become a medieval architect and build the most awesome castle in the world?” he asks.

“I think so. Especially since Dr. Jane said I’m fixed now.”

I laugh lightly and give her a squeeze. “You were never broken, Monkey.”

She shrugs as we walk down the avenue, heading to our apartment. “I kind of was, Aunt Ally.”

“No, you kind of weren’t.”

She stares sharply at me over her green glasses—she picked out the color to match her eyes. “Maybe a little broken? Like a plate with a crack?”

I wish I could take credit for her dry sense of humor, but she arrived on my doorstep that way. Deadpan, direct, and honest. She tells it like it is.

“Not like a plate at all,” I insist. I don’t want her to think there’s anything wrong with her simply because life handed her a short stick when she lost her mom at age six, on top of not having a dad in the picture.

“Dr. Jane says I’m almost done, especially since I sat with Hannah and Hailey at lunch this week.”

Miller cheers for her. “That’s awesome. You’ve wanted to do that the last few weeks.”