When I reach my bedroom, I knock softly before I crack open the door.
Layla’s sound asleep on Rory, who’s nestled against a few pillows. I smile, stupidly happy to see them.
Rory’s eyes crack open. “Hey.”
“Sorry I woke you. Are you hungry? I brought you some steak tacos.”
“That sounds really good. I was too tired after the show to get something to eat.”
“Sorry, I should’ve had dinner brought to you sooner.”
“It’s okay.” She yawns.
I move Layla to her crib. Thankfully, she doesn’t wake up. “Was she cranky after the concert?”
“A little clingy. She’d cry whenever I put her down, so I finally gave in and took a nap with her.”
“Thank you for comforting her. I’m not one of those ‘let the baby cry it out’ kind of people.” That’s not shit you realize when you’re busy being the carefree uncle.
“I’m not either. Studies say children don’t suffer emotional damage from self-soothing, but dang, it hurts me to let it happen.”
After she sits up, I perch on the bed next to her and hand her the box of food. “I wasn’t sure what kind of salsa you’d like, so I brought you all three, mild, medium, and spicy.”
She opens the box, grins, and holds up the mild. “I love pico de gallo, but I’ll try anything as long as it’s not super hot.”
“Noted. That’s my favorite too. I ate, like, five tacos and two churros.”
She bats her eyelashes at me. “Did you bring me a churro?”
I chuckle, loving her playful side. “Check behind the tacos.”
“Oh my God. I love you.” She inhales a taco, grinning at me the whole time while trying to keep her mouth shut. It’s adorable. “By the way,” she says between bites, “you guys were fantastic tonight. That a cappella thing you did midway, ugh, it hit me right in the solar plexus.”
I’d be lying if I said I’m not all puffed up on the inside like a damn peacock. “Glad you liked the show.”
“Liked it?” She squints at me, probably because she can’t see without her glasses. “It’s a disgrace that you’re one of the opening acts instead of a headliner.” Before I can say anything, she yanks on my t-shirt. “Don’t let this go to your head. This will be the one and only time I ever flip out about your band.”
“Okay.”
She grabs another taco. “I understand why this was so important to you, and I’m really glad this worked out, that I could help with Layla. Your music is next level.”
I’m not used to Rory being so encouraging. I can’t stop grinning. “Thank you.”
“How did you think it went?”
“Pretty good. Even though it was early, the crowd had a great energy, and Frank said we sold a ton of merch.”
Rory puts down her taco. “Merch? Like, t-shirts?”
“Yeah. Would you like one?”
“Frankly, I’m offended I haven’t gotten one already.” She sniffs, and I chuckle again. This girl cracks me up. But then her expression grows serious. “Did you see that girl tonight? Marlowe?”
Nodding, I look down. “Not close up. She was on stage, doing her thing.”
“And how did you feel?”
“Anxious.”