Finding the Dream (For the Love of Music #1.5) (3 page)

I need to show him I’m a grown up—even if it means showing a little extra skin. I have to get it out of his head that I’m a “little sister” type, or he’ll never notice me the way I want him to.

- Sierra

Okay. The best plan is to concentrate on her being almost like a little sister. If I feel like she’s my little sister, I’ll stare less, I’ll notice more if other people are looking at her, and it’ll be easier for me to keep her “safe” even for Clark Standards.

- Donovan

Three

Hanson had left his room in a disastrous state, clothes, boxes, backpacks… Sierra wasn’t surprised. Her brother could be nice when he wanted to be, but was generally the most selfish person she knew—charity aside. He traveled like a millionaire philanthropist, only without the money.
Okay, maybe that was a stretch, and maybe she had to admit, even to herself, that her brother’s travels had made her jealous. It wasn’t just Africa. It was South America, Central America, and the archeological dig he’d helped with in New Mexico.

Sierra’s boxes were stacked in a corner, and Van had asked if she’d wanted help with her brother’s stuff, but he’d been standing in the doorway of her bedroom flipping his keys over and over and over in his hands. He’d done enough by hauling her boxes up and assuring her parents they weren’t needed in town to move her in.

So Donovan was out. Probably with guy friends. Maybe a girlfriend. They didn’t talk enough for her to know the specifics of his life. When she was dating someone else, she hadn’t wanted to be around Donovan because it would have felt awkward. She’d have dumped any guy in the space of about two seconds for Van, and that wasn’t the kind of girl she wanted to be. Now that she was single, and once again living with him, she wished she’d have tried harder to see him over the past couple of years.

Letting out a sigh she tapped her friend Lindsey a text:

Sierra: I’m an idiot. He will never. Ever. EVER. See me as anything but the annoying chick he got stuck with as a roommate. Also. I hate my brother.

Hanson’s room was the most boring room ever. Oak bi-fold closet doors. White blinds over the windows… It was going to take her a while to make the room feel like a space a person could live in instead of a cell with a nasty mattress.

Lindsey:
Can’t be that bad. And I’ll help you kick Hanson’s ass when he’s back in town. What are you making for breakfast?

That was the plan. Or part of it. Since beginning blogging herself, Sierra had read enough lifestyle blogs to know she had to get herself together before finding the man of her dreams. She already knew who the man of her dreams was (at least she hoped Donovan was still the kind of guy to fit that spot), so the last couple of years had been spent making herself better and hoping that Donovan hadn’t changed too much. She’d dated a few different guys for several months each, but none were quite right. Not as deep as Van. Not as soulful as Van. Not as funny. Not musically talented. Not a redhead.

No guy had lasted for long.
Not that the breakups had been her doing…

Lindsey: Sierra? Earth to Sierra

She grasped her phone again.

Sierra: Something spectacular for breakfast. I have three ideas. I’ll post on Facebook which wins. K?

Lindsey: K!

She tossed her phone on her brother’s bed. First order of business would be to burn his sheets and then see if anyone on Pinterest had come up with a good way to clean mattresses. She loved her brother, but only God knew what kind of horrid diseases rested underneath his messy sheets.

Standing as far in the corner as she could manage, she snapped a few pictures of the mess as part of documenting her monumental move in. She might get a whole week of posts about “your first place” or “moving in” or “college apartments for people with style” or… She’d come up with something interesting. At the end of it all, her posts would probably be more centered around space-saving and how to make apartments awesome without using paint or other “forbidden by landlords” products.

When she pulled open the closet doors her heart sank. Donovan’s guitars rested in their cases way off to the left. This wasn’t acceptable. Not for someone as talented as him. She hefted the two cases, walked into the living room, and set them next to the old, brown couch. She couldn’t even conceive of a Van without music. What had happened?

Four beers and eight games of nine-ball into his night, Donovan was still thinking about Sierra. Her perfect legs. Her friendly smile. But it was more than the shift in her body. It was her confidence. How she carried box after box up the stairs. She smiled. She just… She held herself differently. Maybe it was just moving from girl to woman or some other mystical something he didn’t understand. But knowing she was a cool girl on top of all the outside trimmings wasn’t making it any easier to stop thinking about her.

His phone vibrated in a text.

CLARK BLADES

Sierra’s dad. Donovan winced. He probably sensed some guy thinking about his little girl.

Clark
:
Sierra settling in okay?

Donovan
:
She’s fine. Wanted to sort her things, so I left her to it.

Clark
:
Thank you again. You know I'm an old fart who worries too much.
Glad she has you to watch out for her.

Donovan wished he could lie and tell him he shouldn’t worry, but he should.
Anyway, even through texting, her dad seemed to always understand the meaning behind Donovan’s words, so he wasn’t sure what to say.

He settled on
Check in whenever
and hit send.

Chuck tapped Donovan’s beer bottle with his own. “You here?”

Donovan took a long swallow shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Only a little.”

“And your sister moved in today?”

“She’s not my sister,” he said.

Chuck’s eyebrows rose. “You seemed very adamant when talking with Alyson the other day that Sierra was your sister. And earlier today at your house you claimed she was practically your sister, which is why I wasn’t even allowed a shot at her.”

Yeah. That’s because he and Alyson were on a break of sorts, and he had no clue why they’d separated at all. He’d wanted to downplay the idea of having a girl roommate when he’d told Alyson he wasn’t ready to move in together. It was another one of those moments when he thought about what his father would have done (moved in with the girl even when he wasn’t sure), and then did the opposite.

Donovan shrugged.

Chuck stood, setting his bottle of beer down. “Good thing I'm not a girl or I’d make you spill all your dirty little secrets.”

Donovan shook his head and leaned against the wall.
At this point, he just wanted to stay out late enough so that Sierra would be asleep when he got back. He had to keep thinking about her as his little sister—that would prevent him from noticing her, and hopefully make him aware when other people noticed her…

That still felt…weird somehow. Watching out for her so closely. Sierra was what, nineteen? Twenty? She ran a craft blog, for shit’s sake. She was a junior in college who seemed pretty driven and serious about both the blogging and school so he was a little unsure of exactly how much trouble she could possibly get into. Still. He’d promised Clark, so he had to get in the right mindset.

Donovan blinked a few times before he heard Sierra’s humming. Eight a.m. and perfect timing. Also miles better than waking up to an alarm. Breathing in deeply he smelled...baking? He’d only turned on the oven for frozen pizzas, but this had cinnamon and maple…?

He slid on a shirt and stumbled toward the living room in his boxers.

When he reached the end of the hallway, he stared at the floor next to the couch. His guitars were there. Both of them. He really wasn’t ready to look at them every day. Maybe he could shove them in his closet? Take them to work and hide them in the back room?

He’d play again, but maybe not until the desire for bigger venues passed, or as soon as playing guitar didn’t make him question the decisions that had put him on the path to being a successful business owner instead of a professional musician.

Sierra stood in cutoffs that were so small; he was amazed he couldn’t see panties and ridiculously high platform sandals. The angle of her feet accentuated every place up and down her long legs that were toned to perfection.

“What… What are you… doing?” He stumbled over every word like an eighth-grader about to ask a girl to the dance.

“I’m trying this new recipe.” She grinned, her light hair messy on top of her head, showing off a lean neck. “They’re apple pie muffins. They smell pretty yummy, huh?”

She definitely looked yummy.

Wait. His question. “No. The shoes. Is this...normal?”

“Oh!” She grinned again as she patted the front of her tiny apron and bent a knee, kicking one of her feet toward her rear. “Victoria’s Secret workout this week. You do all sorts of stuff while wearing your heels.” She wiggled her ankle, showing off her shoe. “All kinds of squats, and lunges, and…”

“And you do this kind of thing all day?” he choked out, wondering how much time he’d be able to spend at home.

“It’s my job, silly,” she said as she took a long lick off the spatula. Her tongue and tiny waist and long legs…
Holy shit
. “For my blog.”

Van shifted in his boxers and spun back toward the hallway before it became obvious. Now he just had to try and act something like normal. This was a ridiculous reaction to someone he was determined to keep in the box of ‘little sister.’

“I’ll throw on some pants. Do I get to sample the muffins?” Because he thought her job was about crafting and cooking. If she was working out in outfits slightly larger than bathing suits, he definitely had an excuse to put in some long hours at the store
.

“Of course you can sample!”

Good. Because he hadn’t been feeling unsatisfied until seeing Sierra in those microscopic shorts. Food would do him good since it was the only thing in the kitchen he was allowed to put his mouth on.

Not even a
second look
from him!

She turned up the music on her iPod, needing the distraction.

Sierra had a lot of people who followed her blog requesting she try the Victoria’s Secret workout, and she’d saved it for when she knew she’d be living with Van. Maybe it was too much. Maybe she was stupid for thinking he’d ever see her differently.
She picked up her phone, grabbed the link for her blog post about the muffin trial, and headed to twitter.

On the blog today – Testing Apple Pie Muffins. Whole-wheat flour makes everything healthy. #Right? #SomeoneTellMeImRight #Please *begs*

Five “you’re rights” came in almost immediately from her twitter followers.

Van was still in his room.

Well. She still had her mad cooking skills. Her Nani used to always tell her that the way to every man’s heart was through his stomach, and she had a full frontal assault planned for the first week alone.

Van jogged back into the kitchen in a button up shirt and dark wash jeans. “Is it rude if I eat and run? I have to go be the big boss man for a while.”

She plastered on a smile as disappointment trickled in. “It’s fine.”

His eyes darted around the kitchen as he shifted his weight. “Is this Kincaid? I love their music. I approve.”

“I’m so glad.” She laughed a sort of pinched, nervous laugh and immediately cringed. She had to just chill out already.

“Christian Meyer is one of the best guitarists out there.”

“He’s not ‘out there’ because of his perfectly sexy face and lickable abs?” she teased.

Donovan’s head tilted to the side. “Please tell me you’re not one of the millions of women swooning over that guy.”

Sierra licked the wooden spoon again before answering. “That many women can’t be wrong.”

Instead of watching, he stared at the ground. Even licking the spoon didn’t get his attention.
Damn
.

“So, it’s cool if I grab a bite and run?”

Sierra tilted her head to the side, willing him to look at her. “Of course it is. But if you have any specific thoughts I could add to my post as my man-taster, could you text them to me? That would be awesome.”

His eyes caught hers briefly, but he looked…weird. Not like himself at the very least.

“No problem.” He glanced around the kitchen again. “I have muffin pans?”

Sierra laughed, shifting her weight to show off her legs better but he wasn’t looking at her. He was still staring at the damn muffins. Maybe cooking
wasn’t
going to work.

“No, you have nothing of use in the kitchen. I unpacked my stuff while you were out last night.”
Until 2 am
. She was dumb enough to stay up more than half the night, just hoping to see him again, before she gave up and went to bed only to lie there and worry about what might be crawling on her from the un-scoured mattress. Apparently girls around Grant City, Oregon were really into scruffy do-good-for-the-world types—at least that’s what her brother had led her to believe. She didn’t want to entertain the idea that maybe Donovan was somewhat the same.

“I need to work on cleaning out the inventory in the back room before I open today,” Van said. “So, uh… Thanks for breakfast.”

Sierra dropped four muffins in a bag. “I can make a pretty mean sandwich, too, but I need to hit the grocery store for some more food first.”