Chapter 15 For privacy
He remembered without looking.
I take a sip of my beer.
Natte signals the waiter over and orders for us.
The place is still completely empty.
“It’s nice that it’s quiet tonight,” I say. “No fans bothering you.”
He smiles. “I made sure of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I paid for privacy.”
“You bought this ranch?”
“Not the whole ranch,” he grins. “Just rented this section for the night.”
“Why?”
“So we wouldn’t be disturbed.”
Oh.
I can’t believe he did this just for us.
“Where did Steve take the car?” I ask.
“He drove the Bentley Spur back to the hotel. He’ll return when we’re ready.”
“And your security?”
“At the top of the stairs.”
“Oh.”
“Do you remember the matching sneakers you made for us with that kit your mum bought?” he says.
“Oh God, I was so embarrassing.” I cover my face.
“I thought they were cute.”
That surprises me.
“Do you still have yours?”
I do. But admitting why feels too vulnerable.
“I kept mine,” he says quietly.
“You did?”
“Yeah.”
“Where is it?”
“Packed away at my place.”
“And you want to see mine?”
“I do.”
“It’s back in Texas, in my tiny flat.”
“You’ll have to show me later,” he says seriously.
My stomach flips.
“Okay,” I say, nervous.
“How are your parents?” he asks.
“They’re good. Still living in the same house.”
“No way,” he laughs.
“And my dad teaches guitar and keyboard to underprivileged kids now.”
“He was always a solid man. Is it through a charity?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it called?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to donate. If it wasn’t for your dad, I wouldn’t be here today.”
Pride fills my chest.
“It’s called All the Way.”
“I’ll organise it tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to tell him it’s from me.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want him thinking I’m showing off.”
“He wouldn’t. He’s proud of you.”
He looks stunned. “He is?”
I nod. “Very.”
“I’m guessing not about the drugs and women,” he says quietly.
“He worried about
you. We all did. But he’s proud now.”
I move my hand from his arm and take another sip of my beer.
“And your mum?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She worries.”
“She’s your mum. That’s her job.”
I know how much guilt she carries.
And I know this moment matters.
I overheard his mum talking to my mum one day. I never told Natte, though.
He shrugs again, and I get the sense there’s more behind it, but I don’t push. Just then, the waiter arrives with our food.
After that, we slip into conversation as if no time has passed at all.
We talk about school and childhood memories.
He tells me about the band and his label, about the artists he’s signed.
I tell him about university, living with Darla and Terry, and my job at the resort.
But mostly, we talk music like we used to. Old tracks, new sounds, and Natte’s music.
I haven’t talked about music like this with anyone in years. Not during university, not even while working at the resort.
This is how we used to talk about it, with real passion. To me, Natte was and still is music. It’s what bound us together. And now it feels like a dam has burst, and everything he is is spilling back into me.
One thing I don’t mention is my supposed boyfriend, Will. And Natte doesn’t ask.
I also notice he never brings up Bonny. It must still be too painful.
I also notice he’s only had one beer all night. I’m glad. He’s driving, and I like that he’s being careful. The version of Natte I see in the news never seems responsible, despite all his success.
But the longer I spend with him, the more I realise there are two Nattes.
The one the world knows, and the one sitting across from me now. The one I used to know.
I keep my drinking light too. Funny, because earlier I thought I’d need alcohol to survive tonight. Turns out, I don’t.
This is one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.
We talk for hours, and when we’re done, Natte calls Steve to bring the car, then pays the bill.
“Let me cover my share,” I insist as we head toward the exit.
He laughs. “No, Shia. Think of it as birthday gift number one out of seven.” He taps my shoulder gently before adding, “I’m impressed when you started being so sensible. I remember a Shia who never said no to free food or someone else picking up the bill.”
“I still owe you seven presents too, don’t forget.”
“Oh, trust me, I remember. I’ll start claiming them soon.”
There’s that flirtatious edge again.
No wonder women fall all over him. I’m struggling myself not to do exactly that.
Natte gestures for me to go first up the stairs.
“You still eat like a guy,” he says behind me. “But your ass is all woman.”
I gasp.
I stop and turn, staring at him.
“What?” he says innocently, though his eyes give him away as he stands far too close. “I promised I’d give my opinion. And it’s perfect. Even better than I remember.”
I turn back fast and march up the stairs, my insides a mess of embarrassment and want.
Fine. I admit it. I want Natte.
He’s gorgeous, confident, playful. A star. And once, he was the boy next door. But nothing can happen.
Because he’s Natte Johnson… and I’m just Golden Shia, his childhood friend.
And because I have a mysterious man. That’s reason number one.
Steve is waiting with the Ferrari Roma, just like Natte said. The Bentley Spur with security is parked behind, ready to follow.
The drive back to my place is much quieter than dinner.
For him, I’m not sure why. For me, it’s sadness. I’ll never again be the younger Shia who followed him around endlessly. I probably won’t see him again, except on TV.
He pulls up outside my place far too quickly.
“Thanks for dinner,” I say, undoing my seatbelt and turning toward him. “I really enjoyed myself.”
“So did I.” His voice is deeper in the dark.
It does dangerous things to me.
I don’t want to leave the car. That same hollow feeling hits me again. At least this morning I knew I’d see him tonight. Now, the night is over.
“Well, I guess I’ll head in. Thanks again for the birthday present.”
I reach for the door when he says, “I’ll walk you to your door. There are too many weird people around Texas. I want to make sure you get inside safely.”
I smile as I step out. Natte gets out too. My door is only a few steps away.
He walks beside me, and suddenly I feel sixteen again. Butterflies. Giddiness. The way he used to make me feel with just a look.
I reach my door and dig for my keys.
Should I invite him in? It would be rude not to. Darla will probably faint if she sees him.
“Do you want to come in for a coffee?” I ask.
He looks at the door, then back at me. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I should really head back.”
So that’s a no.
“Oh. Right. Sure.” I try to hide my disappointment.
Not very rock star of him to need sleep. God. I’ve been rejected, haven’t I?
I’m so slow.
But it’s fine. I only meant coffee anyway. Obviously, he doesn’t find me attractive. He sleeps with everyone else, just not me. Not that I would have… but still.
‘You’re not fifteen anymore,’ my inner voice shouts. ‘And you’re prettier now.’
I feel like stomping my foot and demanding to know what was wrong with me then and now.
But I don’t. Because that would be humiliating.
“It was really good seeing you again. Strange, but good.”
Why did I say strange?
He smiles, amused. “Can I get your number? I don’t want to lose touch again.”
“Yes! Of course.” My voice squeaks, betraying me completely.
Natte pulls out his phone, and I recite my number while he types it in.
My phone rings in my bag. He lifts his phone slightly. “Now you’ve got mine.”
I have Natte Johnson’s number.
He leans closer, lifts his hand, tucks my hair behind my ear, tilts my chin, and kisses my cheek softly.